Page 37 of Dead Love
“It’s you,” I said. “From my friend’s funeral. You were there. For Nyla.”
“Right,” she smiled. “You thought I had embalmed her.”
“How is she now?” Then I blushed, shaking my head furiously. She was dead. How could I ask something so stupid?
“She was cremated a day or two ago. Vincent did it. He didn’t tell you?” I blinked at her. We had been in that crematory room during a cremation. Had that been Nyla in the cardboard box? Catie put a hand on my shoulder. “How are you holding up? Vincent said you had a rough time with your parents.”
I stared at her, searching her eyes. She truly believed Vincent. The pure look in her eyes told me she had no reasonnotto believe him.
I didn’t want to risk him killing my mother by telling her the truth. I had to find another way out.
“Parents,” I mumbled. “You know how they get.”
“I saw how your mother was at the funeral.”
I cringed, thinking back on that. A day where Shea was beinglenientwith me.
“Vincent isn’t much better,” I said.
“I know.” She patted my back. “Vincent is kind of—” she shrugged, “Well, he can seem a bit off at first. But that’s just part of who he is.” She smoothed a fold in her pants. “But he’s also someone that sticks to his word. If he says he’s going to protect you from your mother, then I know he’ll do everything he can to make sure you’re safe. Even if it comes with,” she lifted her shoulders, “weird rules.”
To make sure I’m safe?I wanted to laugh again, to repeat all of his threats, how he had almost burned me alive in the crematory room. But then, I thought about his words:Do you enjoy your life here?Staring out barred windows. A view of a fence. A garden on your windowsill.In the shadows of my bedroom, he looked as if he had been kissed by the moonlight, his skin tinted a dark blue, those scars glowing along his skin.
I could give you more than this,he had said.
Considering what had happened since he had said those words, I knew he had been honest. It was frightening, strange, andreal.I couldn’t figure out how I was supposed to feel about anything anymore, how to bury those emotions.
Because they wouldn’t go away. Nothing would ever be the same after this.
Catie rubbed the top of my hands. “Hey,” she said. “I’ll bring you more clothes. Better clothes than the stuff from the Lost and Found.”
I rubbed my palms against my sweatshirt and pants. “These are from the Lost and Found?”
“Vincent has a habit of looking after things that are left behind.”
I wrinkled my nose and she shoved my arm. “Relax. They’re washed. Unless it says ‘dry cleaning’ on the tag. I don’t see him taking anything into a shop.” She shrugged. “We always wash the clothes. People get weird about leaving their stuff behind at funeral homes. So it’s one of our policies.”
That was interesting, and sort of nice, but I stumbled over her words:Vincent has a habit of looking after things that are left behind.How far did that extend? Did he think thatIhad been left behind?
“Well,” she checked her phone, “I’ve got another family to meet in a few minutes. Another fucking Echo death,” she muttered. “But if you need anything, let Vincent know, and I’ll bring it by. And the clothes will be here later tonight.”
I stared at her. How had Vincent managed to get someone as kind as Catie on his side?
“Thank you,” I said.
She smiled. “Don’t mention it.”
After she left, Vincent brought down a new tray of food, and instead of picking at what I could manage without actually eating, I had several spoonfuls. A strawberry parfait and a protein smoothie.
I flipped through the pages of the coffee-table book,The Wake.The photographs didn’t have the same prestige as the paintings that he had created, but they had the same mood. People who looked out into the distance, the pain wrought on their faces. On the surface of it, those people seemed normal, but vulnerable. As if Vincent could expose what was actually there.
What did he see in me?
A few hours passed, and while I was dozing off, the door opened, startling me awake. From the loft, Vincent leaned over the railing and lifted a plastic grocery bag full of clothes.
Catie. “Thanks,” I said.
“Come here.”
