Page 34 of Remy

I shake my head. Wiggle. Buck.

“Calm down.” His voice is terrifyingly composed.

I keep fighting. Keep bucking. Keep gasping against the tightness taking over my throat.

I don’t know how long he holds me in his unwavering grip—seconds, minutes, hours… It feels like a lifetime passes before every ounce of energy is wrung from my limbs and I’m left frozen, staring at the closed door of the cremator.

Eventually I’m released, Remy stepping out from behind me in an agonizingly slow withdrawal.

I’m sure he says something. Asks something. But I can’t hear him. I can’t hear anything other than the deafening flames from inside the retort and the thunderous pulse in my ears.

The man wasn’t dead.

I can’t bring myself to believe otherwise.

Remy might know the textbook details of how common it is for the deceased to moan and groan if air is trapped in their lungs. But those noises tend to occur when the body is moved. Not while being incinerated.

You never know. Maybe this is the norm when unlawfully disposing of a body.

I’ve never cremated someone so soon after death. Have never cremated anyone without family or government approval either.

But the sixth sense churning in my belly tells me that Remy has turned me into an unwilling killer.

I pivot to the room. Slump to the floor against the bottom of the retort. Hug my legs to my chest.

Remy moves about as I stare at the tiled floor.

He cleans the gurney, spraying it with chemicals that tickle my nose in scents of lemon and pine.

He says something else, the words not registering before he disappears into the hall.

Is he fleeing? Calling for reinforcements? Maybe he’s decided to leave and indulge in more slaughter so he can capitalize on the cremator while it’s in full swing.

Either way I remain comatose on the floor.

I relive the last hour over and over. How calm and methodical Remy had been. How familiar he is with my sacred space.

He’s nothing like the man who charmed me months ago, yet exactly the same in equal measure.

How could I have been so oblivious?

He told you he was trouble.

“Jesus Christ.” I bury my head in my hands.

I’d wanted him.

Pined for him.

Our time together at that dive bar had felt so heaven-sent that every second of it still clings to my memories.

My cell trills in my pants pocket, blinking me out of my catatonic state and yanking me back to the nightmare of reality with the retort continuing to fire behind me.

I’d been such an idiot.

Such a goddamn fucking fool.

I pull out my phone as thunderous footsteps echo along the hall. Remy comes into view at the threshold, his piercing eyes scrutinizing me.

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