“She’s not bringing her to group,” James insists, finding new ground to stand on.
“I’m not.” I look between the two of them. If she can handle me, she can handle Ashley, right? Can they handle her? She gave in and ate just a month ago. She might not be safe for Liz. “Of course. You’re my best friends. You can handle being around her? You won’t eat her?” I linger on her eyes, willing her to reassure me. I want to be able to trust my friends.
“Of course I won’t.” Ashley’s arms loosen, and her milky eyes manage to look hurt. “I would never hurt your girlfriend. You know that?”
“Yeah. I know.”
“I’m not sleeping with your girlfriend, Abby,” James adds. “She’s safe with me.”
Yeah, I can trust them. I know that. I nod. “Of course. I know.” I offer the least threatening smile I can manage.
Ashley squeezes tighter. “I’m so excited. It’s like Romeo and Juliet. Two lovers from different worlds, but who love each other so much they can overpower that. It’s like one of my soaps.” Squealing, she squeezes all the tighter. She’d be crushing me if I was a human. “You’ll tell me everything? I can’t wait to hear about your first date. It’s so romantic!”
“You know Romeo and Juliet die?”
She waves, almost hitting me in the face. “Not important. Their love was still powerful enough to overcome their differences, and that’s what we’re focusing on. Besides, neither of them ate each other, so you’re still in the clear.”
I set her down. “I guess that’s something, at least.”
“That would be a very different play,” James muses. “I kind of want to see it. The intensity, the fervor. Rather than succumbing to poison, they devour each other in the heat of their passion. Shakespeare would be proud.”
“I don’t think our group would be allowed to see it.”
“You do have a point. I might be willing to break my diet if it meant I could see a spectacle that beautiful.”
“I won’t be providing it for you.”
“Good.” He smiles, his perfect teeth flashing. His curse is so much better than mine. “I believe in you. I’ll second Ben’s suggestion; call me if you need help resisting.”
“After everything you just said, you won’t be my first choice.”
“Because I’m an admirer of beauty? Don’t be so cruel, Abby. You know I’ll talk you down.”
I growl. “Unless it’s beautiful.”
He gives a barely perceptible nod. He was never human. He doesn’t understand. I suppose I can’t blame him. “If I can resist the beauty of my own acts, I can resist it in yours. I promise, I shall only give you the most helpful of advice.”
“Thanks.” It’s probably around 1:30. I don’t want to wake her up again. I should call around six. I’d be going to bed then, but that’s a normal time for people. “You guys want to do anything? I have some time to kill. I’m gonna call her in a few hours.”
“Want to come watch Grey’s Anatomy with me?” Ashley asks. “The vendor over there just got all of the DVDs. I was gonna load them up on my laptop and marathon them over the next week.”
“I thought it was online.”
“I wanted the special features,” she whines.
I chuckle and shake my head. “All right, fine. I can watch a couple episodes. James, you up for it? It may be a little triggering for you.”
“I can watch sex scenes that are tame enough for syndication. What do you think I am?”
“An incubus who’s given up sex?”
He raises his hand, and it immediately falls back to his side. “Well, I’m made of sturdier stuff than that. Ashley, lead the way.”
* * *
Fucking hell, Liz! I haven’t used my phone in two days, and it was at eighty percent the last time I got off the phone with her. She’s called me so many times that it’s almost dead. I rush downstairs and fetch my generator. I don’t tend to use it as there’s not much I have that’s worth powering. That may change if she starts coming around. I bite my lip, clenching the wrist of the hand holding the phone. Holy fuck, this is really happening. I stop biting. There’s already not much of it left, and I’d rather not accidentally eat myself. I’m on a diet.
I plug the phone in and let it charge up to fifteen percent. It’s still not six. I was a little overly excited. I can’t wait any longer. Maybe she’s already up.
It makes it to four rings, and I’m about to hang up. Maybe she’s mad at me for avoiding her? She isn’t wrong to be, but I needed some time to think. “Abigail?” she says with a pant. “Sorry, I was in the shower. Are you still there?”
Tears are already forming in my eyes. I let them fall since it’s not like she can see me. “Yeah, I’m here.” My voice is crisp, clean, and chipper as always.
“Holy fuck. I was so worried.”
“I’m sorry. I just needed some time to think. I’ve never told a human about it before. Hell, I’ve never talked to a human without eating them since it happened.”
“So you really think you’re not human?” She sounds so skeptical. I can hear her tapping on a computer. She’s going all therapist on me. I didn’t consider that possibility. I’m a monster; how could she not believe it? Well, she will when she sees me.
“I am quite certain I’m not.”
“Well, send me a picture. I’d like to know what I’m dealing with.”
I hesitate. My phone has a camera, so I could just take a picture, and she’d know. I hold the phone up, see my face, and it falls to the floor. I can’t. She can’t see me like this. What am I thinking?
“Abby? Are you okay?”
I pick the phone back up and hold it to my ear. “I can’t. I can’t take a picture of this. I’m sorry.”
“Abby, I know you’ve been through a lot, but it doesn’t make you a monster.”
“It really does.”
She taps a few times, probably trying to find the right article. “So you said you died. You think you’re dead?”
My little therapist, always trying to diagnose and fix. She can’t fix what’s wrong with me. “The human I once was is dead. I am very much alive and may be forever.”
“You think you’re immortal? It was about the right age for schizophrenia to set in,” she mutters, quiet enough that a human probably wouldn’t have been able to hear it.
“I wish I was schizophrenic. It would be so much simpler.”
“Well, I’m not discounting that yet.” She taps a few more times. “You’re not Algonquin, are you? I mean, it’s a pretty cultural-based disorder, and I think I would know if you were. Wendigo syndrome definitely sounds like your story, though.”
A monstrous howl echoes through the cabin as I double over in laughter. Holy fuck. She actually got there.
“What the fuck was that?”
“That was me,” I say, my voice still its natural growl. I fix it. I just can’t bring myself to talk to her like that. “I’m maybe an eighth Algonquin, but I’m definitely a wendigo, and it’s not a delusion.”
“You’re what? So you do think you’re a wendigo? I mean, I guess it would make sense. So that’s why you feel like you have to eat people? There’s not a lot of notes for treatment, but I’m sure we can figure out something. Would it be okay if I write a paper on it? No, wait, I can’t treat you. I’m not having a dual relationship, but I know a really good psychiatrist in town; maybe she could treat you?”
“Liz, I told you, I’m not delusional. I’m really a monster. I’m really a wendigo.”
“Right, that’s your delusion. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t say that.” She chuckles. “I just realized you were in the Algonquin park when it happened. Maybe that’s why? It awoke something inside you that snapped when you saw and did everything to survive. I promise, Abby, we can get through this together.”
She’s not listening. There’s no way I can convince her over the phone. I’m going to have to give in and talk to her in person. I want to so badly, but every time I think I’m ready, I c
hicken out again. How can I face her after what I’ve become? I’m a murderous cannibalistic monster. She deserves so much better. “I know, Liz.”
“So you’ll let me help you?”
With a shrug, I lean back against the bed. What else can I do? “Sure. We’ll see what you think when you see me.” There, now I have to do it.
“You’ll see me? Yes, that’s amazing. I love you, Abigail. I’ll do whatever I have to do to help you be happy again. I’ll make you see yourself the way I see you. You’re not a monster; you’re a wonderful, amazing, beautiful woman who has been through way too much.”
“Thanks.” We’ll see if she’s still saying that when she sees me.
“Wanna grab coffee? I don’t have an appointment until ten today.”
My jaw drops. I figured we’d make plans for this weekend or something. “I can’t,” I manage after far too long a pause. “I don’t go out, not around people.” The coffee shop at the Community Center might be open. She’s totally ready for that. I’ve never actually seen someone faint, so it might be worth it.
“Then I’ll grab coffee and meet you at home.” She’s really not giving up. “Where do you live?”
“I’m like an hour from Toronto up a dirt road.”
“Oh.” I can hear her grinding her teeth. She’s considering taking a sick day, isn’t she? “Then I could bring dinner tonight?”
What? No, no, no, no, no. Liz, you would be dinner. “Eat before you come.” No, that sounds worse. I’m fattening her up. “I don’t eat. I’d rather just talk to you.”
“You don’t eat? I knew you’d given up eating people, but you have to eat food. Are you anorexic?” Still diagnosing me. Great.
“No.” I am very skinny. I look like a skeleton. A light chuckle erupts from my belly. Maybe I am anorexic.
“Are you okay, Abby? Was that you again?”
“That’s me laughing.”
“Well, I’ll be over at seven or eight. I’m not sure how long it’ll take to get there. Give me your address.” Not a bad recovery. She’s trying so hard to pretend that every sign of my inhumanity is completely ignorable.
“Okay. It’s in Hamilton. I’ll text it to you. I’m going to bed. I’ll see you soon.” What am I gonna do? Fuck. Why did I agree to this?
“I’ll see you then. Sweet dreams, Abby. I love you.”
Without thinking, I find myself saying it back. “I love you too.” I still do. My lips curl up in what must be the most terrifying smile. If my cheeks could hurt from smiling, they would. I love her, and she loves me. I know it will never be real, but I’ll at least have one day to dream that it is.
Chapter Seven
Elizabeth
I blow out a shaky breath. I barely had an appetite, so I grabbed a burger at a fast food place on the way. Her house is about an hour and a half away from my office. I’m still wearing the red button-up blouse and black slacks I wore for work. It’s not my preferred going out clothes, but I was a lot more femme when she knew me. It doesn’t go with the hair, but maybe she’ll think I’m cute like this. Am I really thinking of dating this woman who might be schizophrenic? Well, yeah, it’ll be fine. Dr. Labelle will get her an antipsychotic prescription, and she’ll be normal in no time. She’ll be my girlfriend. No, she’ll be my best friend. I’m getting ahead of myself.
She claimed she was in town, but I’m not sure this actually counts. My tires catch in a divot on the abandoned dirt path. I have to gun the engine for a good thirty seconds before it manages to climb out. It doesn’t look as if anyone has driven on this road for years. How does she manage? Is she really that much of an agoraphobe? Are those footprints? They’re massive. An indentation from what looks like a human foot but at least twice the size sits on the side of the road with a few less-clear twins a good five feet on either side. She can’t have been telling the truth. Dread starts to rise in my belly, but I swallow it down. Monsters aren’t real.
They pepper the path here and there as I slowly climb the hill, unable to stop from studying the strange markings as I pass. There are so many of them, and many seem to be smeared by an identical print on top. What the hell is going on?
I park my Subaru a few feet from the door. She doesn’t seem to have a vehicle of her own. “Abigail?” I call. I doubt she can even hear me in there.
“The door’s open,” her voice calls from the dark woods behind me.
That’s not creepy at all. I turn to stare, narrowing my eyes to catch the tiny bit of light provided by the moon. “Abby?”
“Sorry. Just give me a minute. I didn’t want to have you stuck in a closed room with me.”
A strange scent catches my attention. I must have been smelling it since I’ve gotten out of my car. It isn’t entirely bad. It’s sort of like meat mixed with roses. It’s disconcerting but hardly enough to scare me off. “I’m not going anywhere. You can come out.”
She takes a step closer but stops, standing at the edge of the trees. Her breath seems to whistle; her arms are wrapped tightly about her chest. She’s wearing a baggy hoodie, but that’s all I can make out. Wait, did she grow? She used to be shorter than me.
She manages another step, and there’s just enough light to make out a few features. What the fuck? I stop myself from taking a step back, barely. My eyes widen as I take in what’s become of my best friend. She wasn’t lying. I squeeze my eyes shut. I’m not trying to wish her away, but I have to calm my nerves. I won’t show her how scared I am. “Abby,” I breathe, finding it hard to swallow.
“I did tell you,” she says, her eyes locked on the ground at her feet.
Her feet! She’s not wearing shoes, and they’re an exact match for the prints in the road. “Is it really you?”
She doesn’t say “No, it was all a trap,” and lunge forward and eat my face. So I assume that’s a good sign. “It is. I’m sorry, I don’t know what I was thinking. You should go home. I knew this was a bad idea.”
I take a step toward her, using all of the courage I have not to run away. It’s still her. I can even see a few familiar features in her strange, twisted appearance. “It really is you,” I whisper. “Oh, Abby. I’ve missed you so much.”
I take another step, then another, until I’m covering the distance in a sprint. I fling my arms around her, and rather than devour me like one would expect, she hugs me back, gently, as if I’m a porcelain doll. “I’ve missed you too. More than you could ever imagine.”
I look up and realize just how much she’s grown. Her chin is a full foot above the top of my head, and I’m not short. I rest my head against her chest. It’s not as soft as it once was. It’s feels like bone with skin stretched taut over it and maybe some fur under her jacket. It’s not warm or comfortable, but it’s everything I’ve ever wanted. I finally found her.
We stand like that for what feels like hours. I don’t dare to say a word and can scarcely bring myself to breathe. I think I hear her heart beat a few times, but it’s so faint, so slow, so quiet, almost as if she really is dead. I can’t believe I doubted her. She’s been through so much, and I need to hold her and let her know everything is okay. I stand on my tiptoes and am still too short to kiss her cheek, so I plant a soft kiss on her collarbone, just above the chain of some necklace hidden under her sweater.
She stirs, her black eyes widening as she looks at me. I think she’s smiling, but it’s definitely a little concerning. If I didn’t know her, I’d think she was going to eat me. I’m sure she’s considered it. I smile back, doing my best not to let the fear show. We actually covered this in one of my electives in graduate school: dealing with clients with disabilities. I suppose it’s not quite the same, but you can’t ever show that sort of reaction to any injury or disfigurement in a patient as it can severely and sometimes irrevocably damage the trust in a client/therapist relationship. I don’t want to be her therapist, but I sure as hell don’t want to lose her trust when I’m finally regaining it. “I’ve missed you so fucking much.” I know I’ve said it a doze
n times already, but not in person, and it’s still so incredibly true. I don’t care how much she’s changed. I just need her in my life.
“I’ve missed you too.” Her voice doesn’t match the pained expression on her face as a tear runs down her cheek, disappearing in what I assume is fur.
“Can we go inside? It’s freezing out here.”
She nods and takes me by the hand. I grip it as her long bony fingers wrap around me. I’m desperate to keep some form of connection as we walk lest she fade away like a dream. It’s hard to believe this is real. It’s all so alien. Monsters aren’t supposed to exist. The love of my life isn’t supposed to gain two feet in height, fangs, and a hunger for human flesh. It’s all so absurd.
Inside the surprisingly spacious wooden cabin, the decoration comes as a surprise. Well, even more of a surprise on top of everything else. Outside, it looked like a hunting lodge, and I would’ve expected deer heads or something of that sort, especially since she’s a hunter. Or was that a lie? How does she survive? Instead of grotesque displays of kills, the cabin is decorated with paintings of varying skill and size but all in the same style, at least from what my amateur eye can tell. I think there’s one of me, there’s one of her as a human, and there’s some abstract thing that makes me feel a little queasy. “Did you paint all these?” I ask.
Her eyes widen, and suddenly she’s five feet away, blocking my view of one of the paintings. So it is me. “I did.” Her gaze falls to the floor as her fingers nervously scratch a hole in her pants. Wow, those things are sharp. Poor lesbian wendigo. I can’t believe I’m seriously calling her a wendigo. They’re not real! Well, they are. I guess.
“They’re beautiful.”
She takes a hesitant step to the side, barely enough for me to see the painting again, a shy smile on her face as she glances at me before returning her gaze to the ground. “You really think so?”
My Date with a Wendigo Page 7
