12. Noec #2
But here she was, sitting alone at the dining room table, with nothing to do but twiddle her thumbs and think. Flora thought about the night before, and the night before that. Her head was dizzy with fractured memories as she tried to piece them all together in a way that made sense.
But the more she tried to think logically, the more her feelings got in the way.
It would’ve been nice if she still had Sona’s journal to glean through.
Or Sona to talk to. Flora breathed deeply.
She tried to douse the fire in her chest, to blink away the burning in her eyes.
But her emotions—they just wouldn’t let her be.
Thoughts of the past only left her heartbroken, and thoughts of the future only left her terrified. She closed her eyes, and she could still see Noec crashing to the ground, limp and contorted in ways a man shouldn’t be.
Dead. He’d been dead.
And the anguish still lingered—the nauseating emptiness that possessed her as she challenged the scythe, ready, if not eager, to lose.
So, above all those sane emotions swirling in her chest, more than anything, Flora was pissed. She ground her teeth. Noec had volunteered himself so readily to be slaughtered in her place. No question, no hesitation.
That bitch.
Flora groaned to herself, beginning to tap her fingers in thought.
The scythe situation was only getting worse, it seemed.
Even seeing them as close as Lunara’s Spring used to be unusual.
Twelve years ago, Flora and Noec had been the only people in a very long time to see a scythe outside the confines of Night Sky Forest. Now, monsters were strolling right into the village.
What’s more, Heron had mentioned reports of them prowling at the borders of nearby villages.
One of them had killed Sona, they were certain, and perhaps even Perri.
Things were clearly beginning to escalate, and Flora just couldn’t fathom why.
An unwelcome memory tugged at Flora’s mind, and her fast-tapping fingers stopped.
“Do you know of a Sleepwalker here? In this village?” Feya’s demon had asked.
Flora’s hand clenched as she stared forward.
“So,” the fresher memory hissed, “which one of you is the Sleepwalker?”
Flora laid her hands flat on the table, took a deep breath, then opened her eyes. “Goddammit,” she muttered. “Why can’t I just sleep like everyone else?”
She heard movement from upstairs, then a set of heavy footsteps beginning to descend.
“Hi there, daughter,” Mr. Fray greeted stiffly as his feet met the hard wood next to the dining room.
“Hi.” Flora glanced over at his awkward posturing. “You good?”
He cleared his throat and looked back up the stairs. “Your mother told me about our visitor. Says I should be ‘cool’ about it and pretend I don’t know.”
“Wow,” Flora replied. “You’re doing really great so far.”
“Mhm. Yep.” He rocked back on his heels and breathed. Carefully avoiding eye contact, he pecked her head with a kiss, then scuttled to gather his things for work.
“Have fun selling drugs.”
“Pharmaceuticals,” he murmured on his way out.
Jerking his jacket from the coat stand, he rushed out the door.
The stand wobbled, and Flora rose from her chair as it started to tip over.
The door jerked open ajar, and Mr. Fray’s arm reached back inside, steadied it, patted it for good measure, then vanished with the click of a locking door.
Flora stared at the door for a moment, then slowly sat back down.
A few minutes later, Flora’s mother came walking down the stairs as well, muttering legal jargon to the phone on her shoulder. She was using her “work voice”, which sounded eloquent and professional, but cold as a killer.
She paused, glancing over at her daughter.
“Hey, chica,” she greeted, the vitality sprinkled back into her words. “I’ll be back no earlier than 5 PM!” she announced loudly to the rest of the house. “Tell beefcake I hope he feels better.”
“Mom,” Flora whined.
“Oh, sorry,” Mrs. Fray replied to the voice on the phone. “Thought you were muted.” She waved goodbye and left, donning her work shoes and work voice before she did.
Flora looked up at the ceiling, right about where her room would be.
He was fine. She kept reminding herself of that. But after another hour or so, she had to check just to make sure. She treaded lightly, hoping the creaking wood wouldn’t give her away. But as she neared her bedroom door, something made her pause—a loud crash within.
“Noec, everything okay?” Flora called out, approaching the cracked-open door. Another jarring crash shook the walls. “Noec?” she called again, growing uneasy. Her steps faltered, but with a slow creak, she pushed the door open halfway.
Flora looked inside, but he wasn’t in bed where she’d left him.
“Holy shit.” He was collapsed on the floor, leaning against the far wall, his breathing rough and rapid. Flora rushed forward and knelt beside him. “Are you alright?”
“Go away,” he muttered, and it was enough to give her pause for only a moment.
“Yeah,” she said, seeing the way sweat beaded along his brow, the way lines of blood had serrated his fist. “Fuck no.” She reached out to take his bloodied hand, but he growled back at her, gripping his head with a firm, silent plea.
“Please, stop,” he said, straining, grasping for composure. “I’ve hurt you too much already.”
“What?” Flora asked, but as she looked out at the room, she began to understand. Her standing mirror was shattered, and her desk chair was split in two pieces.
“I didn’t mean to,” he said, and she stuttered in response, ready to forgive and forget in a heartbeat. But she saw something else that made her change her mind.
They were bits of paper, torn up and strewn across the floor.
“I didn’t mean to,” he repeated, trembling now into himself.
Flora reached down, picking up the corner of a painting. “My paintings…” she murmured quietly, and her heart cracked as she studied the ripped fragment of Feya’s tiny handprint.
He gasped, or heaved, his head falling into his clawed, bloodied hands. “I’m sorry,” he whispered, the words trembling with an agony more terrifying than rage. “Please, you… you have to go away. I don’t want to be around you right now.”
“What’s going on?” Flora asked.
“I don’t know.” Noec clenched his teeth and muttered, “I feel like I’m losing my mind.”
Gently, Flora whispered, “You’re not alone.”
She knelt beside him, and carefully, she cradled his head in her arms, slow enough that he might stop her if he wanted to.
But he didn’t, and he leaned closer into her chest. Gradually, the trembling in his hands seemed to subside, and as Flora exhaled into his hair, Noec’s ragged heaving seemed to slow.
“You have to go away,” he said, but his fingers traced her skin, clenching her shoulder and arm like it would kill him to let go. “Please, Flora.”
Flora pulled away, holding onto his hand as she studied it. “I won’t leave you alone,” she said, tearful as a hint of blood swelled around a cut on his knuckle. Barely, she kissed the back of his hand, and a single tear spilled onto him. “How can I help you?”
“What?” he rasped.
“What can I do to help you?” she repeated. “You’ve been through so much, and…”