Page 56 of Pure Killers

When I wake up, I know it’s him on the other side of the room. The bleariness of intoxication is still presiding over the headache of it, that’s how I know I wasn't asleep too long. He stays over there, by the other wall next to the TV, outside the light coming from whatever is playing on the screen. I lift my arms as though taking a bow from my seat on the couch. Around me bottles clink and wrappers crinkle. "Not so fuckable now, am I?"

He doesn't answer that. "You had to know, sooner or later."

"Oh yeah.Thanks."

He's silent, just an oppressive presence on the other side of the room. Maybe he’s not even there, maybe I'm drunk enough to hallucinate.

"So which are you? Tristan?" I inquire. "Or a victim who got away, maybe?"

"I don't think you're ready for any more news."

"Noooo better I stay in the dark. Another three and a half years, maybe? Then you'll tell me who you are?"

"You weren't ready when it happened. You nearly destroyed yourself as it was."

I scoff.

"It’s not your fault you didn't know. No one did."

I hold an unsteady finger up. "Ah, but onlyIwas married to him." I tilt my head. "Gosh, that’s two serial killers for me! Do you think there's some kind of record?"

He walks over, sitting beside me on the couch, I feel the seat move with his weight. Some kind of action scene plays out on the TV, white flashes rolling over his mask. "You need to believe me now. Copycat Cocooner has plenty of reasons to be interested in you."

"Why now?" I pull a face as I try to take another swig, just to find the bottle empty.

Needler takes so long to answer me that I tilt my head at him, swaying softly. "They're saving you like he was," he says.

"Oh yeah?" I ask, lunging across the coffee table for another bottle with a sip left in the bottom. I don’t reach it, instead pulled back to the couch, against Needler. I try to wriggle away, but his hold is firm, my cheek braced against his chest, his arms wrapped around me, squeezing softly.

“Don’t destroy yourself, Little Shadow,” he murmurs against the top of my head.

Just the feeling of being held is enough to make my eyes sting with a fresh round of tears, feelings leeching back through the self-enforced numbness. I slap benignly at his arm, snivelling, accusing, “This is all your fault! You did this!”

“I know. I’m sorry.”

“You could have told me!” The words are barely audible, muffled and wet against his shirt.

“I know. You’re strong, you’re going to make it.”

I don’t recall what else I accused him of. Things he both is and isn’t responsible for. The energy drains out of me, and I stop struggling, let myself be held, murmuring as I drift off, “I just want to know who you are… just want to know… show me.”

***

The call comes from Tawill herself. It’s a Friday. I struggle to recall which day my life imploded on, and how many days it is been since. A week? Two? "You're cleared," she tells me, then pauses, waiting for something. Elation, maybe. "Your involvement is no longer in question. You can come back, Monday."

"Mmm," I say, afraid to say anything else less she catch the intoxication in my slurs. "Thanks!" I’m not drinking as much as I was a day ago, so much that recalling Needler’s visit and what strange things I may have said is difficult, but still I’m staying a level of drunk to take the edge off the deepest feelings, the ones I’m not ready for yet.

I hang up the phone. Picture the station, my desk, the way everyone will stare. Why bother?

***

"Why weren't you in today?" Dirk demands, the moment he steps through my door. I thought I'd locked it, that’s why I'd ignored the knocking, and his voice shouting from the other side.

Just when he smells the alcohol, just when his nose wrinkles, I turn away again. I don't need his judgement; I don't care about it. To prove it to him, to myself, I pick up the bottle from the coffee table as I step away. "Tawill has said you can come back. You're cleared," he tells me, as though I'd merely forgotten over the weekend.

"Woo-hoo."

He drops the blue binder in his hand onto the coffee table, where it lands with a slap. I eye it. “What’s that?” I know what it is, I just don’t know why it’shere.

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