"What took you so long?"
I gave Chris a weak smile as I entered the bathroom. "Sorry. I went to speak to Courtney upstairs."
The sound of the door closing behind Feila made him jump and slop water over the side of the tub. It took him a long moment to recover; his eyes stayed fixed on the door like he feared that someone would come through it and attack him. He slowly relaxed as minutes passed and nothing happened.
"Is she a friend?" he asked, tearing his eyes away and looking at me. "I don't think you've mentioned her before."
"Yes. She works here."
He was being vague again; when he looked at me, he appeared to stare straight through me at the wall. I felt uncomfortable that he was so vacant when I thought about Lorien's concern on the way here. I kind of wished Feila hadn't left, but I had a feeling that Chris wouldn't have talked to me much if she'd still been present.
"You need to have a bath or something," he said into the gap. A damp hand brushed water over the red flaking skin on my wrists, leaving a trail of green scales behind it. "You're all sore."
"I know," I replied, moving my wrist self-consciously from his reach. "I was planning on it soon."
As he nodded and returned to staring through me, I observed him from under my fringe. He was acting out of character – Leia had said it was trauma, but I'd seen him in the lab and during our escape, and this was too different. It wasn't until we found an exit that things went pear-shaped, and they'd been getting steadily worse. I felt an intense urge to run to Leia's office and blurt out my fears, and it was a challenge to keep that hidden from him.
"Well, if you're okay," I said, stepping back from the tub and making a move towards the door, "I need to talk to Leia before she heads to bed. I'll check up on you later, okay?"
His gaze sharpened. "You're leaving already?"
Alarmed by the change in his expression, I took another, bigger step back. "Yes. I'll be back later, though."
"You only just got here." He frowned. "What's wrong?"
"N-nothing." I cursed myself for stuttering. I'd seen a ghost of the expression I'd caught before; the menacing one that made me feel like he was hunting me or something. I took another step back, and my heart jolted sickeningly as he began to get out of the bath.
"You're lying," he said, settling on the ledge so he could dry off. He looked more lucid than he had in days, but I had this funny feeling when I met his eye that it wasn't Chris I was looking at. "Come on, tell me."
"No." I blurted it out before I could stop myself. He paused in getting down from the edge of the tub and stared at me in surprise.
"Why not?"
I didn't know what possessed me at that moment, but I turned and ran. Perhaps the terror was irrational – I'd been through more than enough to excuse it – or perhaps it was the sinister edge to his tone. Perhaps it was the overly intense stare. Whatever it had been, I found myself just moments later hurtling into Leia's office and almost knocking myself out on her desk. Papers flew out of her hands as she jumped, and the purple light she'd been powering flickered and nearly went out.
I tried to get up off my hands and knees, but my limbs wouldn't respond to me. My heart was in my throat and I couldn't seem to draw enough breath; what I did manage scraped like glass through my lungs. I couldn't see properly; multi-coloured stars sparked and swam over my field of vision.
"Breathe, breathe, Damien!" Leia was yelling – or was it the echoing in my ears that was doing it? "Breathe!"
She grasped me under the arms and pulled me into a kneeling position. Hands not losing contact, she manoeuvred around me until all I could see was her face, peppered with stars and swimming in and out of focus. I was vaguely aware that I was still hyperventilating and that there were tears on my face, but I was so lightheaded that it felt almost like I was observing it happening to someone else.
It felt like forever had been and gone before I was able to breathe evenly again. When I became aware of the room around me, and what I had just done, I groaned.
"I don't know why I panicked," I murmured, and dropped my head to stare at the carpet. A tear ran down my face and dangled on the tip of my nose before falling. "I don't know why I panicked. Nothing happened. I just..."
I turned to look at the office door, half-expecting Chris to come stalking through it to demand what was wrong with me, but with a flash of shame I realised he wouldn't do that anymore, and that I'd probably scared him just as much as he'd scared me.
"I thought I saw something," I blurted, even though Leia hadn't said anything. I felt like I had to justify it somehow. "When Chris looked at me. But he didn't do anything; he just got out the bath. I don't know why I ran away."
"You don't have to know, Damien." Instead of standing up, Leia settled herself on the floor next to me, with her back against her desk, one knee up with her arm propped on it. "Sometimes instinct tells you what your rational mind never will, so you probably didn't panic for nothing. I'm hoping Lorien can shed some light later with that handy dandy radar of his." She turned her head and smiled at me. "For now, he doesn't seem to be doing any harm. We'll keep an eye on him."
Her eyes slipped over my head, and I looked back and jumped when I found Feila standing in the doorway. The fae had changed into a long, navy blue robe that tied at the waist and exposed her long arms, and for a moment I paused, weirdly transfixed by her. She had that effect on people, I seemed to remember, when not shrouded in exhaustion, bitter sea winds and an enormous grey cagoule which looked like it had been borrowed from David.
"Chris seems to be in some state of distress," she said, and though there was no hint of blame in the statement, it still made me feel incredibly guilty. "He has no memory of what happened before Damien ran out. He doesn't even remember him coming in."
"What a great sign," Leia said with a groan, levering herself up from the floor and stretching, face pulled into a grimace. "Ugh, I'm getting old. My back is killing me."
"No, mein Liebling, that is simply because you sleep in ridiculous positions," Feila corrected her gently, drifting as if without legs towards the desk, "If you stopped doing that, and stopped acting like a mule in the snow over replacing our mattress, your pain would be greatly reduced."
"Ack, who's the one with the medical training here?" Leia grumbled, collapsing in her chair in front of the computer.
"The only one who won't follow their own advice," Feila retorted, and then smiled down at me, offering a hand to help me up. As our skin made contact, a strange kind of buzzing warmth spread up my arm and out to the rest of my body, relieving the lingering dizziness from the panic attack as she guided me to a chair.
"He doesn't want to see me, does he?" I asked.
"I don't know," she replied. "I believe he's going to have a nap now, though, so you don't need to worry about that."
"I don't know why I panicked," I repeated, as if it would help. "I honestly don't."
A short silence prevailed after my useless statement. I knew what Leia wanted me to talk about now I was here – probably her strange way of 'taking my mind off things' – but I wanted her to ask because I had no idea where to start. I'd barely processed the events for myself, let alone gathered together a coherent account of them. Add to the mix my strange dream – or memory, whichever it was – and I didn't know where to put any of the pieces. Marilyn was the biggest anomaly of all in this; perhaps it would be easier if she just disappeared.
Of course, that wasn't going to happen. That would have been way too simple.
"So, Damien," Leia said just seconds later, as if she'd heard my thoughts. "I'm not going to ask you to recount everything that happened while you were gone. Just give me a brief overview. I'll ask questions."
So I gave her as succinct a narrative as possible. I stumbled over the order in which things happened and was constantly correcting myself, but all through my messy story she sat with absolute attention, hands folded in her lap and eyes trained on me. Occasionally her mouth would twitch, which was the only sign that my words were having any impact, but other than that, her unfailing attention was actually quite unnerving. I skimmed over the memory involving her and the one in which Chris accidentally came out to his mum and stepdad, and tried to focus more on the bits involving Marilyn, and the few revelations I'd had while I was there.
When I'd finished describing the memory in which Rella had beaten up Marilyn in the alley outside Tori's window, Leia finally moved. She blinked, silent, and took something out of a desk drawer before getting up and moving around me. I watched her, baffled, as she threw open the office window and leaned against the ledge, shaking something out of the object in her hand. I was half-expecting some strange wizardry to take place right there, until I spotted the orange glow of a lit cigarette punctuate her silhouette. A long draught of smoke billowed out into the street below before the sorceress spoke.
"So you're saying," she began, and paused to take another drag, "that if this last memory you had was not tampered with, Marilyn has been trying to help you?"
"Yes."
"We can't prove it hasn't been tampered with," she continued, but she didn't seem to be talking to anyone in particular, "because almost all the others were." She turned from the window, but I couldn't see her expression. "Do you trust me, Damien?"
"Yes." I almost hesitated.
"Why?"
"Because..." I hadn't foreseen this question and had no idea how to answer it convincingly. I thought for a long moment about how to finish that sentence, but nothing came to me. I tried another tack. "If you'd asked me that a couple of weeks ago, I'd have said no. You probably know why."
"I do." She sounded amused.
"And it wasn't until I was waist deep in the shit that I realised why you'd done it." I swallowed. "I don't know why you're doing so much to help me, but knowing what I do now, I'm guessing it's not exactly enjoyable for you. You didn't have to do any of it." I paused, and grew warm with embarrassment. I sounded like such a drip.
"Okay." Leia cleared her throat and stubbed out the cigarette in her ashtray. "I think I know where you're coming from now. This is painful."
I chuckled half-heartedly. "I wish you'd stopped me sooner."
I thought maybe she grinned, but I couldn't tell. Within moments, another cigarette glow started up and fizzled into red spots.
"Feila," Leia said, sighing out her smoke in an exhausted manner, "Could you let Thea know to bell Lucien and tell him we've potentially got more information on Marilyn? Maybe he can shed some light on how likely it is to be true."
"Of course," Feila said from the corner, giving me a start because I'd forgotten she was there. She drifted out, and this time she left the door open. I took that as a signal that it was okay for me to excuse myself; I stood up from my chair and took a couple of hesitant steps towards the door, expecting Leia to stop me if she had more to say. I sincerely hoped she didn't; I was starting to feel like I had carpet burn all over my body because I was so dry.
"You're okay to go, Smith," Leia said, without looking my way. She was staring at the building opposite us, the cigarette slowly burning itself out between her fingers. "Go have a bath and get some sleep. Someone'll come get you if you're needed in the discussion, okay?"
"Yeah," I replied. I didn't want to be involved in the discussion at all; I didn't want to come across Lucien with all his creepy vibes, especially since I associated him irrevocably with Marilyn and I was eager to forget all about her for the next few hours.
Mum had asked me to find her after finishing in Leia's office, but I suspected she was already dead asleep, so I went for a bath first, skirting around Chris's room and running up the corridor over the slim chance that he opened the door on hearing me. It remained steadfastly shut, and I slid into the cold bath with an overwhelming sense of guilt gnawing at me. I was getting accustomed to the feeling.
I had only planned to stay in the tub for five or so minutes. I took a clock in with me off the bedside to make sure I didn't go over ten, but the water felt so good against my skin, and I was so reluctant to get out and consign myself to a high-speed drying-out, that I ended up sliding into a dreamless sleep.
When I woke up, the clock told me three hours had passed. The room was dim, the curtains open on dusk. My bathwater was freezing; my nail beds had turned blue with cold. I groaned, hoping that I hadn't missed anyone while I was asleep. My hands squeaked on the side of the tub as I levered myself up. As if in response to the noise, a light flicked on in the main bedroom behind me. It was faint and orange-yellow, telling me it was the bedside light, and also letting me know that whoever had switched it on was already in my room, and possibly standing right outside.
I turned, icy fear pooling in my stomach as several unpleasant memories and theories as to who it was clamoured to try and be the one that made me the most scared for my life.
A shadow crossed under the door, wavered, and disappeared. My heart was beating so hard my eyes were aching with it.
I crept towards the door, a towel wrapped haphazardly around my waist.
"Hello?" As soon as it slipped out, I cursed myself and cast around for something I could throw at the intruder if it came to it. Unless I pulled the toilet seat off the bowl, there was absolutely nothing of use.
A creaky floorboard getting stepped on was the only response I got for my pains. I squeezed my eyes shut for a few seconds, whispering encouragement to myself, and then opened them again.
I jumped so hard my towel dropped to the floor and my heart nearly beat itself into my hands through my chest; I began to laugh almost maniacally.
"Chris," I said, groping for the towel and pulling it up again. "What the fuck, man?"
I laughed again, and it was weird and breathy and I sounded half-mad. Chris, who had been standing in the doorway when I opened my eyes, didn't say anything. Once the relief had worn off – which took a while – I realised he hadn't even moved.
I suddenly gained the most bizarre sensation that the cruise liner was sinking all over again, but this time it sank down my throat and settled - steel, rescue boats and all - somewhere around my bowels.
"Chris?" I asked again. My voice almost broke. "What are you doing here?"
He still did nothing. I put a hand up, hesitantly, and waved it in front of his face.
He nearly snapped my wrist in two as he grabbed it. I found myself yanked forward, too stunned to process what had happened, until I bumped into his chest and found myself meeting his blank eyes, which held no recognition of me whatsoever. He used his other hand to clamp me in place as I writhed to get out of his grip, terrified almost beyond wit.
"Leia!" I bellowed, shortly before his hand let go of my wrist and clamped around my windpipe instead. He drove me backwards until my knees hit the bathroom cabinet, and then lifted me until I was folded double in the sink. My head cracked against the mirror and smashed it; as the glass tinkled and clattered all around me he didn't even blink.
His grip around my throat was tightening.
"Chris," I gasped, and the noise came out like a band saw was getting dragged up my throat. Pressure was building painfully in my head; I scrabbled at his hands until I drew blood, but he still didn't flinch. "Please."
Something flickered in his eyes and went out again, before the door to the bedroom came crashing down and Leia charged inside. For a moment she stopped in the doorway, utterly shocked. I gasped for help, but all that came out was a horrific gurgle as Chris squeezed tighter than ever. My vision was blacking out in patches and I was half-expecting memories to flash in front of my eyes like a reel; all that was really there was blackness and I didn't want to fall into it.
The sorceress stepped aside and David's lumbering form took her place, grabbing Chris bodily around the waist and bringing his hand down on his arm, which went limp and slipped from my neck. I collapsed in the basin, my scalp scraping against the mirror frame, taking in great gulps of air and wincing at the bruises. It took me a very long time to realise that I was crying. I could taste blood in my mouth; it was gummy on my teeth. David was wrestling Chris into submission on my bed, and Leia waited beside them with a length of rope that seemed to have come from nowhere. The looming silhouette of Marilyn's Maker Lucien brooded in the hallway shadows as if he was afraid to step inside. While I was observing him, Feila swept into the room with Mum and Thea on her heels.
As soon as she spotted me, Mum screamed and ran forward, shrieking again as she cut a foot on the glass littering the floor.
"Slowly, Mrs Smith," Thea said, pulling her back from the wreck. Blood smeared the carpet. "Feila's going to bring him to us, okay?"
Mum bit on her thumb to stop herself from sobbing as Feila seemed to glide over the shards. I tried to mumble something about a towel – even to me it made no sense – as the fae took me in her arms and carried me to the door and down the corridor, Mum hopping on her undamaged foot and using Thea as a support behind us.
The next thing I was aware of was a hospital bed in the attic, with a dim recognition of Mum's form in a bed that had been pushed up against mine. My neck had been anesthetised very gently – it still hurt, but not as much as before – and had a half melted ice pack draped across it. I reached up and pulled it off, leaving it folded somewhere in the blankets as I sat up. At the movement, Mum stirred and opened her eyes, waking up a little more when she realised I wasn't lying down.
"Stay in bed, sweetheart," she said, pushing me weakly back onto the pillow. I complied, if only because she looked so worried and exhausted.
"Where's Chris?" I asked, and my voice was nothing more than a hoarse whisper; even that caused burning pain.
"In the cellar," Mum replied, "Leia is staying with him. I think they're trying to get rid of whatever it was that made him do that." Her eyes suddenly glittered with tears. "I'm so sorry, love."
I reached down and held her hand in mine, struggling not to cry again myself.
There was nothing else to say.