The Reaping: Language of the Liar (4 page)

Chapter Seven

“Why won’t you look at me?”  Her voice came out like an echo.  She was in a room.  Her room, she thought, but it was pitch black.  She felt safe there.  No windows, no open doors.  She was surrounded by quiet warmth and there was nothing to fear.

Except her space was being invaded now.  Something opened a door and walked in.  The man was all white, glowing, except his light didn’t penetrate the dark.  She could make out features, but they were indistinct, impossible to tell who he was.  He was passing through, and she tried to grab his arm, but her fingers went straight through him.

He wasn’t a ghost though.  She could tell that right away.  It was like he was half in and half out of her world.  He glanced her way but refused to look at her face as he stopped.

“Who are you?”

Something felt off, like she was being pulled to the surface of water, and she struggled.  Something was happening.  Her safe space was being invaded and she didn’t like it.

“Tell me!”

His mouth spread into a smirk, his white teeth sharp and pointed, and his eyes glowed red and narrowed on her.  “Call me Nic.”  The voice shred across her like a thousand razorblades and she started to scream.

***

Throat aching, Dorian threw herself from the bed.  Her hands were trembling and her head was spinning as she stumbled toward the bathroom.  Reaching for the light switch, she flipped it on and winced at the harsh, yellow glare coming from the naked bulb hanging above her.

The water came out of the faucet with a gush and she shoved her hands underneath it, splashing it on her face, then cupping it in her palms to take down a few mouthfuls.  She could still remember everything, and that hadn’t happened in a long time.  Not since she was a child.  The wicked voice still echoed in her mind and it made her stomach churn.  Bile rose in her throat as she rolled the name over her tongue. 

“
Nic
.”

Twisting the handle on the sink, the water turned off and the silence of her room was suffocating.  Everything felt hyper real, like she’d stepped out of a fog, and though the room was dark, she could see everything.  Her hand gripped the doorway and as she flipped the bathroom light back off, the room glowed with the early morning hours.

The little clock on her nightstand read five forty-five, which meant whatever nightmare had plagued her this time had at least let her get some sleep.  Still, she felt unrested, like she’d been awake for days.

Flopping back on the bed, she pushed away her sweat-covered pillow for the dry one, which had been shoved into the corner between the mattress and the wall.  She fluffed it, then settled down, her eyes drifting closed.  The whole thing had been so strange.  Terrifying.  As though that thing, whatever it was, had been using her mind like a doorway.

He’d been walking with such purpose, like he had somewhere to go.  He was aware of her, acknowledged her even.  No regard to invading her personal space, he was using her and the thought made her stomach flip-flop.

Shaking her head, she turned on her side and, for a moment, enjoyed the breeze wafting across her back.  Until she realized what that meant.  Head snapping up, Dorian’s eyes went wide as they fixed on the window.  She made double sure the window was shut and locked before going to bed.  Now it laid there cracked, a gentle wind from the early morning hours drifting through the room.

A scream bubbled up in her gut again, and in order to quell it, she flew from her mattress, stumbling across the room to shut it.  She slammed it so hard the glass shuddered, and she flipped both locks on the top and bottom firmly down.  Giving it several shoves, she didn’t back away until she was satisfied it was closed and latched.

Her entire body was shaking as she backed up toward the bed, and as she reached for the covers, her hand touched… something.  Whipping around, her eyes tried to focus in the dark, but she couldn’t see anything beyond the shadows of the room.

“Not again.”  She rubbed her trembling fingers across her face, begging the universe to give her a break.  She couldn’t go through this again.  She could not have a relapse.

Forcing a few breaths into her body, she climbed back beneath her covers, pulling them high up to her chin.  Her gaze focused on the dark ceiling and she tried to shake the feeling that someone was watching her.  Someone deep in the shadows of her mind, penetrating her most private thoughts.  But it was just a dream.  Nothing more.

She didn’t sleep again, though.  By the time the sun was up, Dorian was a walking zombie.  This marked so many days without proper sleep, she’d lost count.  She knew it was a trigger, too.  The more exhausted she was, the lower her defenses.  She’d been through it before.  The auditory and visual hallucinations would start, and the voices.  She’d lose the trust of Father Stone and her job.

***

She left the monastery just before breakfast, deciding to take down her errands in one fell swoop since it was the last day of the weekend to get anything done.  She didn’t want to see Father Stone, either.  She knew he would be able to tell something was wrong, and she had a secret hope she could get on top of it before it became a problem.  She couldn’t take the risk of him pulling her from the class now.  Not when everything was so good.

Stopping by a café, she ordered a double-shot red-eye and sat down at a table with a cruller to give her therapist a call.

“Hi, Maria, it’s me.  I need an appointment if you can squeeze me in.  I’m… not doing all that great and I think I might need a medication change or… or maybe something for sleeping.  Things are getting funky.  I know I probably sound crazy,” she paused with a flinch, knowing how much Maria hated when she used the word crazy. “I’m just functioning on like no sleep.  Anyway, give me a call back if you can.  I’ll be around.”

Hanging up, Dorian sat back with a small sigh and twirled her mostly empty cup in her hands.  She wondered how many people with issues like hers had the direct line to their therapist’s private cell phone.  She couldn’t remember the last time she had to go through a receptionist or appointment taker.  It used to make her feel special, but now she just felt like a hopeless head-case.

“Insomnia, huh?  Heard that can be a real bitch.”

Dorian didn’t need to turn around to see who was behind her.  She might have only met him the one time, but it wasn’t easy to forget that brogue, even if his accent sounded much lighter than it had in the church.  She felt her entire body go tense as Lennox came around the table and took a seat in the empty chair across from her.

“You do look exhausted,” he said when she didn’t greet him.

Feeling self-conscious, she dragged a hand down her face.  “What are you doing here?”

He gave a half shrug with his left shoulder, twisting so his right side was leaning against the back of the chair.  “Saw you sit down.  Thought I might come say hi.”

Something about the way he was staring at her was unnerving.  His eyes, sharp and narrow, regarded her in a way no one ever had.  Like he was interested.  “Look, I told you before…”

“You’re not in a place to date,” he finished for her.  “I remember, lass.”

Running her hand back through her hair, she grimaced when she caught a knot and realized she hadn’t even bothered to brush it before leaving the house.  And this guy was trying to ask her out?  She was getting more creeped out by the minute.  Why had he been passing by?  Why now?  Why this corner?  “Do you live around here?”

“Not really.”  He kicked one foot up on the side of the café’s low iron gate and rested his arm across his knee.  “But I spend some time here every now and again.”

Dorian felt rage hidden in a well in the pit of her stomach begin to bubble.  “Really?  So like when you’re stalking young women?”

She expected him to get defensive, but instead he threw his head back and laughed.  “You could say that.”

Her hackles raised and she leaned forward across the table.  “I don’t know who you think you are, or what the hell you want from me…”

“Is that any way for a woman of the cloth to talk?” he goaded.

Her face went fiery red.  “I am
not
a woman of the cloth.”  Her voice was low, heated, spitting mad.  “And if you think for a second that I’m going to tolerate some man harassing me, you’ve got another thing coming.”

He laughed at her again, fueling her rage.  “Do I?  Another thing, is it?  How’s a wee thing like you gonna stop me?”

“Oh believe me, you have no idea what I’m capable of.”  The words came from nowhere, some hidden vault of anger in her mind, and with it shot out white-hot anger.  The cup sitting near her clenched knuckle toppled over, sending the remaining contents spilling onto Lennox’s shoe.

Dorian let out a horrified gasp while Lennox dropped his other leg and leaned toward her.  “Ah there it is.  I
knew
it.”

Shaking, she reached out her hand to touch the cup, but couldn’t bring herself to make contact.  “There what is?”  The words came out a whisper.

“The power.  See, sometimes our tracker is off and it leads us in all kinds of wonky directions.  But I had a feeling that day at the bank, we were spot on.”

Dorian’s head was spinning, and she brought her hands up to her face.  Everything seemed too loud, too bright, and her breath was coming out in harsh gasps.  “I need… I’m…”

His hand darted across, and when his skin touched hers, it felt like a static shock.  He pulled back, his eyes wide, and his head shook from side to side.  “We need to get you out of here.”

She wanted to fight him, to resist, but she was barely aware of anything as he yanked her up from the table.  His hand grabbed her by the sleeve, and he pulled her around the corner and into a building.  They were halfway up the second story flight of stairs before she came to herself, and she froze, yanking her arm away from him.

“What do you want with me?”

“I want to help.”  His voice was sharper now, nothing like the flirtatious guy she’d met in the church the day before.  She didn’t have to know him to know he was dangerous.

There was no immediate escape.  He let her keep her arm free, but she knew if she tried to run, that would be it.  Her best bet was to keep calm, to keep focused, and to look for an exit plan.  She still had her phone on her, at least.  He hadn’t bothered to take that, or her purse.

They reached the third floor landing, and she realized they were in some apartment building.  It was older, the light fixtures modernized, but using the same hardware as when it was first built.  The wallpaper was yellowed, peeling in most places, and the carpet was worn down to wood and cement.

The hallway smelled a bit like a fish market, and Lennox dragged her to the end, stopping in front of a door where either a number nine or six—she wasn’t sure—was sitting on its side.  He reached into his pocket and pulled out an old brass key, shoving it into the lock and giving it a turn.

The door creaked open and he yanked her inside.

Dorian didn’t know what to expect.  Maybe something out of some Serial Killer Handbook with plastic lined walls and furniture.  Maybe a sort of dungeon with blacked out windows and chains hanging from ceiling fixtures.

Whatever it was, she didn’t expect a modern apartment with a microfiber couch, a recliner, and a massive TV mounted to the wall.  Some things looked off, like a giant bookshelf filled with texts she couldn’t begin to decipher, or the really bizarre, Ancient Greek-looking symbols painted on the walls in a faded rust color.  But there was a kitchen table with some open pizza boxes, beer bottles here and there, and a guy wearing a white t-shirt and tight jeans sitting with one foot propped up on the coffee table.  He had a cup of tea in one hand and a cigarette in the other, and he lolled his head back as Lennox brought Dorian inside.

“Found her, did you?  Confirmed?”  He spoke in a light English accent, his voice almost friendly which was just as startling as his casual demeanor.

“Confirmed,” Lennox replied.  He brandished his shoe which was covered in coffee splotches.  “Spilled her coffee on me, didn’t even touch the cup.  Just bought these, too.”

“I thought you said you didn’t live around here,” Dorian said, her tone coming out thin and dry.

Lennox turned to her, giving her an appraising look before he answered, one shoulder shrugging up and down.  “I lied.” He walked off, tossing his key and wallet on the small table next to the door.

The guy in the chair rose, setting his tea down, and Dorian unconsciously backed up as he took a step forward.  For the most part he seemed non-threatening.  Shorter than Lennox, and probably fifteen pounds lighter.  He was the same age, maybe mid-thirties, shaggy brown hair, face that was probably shaven most of the time, but now hosting a five o’clock shadow.

He was smiling, his cigarette clenched between his teeth, and he had his hands up in surrender.  “Easy love. We ain’t gonna bite.”  When she flinched, he turned to Lennox, a frown marring his face.  “The hell did you do to this poor girl?  She’s terrified.”

“She’s strong.  I think it was recent.”  Lennox spoke from the bookshelf as he frantically searched for something.  He had an old flask in one hand, and shoved a wooden stick between his teeth as he paged through a stack of papers.  “I had to get her out of there.  It’s got a good hold on her.”