Chapter 2: Letters

Chapter Two

letter

“The light cuts through the curtains in thin strips. Dust drifts through the strips like snow, and there’s a hint of a rainy and antiseptic smell in the air. Ezra has been cleaning something while I slept.”

I open my eyes, and at once the warmth on the left becomes aware. It is Ezra’s coat, of course. Ezra must have thrown it over me last night. It smells of woodsmoke, of cedar, and that tang of steel, that echo that seems to cling to him as if it were a memory.

I lie there frozen for a long time, listening. The rain has let up, but there is a new noise in its place, the labored breathing of someone in the hallway.

I sit up. The wooden plank is filled with creaks as I move. "

Silence.

It isn't until I have beaten that beat, that rhythm, that I can hear the sound of the kettle switching on in the kitchen: He's awake.

I pull the coat carefully aside and creep to the door. "Mom? Where are you?" The hallway is cooler than it was, somehow as though the atmosphere has been cleansed of something. There is a mirror hanging opposite my room on the wall. It has been there since my mom remarried. It is gold-framed, entirely too ornate for our modest home. I'm being called from the reflection in the glass facing me from the mirror. Yet I turn away. There's nothing there.

"I'm just hallucinating, like I always am." Spirits seem to be attracted to me like moths to a flame, and I ceased to be surprised with each flicker long ago.

In the kitchen, Ezra is standing in front of the counter, wearing a black T-shirt, his wet hair, his rigid shoulders. "The sound of the whistle of the kettle is muffled." Ezra doesn’t turn around to say, "You didn’t sleep much."

“You were spying on me again?”

He glances back over his shoulder, his features expressionless. “You talk in your sleep.”

The casualness seeping into his tone is not fitting for the tension simmering between us. I reach for the cup, pour the tea away from him. Tremors in my fingers are enough that the ceramics collide.

"Nightmares?" he asks

“Oh no!” “What

He draws nearer, too near for comfort, until I notice the small cut on his jaw—a small red line that didn't exist yesterday. "You ought to lock your window," he says softly. "Anyone might climb in there."

A chill runs down my spine. "Anyone?"

A smile small, a little incorrect on the edges. “You never know who’s out there, Aiden.”

I chuckle awkwardly, and I can tell that my laughter is not normal. "That’s comforting," I say.

His fingers take the cup from me. He sets it down but presses his thumb on the underside of my wrist. My pulse jumps there. His eyes slant as he observes it for an instant. "You were trembling," he says. "Are you cold?"

“I’m fine...

"He doesn't let me go."

“You never are,” I said.

The room is full of unrealized intentions. Then the kettle shuts off, and Ezra releases his tension, stepping back and smoothing out his features into innocence.

“I'll drive you to work,” he says.

“You don’t have to..."

"I know." He gets up for his keys. "I want to.

The funeral home is located on the outskirts of the town. This is where the road ends and the forest starts. Architecturally, this funerary looks very much similar to that of the church. It is painted in white and has tall windows and cry stone angels. It has been almost two years since I have been working at this place. The dead are quite pleasant to talk to as compared to the living.

Until I unlock the side door, Ezra has been waiting for me in the car. I think this time he is going to walk away, but he doesn't; instead he leans up against the hood of the car, pressing his body flat. Just like last night.

Inside, the air is thick with lilies and disinfectant. I clock in, put on my gloves, and scan the logbook. One new customer. Man found in the river. Suspected assailant unknown. The hair on the back of my neck stands on end.

I push the door open into the prep room. Above, the humming of the fluorescent reflects off the inlaid stainless steel table, where the body under the sheet is placed. The sheet moves as if something inside wiggles. That lasts for a moment, then stops the second I blink.

My image in the metal instruments is pale and elongated. I begin my routine of unsealing, cleaning, cataloging. But halfway, I realize the markings around his neck are thin cuts, symmetrical. Like a wire-edge.

The bruise was faint. Ordinary, even.

Aiden still stopped breathing.

He knew that grip.

He always had.

Weak, yet still apparent beyond the wrist: a fingerprint bruise.

"Hmm! what an odd feeling, almost feels like One I know." I thought to myself

My chest tightens. "No, it can't be," I tell myself.

But my hands feel numb, too. The scalpel slips, clattering onto the tray. The noise reverberates.

I think that's somebody calling my name behind my back.

I turn. No one's there. Only the faint trace of one's own breathing misting the mirror in the corner.

"Who's there?"

There was no reply, only the heavy silence of walls that have listened to too many secrets. I swallowed hard, turning again to the body, but caught sight of something else—a piece of paper peeking out from under the man's hand.

My gloves spread it slightly red when I pull it out. Lettering was neat, bordering on elegance.

He hurt someone before. Now, not anymore. You’re safe. - Your Watcher.

“Stay with me?” “

Again with that name. The Watcher.

I've received three messages before now. They've all come directly to me—on my porch, in my locker, and one even slipped underneath my pillow. They've all come signed in the same way. They've all had the same words. "Your victory is near."

"Until now, I'd managed to convince myself it was just some joke, that it was just some guy from the funerals, maybe a bereaved relative who'd latched onto me," I told myself. "But this. This is something different entirely,"

I grab for my phone to take a picture of the note, but my screen comes on prematurely. Text message from an unknown number.

“Still cold, Aiden?"

The mug is playing back in my mind the conversation I had with Ezra just prior to this hour. The thumb is resting on the keys.

Tap on the window Startles me. Ezra is standing there, his hands stuffed deep into his pockets, his eyes on me through the window. He's look a line between smiling and alarm.

I stash the message away quickly and come out where he's waiting for me. "You didn’t leave?" I asked.

‘Think I'll walk you home later,’ he says. His eyes wander over my face. ‘You look pale,’ he says.

"I’m fine"

"You're always saying that."

He gets closer, his head cocked as if awaiting the solution to his queries in the eyes that faced his. "Somebody was here?"

"No. Just work."

His eyes twitch to the door of the prep room. “You were speaking with someone.”

"Well, why can't you?"

Ezra clenches his teeth to respond. "You’re forgetting that I know what you sound like when you’re scared," he says.

“The words strike too accurately.” I try to maneuver around him when he plaques himself in the hallway to prevent my passage. “Ezra, move.”

He just looks at me for a long time until he takes a deep breath and steps aside for me to pass. "Dinner tonight?" he asks.

“I'll be late.”

“I’ll wait!"

This time, however, in a final look back, he is waiting there until the darkness engulfs him.

My shift ends when dusk falls with a violet tinge in the sky. This is the time when the streetlights hum with activity, and I cast my shadow on the sidewalk. I can feel the steps behind me, the corner where I dwell. The steps are calculated. They are the paces of one following me.

I turn. Nothing.

“He won’t hurt you again.” Now a voice low and far away.

The air thickens. I realize I am exhaling my own fog. I see the figure out of the corner of my eye, standing near the fence. It is tall, with the white blanket mask.

My body is frozen. There is no movement happening in the figure. It is turning its head, like it is studying me.

When I blink, it’s gone.

I ran the rest of the way home.

The living room is dark save for the light that is coming from the television, casting a dim and flickeringly bright glow over the room. Ezra is sitting on a couch, holding a television remote, his eyes fixed raptly on a blank channel. The television is in mute, but I can hear the hum of static in the background.

"You're late," he says without looking up.

“I walked.”

"I told you I'd wait."

“You always do.”

Finally, he turns around. There’s this raw look on his face, a look as if pain and anger are trying to take priority. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

*shakes head* “

"Nothing

He gets up in one sudden movement. “You think I don't notice when something's not right? You come home shaking, looking around at the darkness like they're summoning your name, and then just stand there and say nothing?" "Because you make everything worse," I lash out before I can catch myself.

The oncoming silence is as brittle as glass about to shatter.

“What? I’m the one protecting you,” Ezra says.

Ezra’s eyes have narrowed.

“From what? From the world, or from yourself?”

"The words hang between us, heavy in the air. He looks like he's taking a step closer, and then another, his face coming closer until there's almost no space between us. Then, almost inaudibly, he whispers, "You think I'm the danger. You're the danger, coming back."

"I live here."

"You could leave."

I remain silent. We both know I won’t.

He raises his own hand and presses his fingers together against my hair. It's supposed to be a caress, but he hurts me. "You don't start going out by yourself again," he tells me. "You don't know who might be waiting for you," he orders softly.

“I saw him tonight,” I whisper before I can stop myself.

His eyes squint. “Who?”

"The Man in the Mask."

“What mask?”

His stiffened body,

"Black. He was just standing there—"

Ezra's hand drops. "You're sure?"

"Yes

He's breathing through his teeth, with cloudy eyes.

"Then you shouldn’t have come home alone."

′Ezra...

He walks past me, headed for the door. "Stay inside," he tells me.

“Where are you going?”

“To make sure he doesn't follow you again.”

The door slams shut before I can get any words out.

“The Silence that Follows” Then I’m left standing alone, the rhythm of my heartbeat thrumming in my chest, the sound of his feet disappearing into the distance. Under the table, my phone lay hidden. The screen lit up once more. Text message.

"He's angry tonight. But I'll keep you safe."

Then comes another, shortly after that:

" Do not open the door when he rings."

I find my throat drying.

Outside, the thunder is rumbling in the distance, despite the fact that the sky is clear just before that. The smells are those of iron and rain.

“Then,” he continues, “Three

My eyes lock on the door as every instinct in me urges me not to budge.

It casts a shadow over the area beneath it.

And then the voice, familiar and deep. “Aiden. Open up.”

“Ezar!"

I hold the phone in my trembling hands between two choices—

"the brother that I love and know, and my stalker without a face.”

"The next knock comes rattling through the door"