Page 136 of The Cannibal

I could smell peonies. Gentle enough not to nauseate me, but recognizable enough to know it was my Phoebe without opening my eyes.

The bed dipped beside me, the blankets moving as she tucked herself under the sheets. Her hands cupped mine. They were so much colder than my own. Like ice in my palm.

I managed a deeper inhale despite the uncomfortable crackle in my lungs. The ease that washed over me was so great, I could weep if I had any water left in me.

Even with my eyes closed, I could imagine the scene. The golden light and quiet room, the flash of strawberry-blond hair on my pillow beside me. The green of her eyes like jewels and a smile just as glittering.

It was the comfort of childhood again. The excitement of being so close, not a worry outside of whatever fantastical make-believe game we invented as we went. The restfulness after a day of childish adventure.

I could hear her breathing so softly. When I was forced to inhale, all I could smell were the florals and baked sugar. I forgot that I could no longer taste such things, but my mind still remembered them. I felt her cold forehead against mine.

We were so close, in flesh and in soul. Every breath against our skin, inhale and exhale, every pulse of the heart.

She was still beside me.

I tipped my head, swearing I felt her lips on mine. It only brought a weak smile. Our noses brushed against one another, so brief, so hesitant. With parted lips, I pressed them to hers. She tasted so sweet. A new scent of almonds, her hair perfumed like pollen.

I tasted her lips again, the sweetness overwhelming enough to tickle my nose and make my eyes water. My heart trumpeted like a wild rabbit, quicker and quicker, I didn’t know if it was even my own.

The sickness that plagued me was forgotten as easily as a memory. The bliss melted the fog from my mind, the taste like mist burning away with the dawn.

I wrapped my arms around her, laying my head against her shoulder.

“You are so dear to me,” I whispered, “you know that, don’t you?”

I opened my eyes, the light more bearable as my senses came back to me, but I was distracted by something else.

Wetness on my face felt so good, a broken fever.

I tipped my face into the crook of her neck.

Black smeared the skin as I turned my head.

My mind cleared when I realized the moments leading to this may have entirely been in my delirious half-dream state.

“Phoebe?”

39

THE FIXER

Guests were removed from the building as soon as the message reached me. Security was ushering them out and back to the apartments next door. All the household members were confined to the ground floor. No one was to go to the upper floors.

I ran up the stairs, to the middle floor.

Staff huddled by Sidney, deliberating quickly.

This kid was tough. He’d spent much of his life at sea. He could hold his own and survive in the great, unpredictable ocean.

Yet I’d never seen the life drain from his eyes like this.

“Sid.” I grabbed his shoulder. “You’d better have a good reason for this mess,” I hissed.

He couldn’t even look at me, just a blank stare straight into my chest. He’d gone completely mute.

“For God’s sake, boy.” I opened the door. “Did you call a physician?”

“A physician is no longer needed.” Sidney glanced at me through the cracked door, then looked into the room. “I think it is best that you see for yourself before we call anyone for aid.”