Page 71 of Lair

I do it without thinking—I stomp down on the wooden handle, snapping it in two so that I’m now holding a jagged javelin, and plunge it with all my strength into the owner-thing from behind.

Full impalement.

It arches back and shrieks, and time seems to slow, the air filling with a red mist that sprays all over the gleaming silver surfaces of the galley in an exultant and obscenely beautiful ballet of gore. All I can do is blink and wonder, stupidly, How long will it take the stewardess to clean all that up? And then the thing has thrown itself to the floor and is crabbing about on its back, bucking and flailing as it ululates like some unholy abomination. A calmness settles over me, a kind of blinding, cleansing fury, thrilling in its liberation. It does not occur to me that I may have arrived at some unbearable and ecstatic truth about myself, a willingness to deal in solutions where others might balk. It was simply what had to be done, I may think later.

Now, all I think is, Why won’t it die?

The solution presents itself: a row of hefty knives stuck to a magnetic strip above the stovetops.

At the end of the row, black-handled and all business, gleams a cleaver.

THIRTY-SIX

After I manage to haul Cailee up the stairs into the wheelhouse and out of sight of that place, I shake her awake. “Cailee. Cailee.”

She blinks and jerks, eyes wide. “What—”

“I can’t carry you down the passerelle. Let’s go.”

She glances down the stairs, to where she mustn’t look, and touches her scalp. “Fucking asshole,” she breathes. “Did he—?”

“Now, Cailee.”

She follows along in a black temper, finally tries to jerk away. I only allow her once we’ve made it onto the safety of the sun-drenched dock.

“What the hell, Arie?” she shouts, red-faced. “What happened? The owner—what did he—”

“Cailee.”

She stills at the flatness of my tone, her face paling a little. “What?”

I sigh and grip her shoulders. “Do you trust me?”

Her eyes move between mine, back and forth. Her reply, when it comes, is soft and unsure. “Of course.”

“Then fly back home. Walk away from this industry, and never look back.”

Her jaw hangs. “What—”

“Just—trust me, okay?”

“But—why? Our dream! This was our big escape together!”

I nod, solemn. “I know. This is me looking out for you—”

Cailee snorts at this. “I don’t—Jesus, so what if one creep—”

“Cailee.” The word lashes like a whip. “I won’t be able to sleep unless you do this, okay?”

She swallows and backs away now, shakes her head. “What’s going on?” She takes in the splash of blood on my white polo, my stony composure, and narrows her eyes. “What happened to you?”

I draw in a long breath, thread a hand through my hair. “I don’t know.”

Cailee’s eyes sheen with tears. “Arie, you’re freaking me out here...”

“Oh, babe.” I take her into my arms, and she holds on to me, trembling. “It’s gonna be okay,” I soothe. “I just—I love you, and I want to know you’ll be safe.”

“I love you, too.” She pulls away, rubbing at one eye, and sniffs. “Will you be safe?”

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