Chapter 9 #2
Someone who didn't ask questions.
Someone who didn't call the police.
It wasn't safety.
It wasn't home.
But it was something.
And something was more than I'd had in weeks.
I didn't sleep.
I lay on the couch with my eyes closed, and I tried to make my mind go quiet, but Rue's face kept appearing behind my lids. Her eyes, closed. Her mouth, soft. The blood on my hands, drying, cracking, flaking off like dead skin.
I didn't remember killing her.
But I had.
I must have.
The blood didn't lie.
The body didn't lie.
Only my memory lied.
Only my mind lied.
Only I lied, to myself, over and over, because the truth was too heavy to carry.
"Daddy."
The whisper was soft.
"Daddy, I'm so tired."
No answer.
There was never an answer.
I closed my eyes, and the darkness behind my lids was the same as the darkness in front of them, and I let myself drift.
Not sleep.
Something else.
Something between.
Something that wasn't rest but wasn't awake either.
A holding pattern.
Waiting for whatever came next.
The door opened.
I opened my eyes. Matt was standing in the doorway, holding a plate with a sandwich on it.
"Lunch."
"What time is it?"
"Noon. You've been here for six hours."
"I didn't sleep."
"I know. But you rested. That's something."
He set the plate on the table beside the couch and sat in the chair across from me.
"I thought about what you said. About the job."
"And?"
"I'll take it."
He nodded, like he'd expected that answer.
"Good. You can start tomorrow. Tonight, you rest. Tomorrow, we'll talk about hours and pay and what you'll be doing."
"What about the basement?"
"What about it?"
"You said I could use it. For whatever I need."
He was quiet for a moment.
"The basement is yours. I don't ask questions about what happens down there. But I need you to understand something."
"What?"
"If you bring trouble to my door—if the police come looking for you, if someone comes looking for you—I can't protect you. I won't lie for you. I won't put my bar at risk."
"I understand."
"Do you?"
"I understand that you're giving me a chance. That's more than anyone else has given me. I won't make you regret it."
He looked at me for a long time. His eyes were grey, or blue, or something in between, and they didn't look away.
"Okay, Bunny. Welcome to The Lost Hours."
He left me alone after that.
I ate the sandwich. Turkey and cheese on rye, with mustard and lettuce and tomato. It was the first real meal I'd had in days, and I ate every bite.
The blanket was still around my shoulders.
The couch was still warm.
The bar was still quiet, and Matt was still out front, and the world was still turning, and I was still alive.
I didn't know why.
I didn't know how.
But I was still alive.
And for now, that was enough.
I lay back against the pillows and closed my eyes. The darkness behind my lids was softer now. Less threatening. Less like a void and more like a room with the lights turned down.
"Daddy."
The whisper was softer this time. Almost peaceful.
"Daddy, I found a place. I found someone who doesn't ask questions. I found a job."
"I'm not giving up."
"I'm still hunting for you."
"I'm still yours."
"But I need to rest first."
"I need to eat and sleep and remember how to be a person."
"I hope you understand."
"I hope you're not angry."
"I hope you're still waiting for me."
No answer.
There was never an answer.
But for the first time in weeks, the silence didn't feel like abandonment.
It felt like permission.
Permission to rest.
Permission to heal.
Permission to become something new.
I closed my eyes, and the darkness behind my lids was soft and warm, and I let myself drift.
Not sleep.
Not yet.
But close.
Closer than I'd been in weeks.
The Lost Hours.
Matt.
The bar.
The basement.
A chance.
It wasn't home.
But it was something.
And something was more than I'd had in a long time.
"Thank you, Daddy."
The whisper was barely a breath.
"Thank you for leading me here."
"Thank you for not leaving me completely alone."
"Thank you for..."
I didn't finish.
The words dissolved into the darkness, and I let them go.
Tomorrow, I would start the job.
Tomorrow, I would learn the basement.
Tomorrow, I would keep hunting.
But tonight, I would rest.
Tonight, I would let someone take care of me.
For the first time in weeks, I would try to remember how to be human.
The Lost Hours.
The name echoed in my mind, soft and warm.
The lost hours.
The hours I'd spent wandering, killing, forgetting.
The hours I'd spent trying to find my way back to a man who didn't want to be found.
Maybe this was where I was supposed to be.
Maybe this was the beginning of something new.
Or maybe it was just another cage, painted in different colors, waiting for me to realize I'd never been free.
I didn't know.
I couldn't know.
But I was tired of running.
Tired of killing.
Tired of waking up with blood on my hands and no memory of how it got there.
So I stayed.
I stayed on the couch, with the blanket around my shoulders, and I let myself rest.
And for the first time in weeks, I didn't dream about Gabriel.
I didn't dream about Rue.
I didn't dream about the girl who wasn't there.
I dreamed about nothing at all.
And nothing was the best thing I'd felt in a very long time.