by Amy Cross
I turn and walk away. I feel like there's this huge story going on around me, but I'm not part of it. Sophie and Patrick and this Nimrod guy are all in the eye of the storm, and I'm on the outside. Sure, I get pulled in from time to time, but I don't really understand the details. With Sophie having apparently vanished on me, I guess my part's done. I guess there's a chance that Sophie might be dead, but I have to put that idea out of my mind and focus on working out what to do next. After walking for half an hour or so, I find myself near Sophie's house and I figure it wouldn't hurt to drop by and see if she's there.
I knock on the door and wait. I doubt there's much chance that I'll find out what's going on, but I feel like I can't give up on her just yet. Eventually the door opens and Sophie's little brother stares up at me.
"Hey Todd," I say, trying not to act like I'm worried or anything. "Is your sister home?"
Todd frowns and then shakes his head. He seems kind of dazed, like he's not really used to talking to people. He's a shy kid, but I like him. There's a lot of Sophie in his face, almost as if they could be twins, but Todd's a good few years younger. I've never really talked to him, but it's weird to see how he's slowly growing up and becoming an actual person with an actual personality.
"Do you know where she is?" I ask.
"No," he says. He has a delicate, sad voice, and it kind of shocks me. "She hasn't been home for days," he continues. "I don't know why not."
I sigh. "What about your Mom? Is she in?"
He nods and steps back to let me into the house. I walk through to the front room, where I find that Sophie's Mom is - as usual - sitting on the sofa, watching daytime TV. I swear to God, she's always doing exactly the same thing. I remember when I used to come over to play with Sophie when we were kids, and her Mom would always be sat on the sofa like that. She's even watching the same shows.
"Hi, Mrs. Hart," I say.
She looks over. For a moment, she doesn't seem to recognize me, and I start to wonder if she's okay in the head, but then she smiles. "Hey..." she says, but she still seems a little confused. Not surprising, really, given the shit she watches on TV all day. "How you doing..." she continues, but she pauses as if she's not sure what to say next.
"Shelley," I say.
"Right," she continues. "Hey, Shelley. Do you know where Sophie is?"
"No," I say, my heart sinking. "That's kinda why I came to see you. I was hoping you'd know."
She frowns, and then she shakes her head. "No," she says, turning back to look at the TV.
"If you see her, could you tell her to call me?" I ask.
She turns back to me. "Yeah," she says, and then she looks past me. "Todd!" she shouts.
Todd comes into the room, looking kind of scared.
"Honey, get me some Po-Po," she says.
Without saying anything, Todd turns and heads through to the kitchen.
"Okay," I say. "Thanks, Mrs. Hart." I wait for her to respond, but she just stares at the TV so I turn and leave the room. Before I go to head out the front door, however, I sneak along the corridor and go into Sophie's room. It's immediately obvious that no-one has been in here for days. Everything smells so stagnant, as if the air hasn't been disturbed. I walk over to the desk in the corner and take a look, hoping for some kind of clue, but there's nothing. I check the drawers, and I see that Sophie left all her clothes. Even her cellphone charger is still here, on the dresser, so she obviously didn't expect to be away for long.
Turning to leave, I spot her crescent moon necklace on the little table by her bed. Picking it up, I run my fingers over it. The silver moon is about an inch in diameter. I gave Sophie this necklace years and years ago. It wasn't her birthday or anything; it was just a summer's day and I decided to give it to her. I was planning to give her this little speech and tell her how important she was to me, but in the end I chickened out and almost threw it at her, acting like it was a joke. She liked it and all, but I don't think she thought it was anything particularly special. Okay, I stole it from a store in town when I was about fifteen years old, but I stole it specifically for Sophie so it was still a nice gesture. It's the thought that counts, right?
I sniff the necklace. It smells of her. Not just her perfume, but her skin too. I put the necklace in my pocket. If I see her again, I'll give it back to her. But if I don't see her again, I want to have something of hers, so I can remember her. I don't really have many photos of her, and anyway photos aren't very physical. I need something I can touch and hold. Something I can wear, so she's always with me. And...
Suddenly I realize I'm starting to cry.
I sit on her bed. The truth is, with everything that's been happening recently, it's entirely possible that she's been killed. God knows how and where, and I might never find out. But the knowledge that she might be dead has been at the back of my mind for a couple of days now, since I first realized she was missing, and I've been trying to ignore this creeping feeling of dread. She's been living a dangerous life lately, and it's definitely possible that things have finally caught up with her. After all, I know her too well: she wouldn't just stop communicating with me. Something must be wrong. She's been captured, or hurt, or killed. I just hope, if she really is dead, that it wasn't painful. I wipe more tears from my cheek. Is this why Patrick suddenly appeared outside the funeral home? Was that his way of telling me that Sophie's dead? Did she die alone somewhere, out in the forest?
"What's wrong?" asks a voice nearby.
I look up and see that Todd has come into the room.
"Nothing," I say, sniffing and wiping my eyes. "Everything's fine."
"Where's Sophie?" he asks.
"Nowhere," I say, standing up. "I mean... Somewhere. Definitely somewhere, doing something." Damn it, I'm a terrible liar. You'd think with all the practice I've had, I'd have improved. "She's good," I continue. "She'll be back soon."
"Why are you crying?" he asks.
"I'm not," I say, patting him on the head as I slip past him and head out into the hallway.
"Yes you are," he says, following me to the door.
"It's hay-fever," I say, turning to him. "I'm allergic to stuff." I see, through the doorway leading into the lounge, that Mrs. Hart is still sitting on the sofa and watching TV. "Are you okay, Todd?" I ask, looking down at him.
He nods.
I smile through the tears. "You're like Sophie," I say. "You're a damn good liar."
Turning and leaving, I hurry along the street, wiping my eyes as I walk. I don't even know where I'm going, but I feel like I have to get somewhere; it's as if I just have to keep moving, and everything will fall apart if I stop even for a second. If Sophie's really dead, I have to get out of Dedston. I have to get as far away from here as possible. I have no idea what'll happen to Patrick, or Nimrod, or Abigail, but it's none of my business. I was just Sophie's friend. The real story was about her, not me. I have money in my pocket, certainly enough to get to New York. I can find a job there, and I can muddle through. Maybe over time I can even forget about everything that's happened here in Dedston. Sophie will just be a memory from my teenage years. If she's dead, I don't want to know how it happened. I just want to get away from here. Maybe New York isn't even far enough. Maybe I should go abroad, to somewhere like Japan or India. Maybe I should -
"Missed me?" asks Comfortable, suddenly stepping out in front of me. I come to a halt, but before I have a chance to react, he swipes down against my neck with his hand and I black out.
Comfortable
I have her now.
Forever and always, beyond even death...
Shelley
My head hurts, and this time it's definitely not a hangover.
Opening my eyes, I'm surprised to find myself in a large, light room. It takes me a moment to realize that I've been here before: it's the abandoned warehouse I went to when I followed Comfortable the other night. Which means...
I try to get up, but I find that my arms are tied behind my back and my legs are tied togethe
r. Struggling, I realize there's no way I can get loose. The bonds are too tight and too well tied, and I can only wriggle around on the floor.
"Careful," says a familiar voice from nearby. "Don't hurt yourself."
I roll over and find Comfortable sitting on the floor nearby. He has a sad, strained look on his face, as if he knows something I don't know.
"Help!" I scream at the top of my voice. "Someone help me!"
"It's no use," he says. "We're a long way from anywhere."
"What the fuck are you doing?!" I shout at him. "What the fuck's wrong with you?"
"Everything," he says, staring at me. "Everything's wrong with me. That's the problem." There are tears in his eyes.
I struggle again. "Let me go," I say, trying to stay calm. "There's no need for this to be a problem. Just untie me, let me go and I won't tell anyone about this."
"That electric current really hurt," he says. "When you zapped me. God damn it, Shelley, what did you think I was going to do to you?" He pauses. "I wasn't going to hurt you. I'd never, ever hurt you. I'd rather die first. That's why..." His voice trails off. "First I want to tell you everything. Everything about me. So that you understand."
"Let me go first," I say. "We can talk after."
He shakes his head. "Look," he says, sitting up and taking off his shirt. The first thing I notice is that he has a great body, but the second - and more shocking thing - is that both his arms have huge stitch marks near the shoulder. "I'm sewn together," he says.
I stare at the stitches, and I realize that his arms look different to the rest of his body, almost like they're not his original arms. And then I realize that I've seen those arms before: they're the arms that were stolen from the funeral home.
"What the hell?" I say, shocked.
"It's not my fault!" he says quickly. "I was made this way. I was..." He pauses. "I was made right here. In this building. I was put together by a man who had no sense of moral restraint." He comes closer and holds out his arm, letting me see the stitches where he's attached the dead man's arms to his body. "I mean, he wasn't using his arms any more, was he?" he asks, but I can see from the look in his eyes that he knows that's no explanation.
"What the fuck are you?" I ask, desperately trying to think of a way out of this situation.
"I don't know," he says. "I don't think there's a word for this." He stares at his hands. "My whole body's stitched together from bits of dead people. I had my own body once, but I burnt it out after a few years. Now I used these pieces of other people, but they don't last very long. Only my head has survived."
I feel my heart racing as I try to work out how the hell I'm going to get out of here. It's like Comfortable's some kind of monster, like something stitched together by Dr. Frankenstein. "Who made you?" I ask, trying to keep the conversation going so I can work out a plan.
"A crazy guy," he replies. "I hated him. I still do. He should never have done this." He pauses. "I killed him. Over there." He points to the other side of the room. "I killed my own father. And I swear to God, as he died he was smiling, like he was glad I did it. I guess to him it demonstrated that I had the killer instinct he wanted to create in me. Even in death, he wouldn't stop being pleased with the monster he'd made." He pauses for a moment. "I was created to kill Patrick, but I didn't want to kill. After my father, I just wanted to be a normal person, but I needed blood. I needed body parts to survive. I'm a..." He pauses again, as if he doesn't know how to explain what he is.
"Monster..." I say quietly.
He nods. "I am," he says, "but I don't want to be. And then one day I was following Patrick, just watching him, and I saw him with you and Sophie and it was like..." He smiles sadly. "I know you don't realize this, Shelley, but you're the most beautiful, the most... perfect... girl in the entire world. You're it. You're everything."
I swallow hard. I like a compliment as much as the next girl, but this conversation is rapidly turning fifty shades of creepy. "You've got to let me go," I say. "You -"
"No!" he shouts, seeming to lose control for a moment. "I..." He pauses, taking a series of deep breaths. "Do you know what's ahead of you in your life, Shelley?" The tears return to his eyes. "Nothing but pain and misery and a brutal, brutal death. I've been protecting you for so long, without you realizing it. You'd have died several times. But I'm dying now. I can't maintain this body much longer. And when I'm gone, you'd never be able to survive. You'd die horribly."
He's crazy. I was hoping he might just be misguided, but no: he's crazy. He's mad as a box of fish, and he's got me tied up. I look around, trying to find something - anything - I might be able to use to get away. Damn it, if I was Sophie I could just wait for Patrick to turn up and save me, but that ain't gonna happen. Sophie gets stalked by a thousand-year-old vampire, and I get stalked by a stitched-together psycho. Life's a bitch.
"So you're definitely going to die," Comfortable says, his voice soft and tender. He reaches out and pushes some hair away from my face. "The only question is, will it be painful or will it be painless?" He stares deep, deep into my eyes. "You'd rather have a painless death, wouldn't you Shelley? And you know the only way you can have a painless death is if you die before I die. So..." He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a syringe. "This won't hurt," he says, "and it'll be quick. And I promise I'll be right behind you. I'll just give you this first injection to knock you out, then a second one to kill you, and then I'll let myself die. You understand, right? You understand why I'm doing this?"
"No," I say, shaking my head. "Please, please don't do this -"
"I love you!" he says, his voice filled with urgency. "Sophie has Patrick, and you have me! Trust me, you've got the better deal. Her death, when the prophecy finally comes true, is going to be so much more painful. I love you, Shelley. I love you so much."
"Then don't fucking kill me!" I shout at him.
"I'm killing you because I love you!" he hisses back at me. "Because I can't leave you alone in this godforsaken world. Do you know how many times I've saved you from being hurt? Without me, you can't survive. Not for long. So it's better to be realistic. Accept the truth." He places the needle against my arm and slides it under the skin. His thumb hovers over the plunger, ready to inject me. "This won't hurt at all," he says.
There are tears in my eyes now. This guy's about to kill me, and I have no way of stopping him. "Why are you doing this?" I say, my voice breaking as I start to cry. "If you just want to fuck, I'm fine with that. Why do you have to do this to me?"
"Because I love you," he says. He flashes me a fake smile. "Because this world's too brutal and rough for someone like you to survive without someone like me to protect her." He pushes the plunger down. I struggle, but the liquid goes into my body. "Just a few seconds," he says, leaning closer and kissing me on the side of the face.
I struggle to get free, desperately trying to find any way to loosen the binds, but soon I start to feel tired, and I feel myself starting to lose consciousness. No matter how hard I fight, it just gets worse and worse until, finally, I let my head fall limp against the floor. I guess no-one's going to come and rescue me after all.
Comfortable
When something beautiful dies, there's always sadness. But you have to look beyond the obvious, and consider the bigger picture. Yes, she's leaving her earthly body, but she'll be able to explore a whole new world. And soon I'll be able to join her there. We can be together, away from this horrible place. She could never have survived without me. This was the only way.
Shelley
I open my eyes, and my first thought is: Am I dead?
The room is silent. I'm still in the abandoned warehouse, still on the floor, but something's changed. It takes me a moment to realize what's different. Moving my arms, I find that I'm no longer tied up. I roll over and sit up. My head's pounding. Is this what it's like to be dead?
On the floor next to me, there's the empty syringe that Comfortable used on me. And nearby, there are the ropes he used to tie
me up. I look across the room and see that the light coming through the windows is somehow lower and longer, as if many hours have passed and it's early evening.
I hold my arms out. They look real. I decide the only way to find out if I'm alive is to pinch myself.
"Fuck!" I say loudly, finding that a quick pinch hurts.
I get to my feet. In the distance, I can hear the sound of the freeway that passes close to the park, and the sound of a jet plane going overhead. I step forward. I feel alive, but maybe this is what happens when you die? Somehow you end up back where you were, just alone and with no idea what's going on?
Silence.
And then I hear him.
Turning, I see Comfortable over in the far corner. He's on the floor, and he's whimpering. My first thought is to run, to get as far away from him as possible. But he looks so sick, I feel like there's no way he could hurt me. I step toward him, still keeping a slight distance.
"What's going on?" I ask. "Are we dead?"
He looks up at me with weak eyes. The color is gone from his face, and while the Comfortable of a few hours ago was animated and lively, this Comfortable seems sick.
"Am I dead?" I ask.
He shakes his head.
I pause. "What happened?"
"I couldn't do it," he says, his voice frail and tired. "I couldn't give you the second injection."
I step a little closer. He looks so awful. His face is almost gray, and his eyes look as if they're sinking into his head. "What's happening to you?" I ask.
"I'm dying," he replies. A faint smile crosses his face. "The new body parts I stole are already failing, and I need to consume human blood." He shakes his head. "I'm not doing those things any more. I don't want to be a monster."
"You're not a monster," I say.
"I am," he replies. "Or I was. You said it yourself."
I kneel next to him. "You said you were going to kill me."
He looks up at me. "I couldn't do it. I love you too much."
