Other People's Bodies

by Amy Cross

  So I should be having an early night...

  Standing in my room, I stare at myself in the mirror. I'm wearing a tasteful, unrevealing black dress that I found in the bottom of my bag, and while I look smart, I also look casual. The last thing I want to do is give Edward the impression that this is a date. It's definitely not a date. I mean, Edward is acceptable company, and he's my boss, and on a semi-related note I happen to have slept with him once and it was pretty good, but tonight's dinner is purely about two colleagues meeting to discuss their views on the ongoing work. Frankly, it's my first meal in a weak that isn't coming out of a packet, and I feel it's my duty to make sure my body is looked after. This is business, and I'm appropriately attired. So why the hell am I nervous?

  Stepping closer to the mirror, I look at my eyes and see that they seem tired. I've definitely aged while I've been at the Heights. Not a lot, just around the eyes, but it's enough for me to notice. I've gone from being fresh-faced and youthful to being more... adult? Grown up? I guess all the stress of my new job, combined with the stress of dealing with the Bannister family, means I've had to deal with a hell of a lot of problems. I don't think I've relaxed once, but at least I've been able to keep busy. The dangerous time, as far as my personality is concerned, comes when my mind is free to wander.

  "Professional," I mutter, taking a step back. "Courteous and professional". For a moment, I almost expect to spot Elizabeth Bannister somewhere in the reflection. After all, that's where I thought I saw her once, staring back at me from the mirror. She's always on my mind, but I figure I need to forget about her tonight. I need to focus on the task at hand.

  Heading out of my room, I make my way along the quiet, empty corridors. An empty hotel is a strange thing, and the Heights feels altogether too big. When the contractors are here during the day, hammering and banging and ripping things up, there's plenty of noise to distract from the overwhelming emptiness; at night, however, that emptiness grows and becomes suffocating. There are only five of us living at the hotel currently, and we each pretty much have an entire wing of the building to ourselves. Walking along corridor after corridor, I feel as if I could easily become lost here. I never thought I'd say this, but I can't wait for the place to re-open and fill up. The home of the Bannisters needs to be constantly filled with strangers, in order to ensure that the family is kept busy. Even now, with no guests, the Bannisters keep well apart, spending almost no time together. It's almost as if they're scared of each other, like spiders preferring to stick to their own dusty, undisturbed corners.

  Making my way around the next corner, I almost walk straight into Luke.

  "Jesus!" I say, taking a step back, my heart pounding. "I'm sorry, I..."

  No reply.

  "I didn't know you were there," I continue. "I didn't hear you or..." My voice trails off as I realize that he doesn't seem to have even noticed that I'm speaking.

  Sitting in his wheelchair in the middle of the corridor, he's staring straight at me. Since he came back from the war, Luke hasn't said a word, and he's made a habit of just staring at passersby. Well, to be more specific, he's actually made a habit of staring at me. At first I thought it was kind of cute, then I found it slightly creepy, and now I dread running into him. Sure, I understand that the war out in Afghanistan left him emotionally damaged, and took his legs, but there's something unnerving about the way Luke seems content to just watch me for hours on end. I don't know what he wants, but I figure my best bet is to just keep away from him as much as possible. Without causing offense, of course.

  "Is there anything you want?" I ask, determined to be polite. After all, I guess he might be aware of what I'm saying, even if he doesn't give any signals.

  He stares at me.

  "Okay," I continue, slipping past him, "I'm just going to leave you in peace, okay? Have a nice evening". As I hurry away, I can already hear the creaking of his wheelchair as he turns to watch me. By the time I get around the next corner, I'm on the brink of panic, and I have to pause for a moment in order to regather my composure. After a few seconds, I hear another creaking sound, and I realize that Luke is slowly wheeling himself after me. Sighing, I hurry on, determined not to let him follow.

  When I get to reception, I immediately smell food. Good food. Making my way to the door that leads into the bar, I see that one of the tables has been decked with cutlery and glasses, and there's the sound of pots being rattled in the kitchen. There's no sign of Edward, so I figure I'll go and talk to the chef. Wandering past the table, I see that there's a bottle of wine already sitting opened next to the glasses. Tonight's definitely not going to be heavy on alcohol, but I figure I can handle a glass or two. I want the conversation to focus on business matters, and there's a part of me that worries Edward sees the meal as a date.

  It's not a date.

  It's so not a date.

  Pushing the kitchen door open, I'm shocked to see that the chef is none other than Edward himself. I'd assumed that he would have hired someone to cook, but instead he's wearing an apron as he stirs a large pot of boiling water.

  "You're early," he says, seemingly a little startled. "I won't be long. I just need to wait for the pasta".

  "It's fine," I say, walking over to the hob. I never had Edward down as the kind of guy who'd be able to cook, but I have to give him credit where it's due: the food smells amazing, and he seems comfortable in the kitchen. In fact, this might be the first time I've ever seen him look so relaxed.

  "It's an Italian recipe," he continues, as he adds a little salt and pepper to a large pan of tomatoes and meat. "The problem with this kind of thing is that it can often be far too stodgy and filling, but I find that swapping out the cured meat and adding a little dry white wine to the bottom of the pan can really..." He pauses, before an embarrassed smile crosses his face. "Well, you get the idea".

  "Okay," I reply, "who are you, and where's the real Edward Bannister?"

  He turns to me with a wounded look on his face.

  "I didn't mean that in a bad way," I say hurriedly, correcting myself.

  "You thought I'd hire someone?" he asks, smiling. "You thought I'd be too high and mighty to get my hands dirty?"

  "This is just a different side of you," I reply. "A very surprising side".

  "We all have our little secrets," he says as he tastes the sauce. "No-one can be entirely one-dimensional. I know I work hard, but I have another side. On those rare occasions when I get a chance to unwind, I like to have good company, which is why I'm so glad that you were able to join me tonight, Elizabeth".

  "Laura," I say, deciding to finally correct him. He's referred to me as Elizabeth a few times in the past, and I feel like maybe I should gently nudge him back toward reality.

  "I'm sorry," he replies, seeming a little flustered. "Did I..." He pauses. "I'm so sorry. I don't know how that happened. You must think I'm -"

  "It's fine," I say. "Maybe I should go and pour us some wine?"

  Staring at me, clearly wrong-footed by his faux pas, Edward looks like a deer caught in the headlights.

  "I'll get the wine," I say, feeling embarrassed. Maybe I shouldn't have said anything. After all, a name's just a name.

  "I'll get everything served up," he says. "It's ready anyway".

  Heading back out into the bar, I make my way to the table. This is definitely going to be an interesting night, and I only hope Edward manages to remember my name while we're eating. The guy definitely has a real thing for his missing sister-in-law, and while it's flattering that he wants to have dinner with me, I can't help wondering if whenever he looks at me, he sees Elizabeth. Is that what he sees when he looks at any woman, or is it something about me that causes the problem? Either way, I'd like to get through one evening without hearing Elizabeth's name. That woman is like a permanent shadow cast over the Heights, and although I want to get to the bottom of her disappearance, I feel like tonight's not the night to be asking questions.

  Damn it, I wish Cole was here. It's weird
being in the bar without him.

  Spotting a drop of water on the table, I grab a rag and give it a quick wipe. As I do so, however, I suddenly feel a little weak, and for a moment I swear I can hear Cole's voice.

  "There are ninety-five tables in this bar," he says. "Most of them haven't been used for a while, but they all need cleaning".

  Standing completely still, I wait until the unusual sensation has passed. It's strange, but I felt as if some kind of very strong, very real memory just collided with my conscious mind. I'm pretty damn sure I don't remember ever wiping tables with Cole, but that was such a strong and vivid image. I guess it's confirmed, then: I'm going crazy. There must just be something about this place.

  "Laura?" Edward calls out as he emerges from the kitchen carrying two plates.

  "Hi," I mutter, taking a step back as he sets the plates down. "Smells really good," I say, keen to make sure that he doesn't realize anything is wrong.

  "Are you okay?" he asks, stepping around to one of the chairs and pulling it out for me.

  "Fine," I say, taking a seat. "I just -" Looking over at Edward as he sits down, I'm suddenly hit by another strong and unusual sensation of deja vu. I know it's probably crazy, but I swear to God, I feel as if I've sat like this before, in this exact same place, with this exact same food, and with this exact same man. I know it's not true, of course, but I can't shake the overwhelming feeling of familiarity. Either the Heights has finally managed to drive me insane, or this has all happened before.

  Elizabeth

  Five years ago

  "Fuck," Luke mutters, getting up from the bed. "We needed that. I mean, Jesus, we really needed that, right?"

  Smiling politely, I reach between my legs to check the extent of the mess my husband has left behind. I'm not sure why or how, but Luke's love-making skills have noticeably declined over the past few weeks, as if he's stopped trying, or as if he no longer really cares about whether or not I've had a good time. It's almost as if he made a special effort to impress me when we were first together, but now that we're married he figures he doesn't have to try so hard.

  "I've always said," Luke continues, wiping himself with a towel before starting to get dressed, "any problems can be dealt with by getting back to basics. I know that probably makes me sound like a caveman, but it's true. Sex is truth. Sex is honesty. It's sex that makes us see each other without any masks on".

  "Sure," I mutter, watching Luke's slow progress and waiting for him to leave the room.

  "I know things have been kinda strained between us lately," he adds, "but we're getting through that stuff, right? I mean, it's nuts to think about how much we argued, but that's what this place does to people. It's like a powder keg, and it really builds up the pressure". He pauses to re-button his shirt. "Sometimes I think we should just get out of here. You know, hit the road?"

  "Permanently?" I ask, shocked by the idea.

  "No, just for a break," he replies, checking himself in the mirror. "What, are you crazy? This is our home".

  I smile weakly. I figure I should have known better than to have ever believed that Luke would even consider moving away from the Heights. As much as he likes to joke about Edward being obsessed with the place, Luke's equally tied to the idea of living here. Sometimes, I feel as if they're both irrevocably bonded to the building via invisible ties that can never, ever be cut, with the result that they'll just continue to rattle around in the buildings for the rest of the lives, even if they end up alone.

  "Imagine raising kids in a place like this," he continues, heading to the door. "It's the perfect place. I mean, Edward and I grew up here, and we turned out okay".

  I smile politely.

  "You wanna come down in a bit and get some dinner?" he asks. "They've got the good chef on, whatever his name is. You know, the guy who does those fish things you like".

  I nod again.

  "What are they called again?" he continues. "Like, balls of fish meat, or is it fish with -"

  "Honey," I say calmly, "can we stop talking about fish?"

  "I'll see you in the restaurant," he replies, pulling the door shut.

  Silence.

  Finally.

  How can I tell him? How can I tell Luke that I'm desperate to get out of the Heights? How can I tell him that my skin crawls whenever he touches me, and that while we were making love, I couldn't help thinking that it was a waste of time? I keep promising myself that I'm going to make a go of life here, and that I'm going to give my marriage time, but lately things just seem to have become so combustible and explosive, I can't shake the feeling that the whole thing is doomed. By sticking around, am I bravely and commendably sticking to my principles and dedicating myself to fixing my marriage? Or am I knocking my head against a brick wall, and merely prolonging the agony? I guess it's impossible to tell right now.

  Getting up from the bed, I walk through to the bathroom and take a look at myself in the mirror. The harsh white light isn't exactly flattering, but even so, I know I'm starting to look tired. I've definitely aged while I've been at the Heights. Not a lot, just around the eyes, but enough for me to notice. I've gone from being fresh-faced and youthful to being more... adult? Grown up? For the first time in my entire life I actually look my age. I guess I under-estimated how stressful a marriage can be, but still, I don't think I've relaxed once since I got here, not really. I keep forcing myself to stay strong, but maybe that's the wrong choice? Maybe, instead, I should actually allow myself to break. Maybe the strongest option would be to admit that I'm fragile.

  Taking a deep breath, I start cleaning myself. Eventually, I jump into the shower, washing away all traces of my husband, and finally I get dressed. The last thing I need is to spend another day sitting around in my room, feeling maudlin and wasting away the hours; instead, I need to get up, get moving, and come up with a plan. It'd make me feel better to know that the wheels are starting to turn, so I figure I have to give myself something to look forward to, something to cling onto. Otherwise, I'm going to lose my mind.

  I pause.

  Silence.

  And that's when I make the only decision that has a chance of keeping me sane. I have to get the hell out of here.

  Laura

  Today

  "Laura?"

  Looking up from my plate, I see that Edward's staring at me with a concerned look in his eyes.

  "Huh?" I reply.

  "Nothing," he says, "it's just that you seemed to zone out for a few minutes?"

  "A few minutes?" Realizing I must have allowed my thoughts to run away with my mind for a moment, I take a deep breath and try to re-set myself. "Sorry," I continue. "I didn't mean to be rude. I guess there's just been so much going on lately, it's hard to get out of work mode".

  "It's not rude," he replies. "If there's something troubling you, however, I hope you feel you can share it with me. I know it must be hard, moving out here to the Heights and not knowing anyone. Perhaps I'm not the ideal sounding board, but if you have no other options, I'm happy to listen. I'm certainly a better option than my brother. As you can tell, he's not very talkative these days". Smiling, he takes a sip of wine. "Sorry," he adds eventually. "Was that insensitive?"

  "No," I say, forcing a smile. "It's fine. I guess..." Glancing across the bar, I realize that something still feels very wrong. I swear to God, every few minutes I'm being hit by another wave of deja vu, washing over me and giving me the sensation that all of this, or something very similar, has happened before. I mean, I've been at the Heights for a month now, and this is the first time I've eaten dinner with Edward in the bar, yet I feel as if the whole situation is a repeat of something that happened long ago. I've experienced deja vu before, of course, but this is much stronger. This is more like an actual memory.

  "There you go again," Edward says with a sad smile. "I'm sorry, this is my fault".

  "What?" I ask, flustered again. "No. I'm just -"

  "It's because I called you by Elizabeth's name, isn't it?" he replies,
fixing me with a determined stare. "It's okay, I can fully understand that I must have disturbed you. I'm not certain, but I feel as if that wasn't the first time, either. I didn't want to mention it before, but I'm worried I might have done the same thing on half a dozen previous occasions, including..." He pauses for a moment. "I used her name when we made love, didn't I?" he continues eventually. "I'm sorry, perhaps I shouldn't bring this up, but... I did call you Elizabeth while we were in my office that time. Didn't I?"

  We sit in silence for a moment.

  "It's okay," I say. "She meant a lot to you".

  "More than you can ever imagine," he replies.

  I smile politely.

  "I was in love with her," he continues. "I loved that woman more than I ever thought I could love another human being. Until I met her, I always thought I was incapable of that kind of emotion. I struggled through my teenage years, trying to find the kind of passion that I saw in other people, but it just didn't seem to be there. I'd just about given up hope when my brother brought Elizabeth into our lives and..." He pauses again. "Something stirred in my soul. Something that had been missing before. Something I thought I didn't even possess. At first I thought it was just jealousy. I thought I just wanted what my brother had, but it was more than that. He never deserved her. He had no idea how to treat a woman, and he let her slip through his fingers".

  I open my mouth to reply, but no words come out. I never expected Edward to open up like this, and I'm a little suspicious of his motives. Am I simply the first person who's shown a willingness to listen, or does he have some kind of ulterior motive?