Face Of The Monster

***26***

Phoebe Kim should go back to her own house and she knows it.

Her life it becoming too dangerously intertwined with Emma's. Now, when she wakes up in the middle of the night, she packs Tiago's lunch for the next day and picks out his clothes, careful not to wake him with her footsteps. She is the one who checks on Mrs. Ramos in the evenings and makes sure she has eaten something that day. It is Phoebe who feeds the dog and takes him out to walk in the mornings. They go up and down San Diego, exploring all the nooks and crannies of Emma's neighborhood. Phoebe has also begun doing the laundry and the grocery shopping, things Emma doesn't have time for.

Phoebe should go back to her own house, but she doesn't know what will happen if she does. Will their family resume their lives as if she had never been there, or with they be sucked into the vacuum she leaves behind?

Right now, she is in the laundry room, folding clothes. Duckie has been following her around since she got home, whining at her feet with his bulging eyes. As he lets out another wheeze, Phoebe grins at him and tickles his soft belly with her foot.

It's been a strange day. Mr. Collier came in first thing in the morning for his appointment. He apologized for the other day, but his mode of apology was a bouquet of budding daffodils that only made Phoebe more uncomfortable. When he left, she put them in a vase and gave them to Lars for his girlfriend.

After that, one of her favorite clients, Jameson White came in. Jameson is odd and so energetic he makes Phoebe's head hurt when he gets talking, but she enjoys listening to his stories, even when they end up being horrific and strange. He owns a cupcake store now, which is doing very well. They sell the most awful flavors but somehow they make them acceptable. He usually brings her something new to sample when he comes by for his appointment. What if eggs benedict was a cupcake? How about a vegetarian panini? Biscuits and gravy?

But today he didn't bring her anything. He didn't have any stories to share with her, didn't want to talk about anything she posed as a subject. He just sat and after a while, Phoebe took his hand, big and brown as a catcher's mitt, and asked what was wrong. He began to cry, which startled her. She had never seen him shed a single tear before. His dog had died, he told her. Hit by a car.

After she hugged him goodbye, adding a kiss for good measure, several other clients came to see her. But she couldn't focus. She kept thinking of Jameson, then of the boy, following behind her, lost, lustful. What if he threw himself off the Goldengate as well? Jameson loved that dog; she was his only companion. Who knows how the loss will affect him?

Later, toward the end of the day, Al came back for the appointment they had settled weeks before. He told her things she didn't want to hear.

The door creaks open, revealing a small silhouette in the doorway. Phoebe pulls the chain, letting light flood the room. Standing there is Cristiano, Isabel's youngest and loveliest.

He really is a pretty little boy with lips as tiny and pink as a doll's, eyes wide and brown with curly eyelashes. Phoebe doesn't know why she loves him the way she does; she shouldn't. He isn't very nice to her. He breaks her things intentionally and never apologizes.

Right now, he could be privy to some prank of his brother's, a distraction perhaps. Phoebe knows this, but she smiles at him anyway. "Hello," she says.

Cristiano blinks. He takes a step into the room and closes the door behind him.

Phoebe lets out a little laugh. She puts down the shirt she is folding and squats on the floor so they are at eye level. "Have you just come to keep me company, or do you need something?"

He stares, then shakes his head. Then he asks in a voice barely louder than a whisper, "Can I sit on the dryer?"

Phoebe, bemused by his request, shrugs her shoulders. "I don't see why not. Can I lift you up?"

Cristiano nods. Phoebe tucks her hands under his armpits and swings him up onto the dryer. He is lighter than she expected, following her arms like a piece of paper flapping in the wind. He settles in on top of the buzzing machine. "I like sitting on the dryer," he informs Phoebe.

"Do you? Why?"

"At home, when Mama does laundry, she lets me sit on the dryer and put the warm clothes on my face." He giggles, showing a row of pearly white baby teeth.

Phoebe smiles, warmed by his delight.

She tries not to think back to this afternoon, but she fails. She sees Al in front of her, eyeing her sheepishly. Promise you won't kick me out, he had said. I need help. She had promised. Why, after all, would she ever kick a person in need out of her office? But when he took a deep breath and began his story, she wished she hadn't agreed so quickly.

Cristiano touches her hair, crossing his legs on top of the dryer. "Juan cut a piece of your hair," he said, his voice matter-of-fact.

"He did? When?"

"Last night. He showed it to me."

Phoebe frowns at the laundry basket in front of her, feeling dirty inside. The boy, she supposes, feeds on this feeling. She feels his presence growing strong as the little boy speaks. He touches her hair as well, cold breath stinging her neck. "Did he do it while I was asleep?" she asks.

Cristiano nods. "He sneaked into your room. Very quiet."

Phoebe makes a mental note to start sleeping with clothes on. It has never even occurred to her that that little creep might be watching her in the night. She shivers at the thought of it. "Well, can you tell him not to come into my room at night?"

"No. I wasn't supposed to tell."

Phoebe stiffens as the boy slips his hands under her shirt, under her bra. She's grown accustomed to him in a way she isn't comfortable with. She knows it is unhealthy to feel so blase when it comes to the violation of her own body. But he is always touching her, always hurting her, always wanting more. She has stopped trying to get rid of him. He will be here until she can't take it any longer. And when she can't take it any longer, she will take him down with her.

She feels Cristiano's little fingers combing through the hair at the base of her neck. "It's back here," he tells her. "So you won't notice."

"Alright," Phoebe says. "I guess I'll have to have a little talk with your brother, won't I?"

"No. You don't have to." He looks away, eyes peeking shyly through his lashes. "I don't want him to be mad."

They freeze at the sound of knuckles on the laundry room door. Cristiano pulls his knees to his chest, burying his head between them. Phoebe watches his thick brown curls bounce back like springs. "Come in," she calls.

Emma swings open the door. Her face is slick with sweat and she still has her green work apron wrapped around her. She doesn't notice Cristiano at first and falls toward Phoebe, making a small noise of contentment.

The little boy scrambles down from the dryer and disappears out of the room before either of them can say anything more to him.

Phoebe kicks the door shut behind him and sinks into the softness of Emma's warm, sticky body.

"Are you alright?" Phoebe asks, picking a stray piece of hair from her sweat-coated forehead.

Emma nods. "Air conditioner broke at work. Don't worry about me."

They stand together, watching the laundry room lightbulb flicker. After a second, Emma reaches up and pulls the cord, bathing them in sudden darkness. Phoebe could still see a strip of light peeking out from under the door. She focuses on it while Emma lifts her onto the dryer as if she is a child again.