The Great Below

The Nasty Habit - Part 1

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Alex picked up a small gift from the kitchen and left Nick to finish his ill-gotten steak. It didn't seem right, having to sit there and smell it and look at it while eating a lousy sandwich. Besides, Alex's appetite had begun to turn. He wanted to go see her. He hadn't even made it to the stairwell when his uncle appeared from his office.

"I didn't get a chance to congratulate you the other night," he said.

This wasn't helping. Seeing his uncle, tired but pleased with himself, giving up the day with his tie undone and stubble on his face, only served to remind him of the path he'd stumble-chosen. "I'm just heading to bed," Alex told him.

"Hold on," Dominic replied, and smiled with undeserved encouragement. "I saw that you left me your keys last night, and I appreciate it."

Alex didn't have much recollection of that. There had been pain medication and a possible concussion involved.

"But I want you to keep them. You've earned them."

If it weren't for the new, cold weight in his palm, he might not have believed the moment occurred. He looked down at his keys, confused, then back up at Dominic, whose gaze was different. Respectful. "Thanks," he said.

A hand clapped him on the shoulder. "So. Did you tell yourself she wasn't real?"

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When Alex knocked at her door, Octavia didn't answer, despite the fact that she was likely awake. It was an unfair thought, but she'd used up her supply of pills, hadn't she? With the novelty of his keys back in his possession, he let himself in.

The room was dark, save for a three-sided rectangle. It was the glowing edge of the bathroom door left ajar. Raul had mentioned that a new door was brought in, but Alex had feigned indifference at the time. It was enough that he'd been passing the front desk when the old one went out in a busted mess. It couldn't even be called a door anymore, considering how many pieces it was in. Alex didn't want to picture how it got that way.

He waited for his eyes to adjust, afraid that she already sat in the bed, or nearby, and would call him out for intruding. From the bathroom came the quietest whooshing sound. He couldn't attribute it to anything logical. It sounded like fingers gliding over a countertop.

It wasn't too late to leave. He could go out and knock again, louder, announce himself properly. But then, it wasn't a gliding sound. It was a tearing sound. Slicing. In his brain it was Nick cutting his steak and eating it like a caveman, and the oddness of it drew Alex in. "Octavia?" he asked.

The narrow strip of the bathroom grew larger, closer. The white edge of the sink top in disarray, toothbrush and paste and soap scattered next to the bowl. There was a partial view of the toilet and the white tile floor and between it, Octavia's bent knee. She was sitting cross-legged. He came closer still, tilting his head to look, and one pant leg had been rolled up to expose most of her pale, lower leg. There was a row of short, vertical cuts from the middle of her calf to her ankle and blood rose in matching lines, weeping across her leg. In one fist, she held a cafeteria knife.

His fingertips smacked the door open before he could consider his options. The door swung in a lazy arc, but she was staring, trance-like, at the sliced skin.

"What on earth are you doing?" He'd been expecting to apologize, to humble himself. She had succeeded, proving her worth to the only person down there with any power. She was supposed to be self-righteous. She was supposed to be confident.

Octavia snapped to life, uncrossing her legs and folding her knees to her chest. "How did you get in here?" She held the knife out in front of her in a shaky defensive stance.