by Ryan Casey
They both smiled and nodded back at her as she walked out of the room.
When she did, the door closing slightly as she walked into the kitchen, she and her husband bickering in muffled tones, it hit Ashley square in the stomach that this was the first time all day that he and Grace had actually spent any time alone. Earlier that afternoon, they’d had their catch-up of sorts. Sat in the lounge together, all of them, and just watched television—done normal things—allowing the reality of what was happening to sink in as journalist’s voices echoed around the outside of the house.
But now he was alone. Alone with Grace. Alone with the woman he loved. The woman he’d believed dead. The woman he’d still believe dead when he woke up in the morning, probably for the rest of his life.
He looked at her. Smiled, but doing so was difficult. As much as he was happy, the weirdness of everything was the overriding emotion. She’d died. She shouldn’t be here. He’d actually watch her die. But now here she was, claiming she didn’t remember a thing, in the same clothes—smelling of the same perfume—not a scratch on her.
Was it possible that, somehow, she hadn’t fallen down that sinkhole after all? That something else had happened?
Before Ashley could get a word in, Grace spoke first, almost out of nowhere.
“You don’t have to worry about me, Ashley. I know what happened to me. I know I fell. I watched you as I fell.”
Ashley gulped. He rested his cold hand onto his girlfriend’s, but it still just didn’t feel right. It didn’t slot on top of it like jigsaw pieces like it used to. “I—I know you did. I know. I just…I just don’t understand. I don’t understand how you’re—”
“You will understand,” Grace said. Her smile dropped. Her eyes seemed to darken. They held contact with Ashley’s. Even her hand seemed to cool down. “And when you do understand, you’ll see there’s nothing to worry about. Nothing ever to worry about again.”
As Ashley’s heart raced, trying to understand and comprehend Grace’s instant change in demeanour, her beaming smile was back. Her hand was warm. Her eyes were deep, deep blue.
“I love you, Ashley,” she said, then reached over for him and wrapped her hands around his neck, tickling the lengthy “werewolf” hairs on the back of his neck just like she used to.
Ashley held his hands rigidly in front of him, his heart still racing from that momentary slip in New Grace’s demeanour.
He planted his hands on her back. Gripped her tightly. “I love you too,” he said.
Nausea welled up in his stomach.
TEN
Ashley lay back on the queen-size bed. The springs from the bed in Grace’s old room dug right into his back, just like they had done that first few times he’d snuck in here back when he was about twenty, unbeknownst to her parents. The room was dark. Frighteningly dark, actually. One thing that Ashley had always picked up on when he stayed here. Even though the blinds were raised slightly, just how Grace liked them—how she liked them anywhere—the room was dark but for the slight trail of light seeping out from under the en-suite door.
Ashley lay back and listened as Grace brushed her teeth, leaving the tap running full-blast just like she always used to. “It’s just a habit,” she used to say, grinning a toothpaste smile before spitting into the sink. “Just something I’ve done ever since I was a kid.”
As Ashley lay back in this queen-sized bed in Grace’s dark room, he cried a few times. The first time, he cried with happiness. Cried that Grace was back, just like he’d hoped and prayed and wished for time after time after time.
The second time, he’d cried because he didn’t understand why Grace had had to go away in the first place. He didn’t understand how she couldn’t remember what had happened to her. And he cried because of how cold her words at the dinner table—her momentary character twitch—had seemed.
“When you do understand, you’ll see there’s nothing to worry about. Nothing ever to worry about again.”
Those words weren’t Grace. They were somebody else. They weren’t the words the Grace he knew and loved used to say. Neither was the seriousness of her face, or the dropping in vibrancy of her eyes. It was strange, and it made Ashley shiver every time he thought of it.
The tap stopped. A toothbrush clinked against the side of the sink. Ashley’s stomach knotted. He’d be alone with her again. Alone with her, no idea what to say, no idea what to do. He even felt a little uncomfortable being naked but for his grey boxer shorts. He covered his chest with his hands. He’d always had a concave chest, ever since he was born, and he always felt uncomfortable when other people saw it. But Grace, he’d grown out of that discomfort long ago. So why was he covering it up?
The door opened and the room filled with light from the en suite. Grace was standing there. She was wearing a perfect white dressing gown. Her blonde hair was wet and messy, the shiny blonde made to look more muddy thanks to the water. Her legs were on show, shaven and smooth-looking. He was pretty sure she hadn’t just shaved them then—he used to always tease her about how long she took to shave her legs—but they looked so smooth, like they’d just been done yesterday or earlier.
But how was that possible? How was that possible if she’d been at the bottom of a sinkhole?
She smiled at Ashley and walked gently across the carpet, water still dripping from her hair. Ashley tensed up as she approached. He couldn’t deny the warmth between his legs at seeing his gorgeous girlfriend all wet and messy. She was hot. But there were still reservations. His throat was dry. His heart raced. He still didn’t know what to say, as she reached the bottom of the bed and leaned against the black iron bed-frame which Ashley’s feet were touching.
Then, smile on her face, biting her lip, she crawled over the frame and onto the bed, working her way up Ashley’s legs with her smooth hands.
“You—you sure, Grace?” Ashley said, but it came out as a whimper as she crawled up his body, her heat radiating towards him, smile on her face. She smelled of peaches and cream. That shampoo she always used to use in the evenings. It reminded him of them fucking. Fucking for hour after hour and only getting an hour’s sleep because of it. They were great in bed together. A perfect match. The kind of match you read about in stories or saw on films.
Grace moved up the bed and rubbed her hands against Ashley’s chest. He felt her hot breath on his chest, lifted his hands and went to touch her on her dressing-gown-covered back before retreating again as she pressed her lips against his neck and had a little nibble of his skin. This got him even more excited.
But still. Was this right? Was this the way to do things even though he hadn’t seen her for almost a year? Sure, he’d fantasised about this moment time and time again. But he still knew nothing about her disappearance. She didn’t seem upset. She just seemed…different.
“Don’t tell me you got tired of this,” Grace said, moving over to Ashley’s face and pressing her lips against his, breathing heavily, rubbing her fingernails down his chest and his legs and his buttocks. “Don’t tell me you got tired of this.”
Ashley spoke whenever Grace stopped kissing him. “I—I just—Are you okay with—Is this right with—”
Grace’s hot thighs squeezed against Ashley’s sides. He felt her sitting on him, felt himself sliding into her, her dressing gown falling down at the shoulders.
“Come on,” she said, her breathing getting heavier. “We’ve been apart too long. Come on.”
Fuck. He couldn’t resist now. He was trapped. Trapped in the moment. Trapped in the excitement. Trapped in a fantasy that he’d replayed over and over in his mind.
He reached for Grace’s shoulders as she moved up and down on top of him, that smell of peaches wafting from her damp, messy hair. He slid the fluffy white dressing gown away from her shoulders, then reached for the belt and untied it so she was completely on show.
This got him even more excite
d. She was here. She was real. She was even better than he remembered.
She leaned forward with a seductive smile on her face and bit on Ashley’s lip. “That’s right,” she said. “Just like that.”
Ashley pressed his hands onto Grace’s back and pulled her warm body closer towards him.
It was when he touched her back that he felt something different about her. Something about Grace that didn’t add up with his memory of her.
Her back was dry. As he moved his fingers down it, he could feel little ridges. Dry ridges, like scales. Flaps of skin that felt scaly to move his hands down, and as he brought his hands up, lifted in the opposite direction.
He pulled his hands away. Yanked himself free of Grace and pushed her to his side. His heart raced. He stared at her confused face, partly covered by her damp hair. Breathing heavily, he tried to understand what he’d just touched.
“Ashley, what is it?” she asked, flicking her hair out of her face. Her eyes looked confused. Puzzled.
“When you do understand, you’ll see there’s nothing to worry about. Nothing ever to worry about again.”
The coldness of her hand.
The greying of her skin.
“Ash, what is it?” She moved back towards him, still completely naked, but Ashley flinched away from her. Flinched out of the bed and onto his feet.
She stared up at him from the bed. Ashley stared back at her, trying to understand.
“The—Your back,” he said. “Your back. What’s wrong with your back?”
Grace frowned. She flicked her hair out of her eyes again. “What…what do you mean? What’s wrong with my back?”
Ashley gulped. He looked at his hands. They were completely clear. But he’d felt the dryness of her skin. He’d felt those ridges over her back, like the scales of a lizard. He knew what he’d felt. There was no mistaking it.
“Ash, you’re shaking,” Grace said. “What is it? Just…I know this is hard. Getting used to everything. But what’s wrong? Sit down and speak to me.”
Ashley tasted metal in his mouth. Metal from where she’d nipped his lip a little too hard. “Turn—turn around,” he said, shaking, cooling sweat covering his skin.
Grace frowned and shook her head. “Ashley, I swear I don’t know what—”
“Just turn around,” Ashley said, his voice rising.
Grace sighed. She shook her head and gulped.
Then, she turned around.
Ashley stared at Grace’s back. Stared closely at it. Blinked a few times to make sure he was seeing things properly.
“I don’t…I don’t…”
“See? There’s nothing there. There’s nothing to worry about anymore, like I told you. Now are you coming to bed or what?”
As Ashley stood there completely rigid and completely naked, he wasn’t sure what scared him most. The fact that he’d felt the ridges—the scales—on Grace’s back, or the fact that they weren’t there anymore.
ELEVEN
Ashley was trapped. His arms were tied down to the bed. The springs that usually dug up through the material of the bed were sticking right through him, right through his belly and up towards the ceiling, holding him in place with their rusty form, sharp like claws.
He looked around. Tried to get an idea of where he was. He could hear something very loud. A screeching sound. Metal on metal. Horns honking. The room he was in was dark. Dark except for…except for a crack underneath the blinds.
The crack in the blinds.
Grace.
He was in Grace’s room at her parents’.
And then she was in front of him. She was standing at the foot of the bed, completely naked. Except her eyes were dulled out. Her skin was grey. She looked sad. Tears dripped down her cheeks.
Ashley tried to ask Grace if she was okay. He tried to throw himself towards her but as he did, he just slid further up and back down the metal springs holding him in place. He tried to speak but it was just too much effort. Too much energy.
“You don’t have to worry anymore.”
He tasted something in his mouth. Cherry Hubba Bubba. He tried to ignore it. Tried to shake off the strong, fruity taste, making him so sickly, making the springs piercing through his bloodied belly sting so much harder.
“You don’t have to worry, Ashley.” Grace crawled over the bed towards him. The closer she got, the more he saw of the scales on her back. The flesh, which looked crispy and charred. Except no—it was lizard-like. Lizard-like, and crawling with ants.
“Don’t worry,” Grace said, crawling closer, smiling with her rotting teeth, worms and maggots and thick, runny soil oozing onto the bed, running and dripping onto Ashley’s cool flesh.
He tried to shout as she got closer. Tried to scream. This wasn’t Grace. It wasn’t Grace. Grace was gone. Grace was—
“I’ve reawoken.” Grace’s eyes beamed with light.
No. This wasn’t Grace. Grace was nice. Grace was lovely. Grace was gone.
Ashley jolted upright. His heart pounded. He rubbed his hands against his chest, damp with sweat. Bare. No springs through them. He looked around the room he was in. Grace’s old bedroom in her parents’ place. It was light. The brown velvety blind had been lifted.
He’d been dreaming. He’d just been dreaming. Grace was back, but she wasn’t like he’d seen her…
His stomach knotted when he remembered last night. He took a few deep breaths as he covered his face with his shaking hands. They’d been about to make love. They’d started already, in fact. And then he’d touched her back. Run his hands down her back and felt the bumps, the scales. He hadn’t imagined it. He couldn’t have. They were real. Very real.
Except Grace had turned around and her back had been clear. Not just bruise-free, which was weird in itself considering how long she’d supposedly been under rubble, but scale-free. He’d touched her back again. Stared at it, touched it—all sorts. And still, it remained scale-free.
They’d both decided to get some rest after that incident. Grace was understanding of that, as was Ashley. In truth, she had been a bit forward in trying to make love straight away without so much as revealing what had happened to her. Or at least, what she knew about her return. Her “reawakening.” She claimed she didn’t know a thing, but the way she was acting. It was off. Weird.
Then again, she’d been somewhere for the last year. A bit of weird behaviour was to be expected. Right?
Ashley looked to his right. There was a space on the white sheets of the bed where Grace had slept and clearly already risen. Ashley turned to the en suite bathroom door. Wide open. Empty. He didn’t know what time it was. He could’ve slept for two days for all he knew. Time—and the idea of it—was crumbling around him. Shit—he still hadn’t done anything about the vomit all over his flat. If his landlord saw that, he’d go insane.
He stepped onto the soft, beige carpet with his bare feet. The sensation of the little bristles between his toes as the morning light crept in through the window reminded him of all the times he’d sneaked out of Grace’s bed first thing and crept over to the living room sofa. He’d never been caught, but he always knew from the look on Mr. Wisdom’s face at breakfast that Mr. Wisdom knew something was amiss. He wondered if he’d get a similar reception today.
He reached for his t-shirt and grey jogging bottoms, which were folded up on the carpet beside the bed. When he put them on, they felt greasy and stuck to his skin. He supposed he should head back to his flat and pack a bag with some more things to wear. He figured staying here would be a good idea. Grace deserved time with her parents, and no doubt the rest of her family and old friends would be round to see her as soon as the news of her return spread. And, the vomit-stained bathroom of his. That could wait. So too could his angry landlord.
But a part of him wondered just how good Grace’s return was, really. Just a niggling little part of him. They had a lot of rebuilding to do. A lot of secrets t
o uncover. And the scales on her back…
No. Don’t be stupid. The scales weren’t there. He’d been through a stressful day yesterday, they all had. It was perfectly reasonable to assume he might imagine a thing or two. And his girlfriend was back. That was everything he’d ever dreamed of and more.
“When you do understand, you’ll see there’s nothing to worry about. Nothing ever to worry about again.”
He peeked out of the window by the door. The drive was empty but for a few journalists sitting in their cars. Grace’s parents must’ve nipped out. Ashley heard the clinking of knives and forks in the kitchen. Plates knocking against one another. The sound of breakfast being made. He smiled as he walked towards the bedroom door, in desperate need of a shower but slightly more desperate to see his girlfriend was actually still here. To see he hadn’t just gone and imagined her whole return after all. Funny thing, hearing the plates clinking together. Grace used to always tell Ashley that his place was the kitchen. It was very rare that she ever cooked or ironed or filled any of those outdated roles that women used to be associated with. So hearing her in the kitchen now made Ashley wonder whether she had gone and had a complete character change after all.
Ready to make a joke about this, Ashley lowered the metal handle of the door and opened up, preparing to be faced by Grace in the kitchen, smiling, cooking, making a start on the next step of their renewed lives.
Instead, Ashley saw something altogether different.
Grace was sitting on her hands and knees. She was holding a sharp knife and digging the knife into the cream tiles of the hard kitchen floor. The knife clinked against the tiles as she scratched it into the floor, slicing lines in it, kicking up dust and concrete in the process.
“Grace, what are…” Ashley started, frozen to the spot.
Grace lifted her head. Her eyes were wide. The knife stopped moving across the floor. She looked like a kid that had just been caught drawing graffiti on the school walls or something.
