Page 35 of Grim
“Already told you, that’s not what happened,” I tell her, then recall my earlier conversation with Big D. “But I did find out what caused that first stoppage.”
“Tell me.” Her quick reply and firm tone leave no room for discussion.
So, I tell her what D told me. “You had a bout of acute stress cardiomyopathy. Otherwise known as takotsubo or broken-heart disease.”
I wait for her response, try to read her reaction in her face, but get nothing. So, I press, “Wanna talk about it?”
“Not with you, my own personal demon.”
“Eat your heart out, Depeche Mode.”
She giggles. It’s not an altogether-unpleasant sound.
“Suit yourself.” I get back to the topic at hand. “It’s a fascinating physical condition. Your heart literally changes shape. Got its name because it looks surprisingly similar to the misshapen pot used to trap an octopus.”
“Why would someone want to trap an octopus?”
“Have you ever eaten fresh octopus?”
“I don’t eat anything that can be mistaken for a pig’s anus.”
“Don’t know what you’re missing,” I reply dryly.
“Meh, we all gotta live by a code, Kane. That’s part of mine.”
“You really haven’t lived.” I laugh lightly, though her response indicates she’s much tetchier on the subject than I imagined.
“Fuck you.”
I cut off my laughter and bring the subject back into focus. “So, what’s got your heart so stressed thata pretty young woman like yourself has had it so broken? Twice?”
“You wouldn’t understand,” she dismisses.
“Oh, Mayday, I’m an expert on heart trauma.”
“I’m sure you are,Doctor.” She emphasizes the occupation.
I correct her without thinking, “That knowledge has nothing to do with my medical training.”
I see the spark of intrigue alight behind her eyes, and I inwardly curse myself for my repeatedly loose lips. Before she can pry further into my comment, we are interrupted by a loud crashing sound from down the hall.
“What was that?” I ask, startled.
An intruder would not be an ideal development right now.
“The house ghost,” she answers plainly.
“There’s an essence in this house? How do you know that?”
“They leave cabinets open, knock dishes off counters, cause low-key, general mischief. After a while, I figured out it wasn’t just the wind.”
“Interesting. You’ve got a lost soul trapped here already.” I mutter this more to myself, then glare at the undead woman tied to her bed. “If I untie you, are you going to behave?”
“No,” she replies candidly.
Well, at least she’s honest.
FairNeverFactors
