“Lights on,” Metis says.
Nothing changes.
“Your voice command doesn’t work. We’re not supposed to be here,” she says and walks to the bathroom.
In one of the drawers she finds a candle and a lighter. She lights the candle; it emits a small, warm glow. She brings it out and looks around.
The house is one large room. The ample living area with an L-shaped gray sofa is connected to a kitchen of shiny white cabinets. A large pendant light that looks like a cloud hangs above a substantial oak coffee table. Through another glass door at the back of the house, Aris sees a pool. It’s long enough to swim laps in. She finds the bedroom hiding behind a floor-to-ceiling bookshelf on the far wall.
“There’s food in the refrigerator. Probably stocked for tomorrow’s guests. I guess that means we should leave before sunrise,” Metis’s voice speaks from the kitchen, “I’ll make us something to eat.”
“Okay. Thank you.”
“Do you want to eat now or have a quick shower first?” Metis asks.
She answers by walking back into the bathroom. Its sleek whiteness contrasts with the darkness outside. A glass wall looks out onto the empty unknown.
She sits the candle on the countertop and peels each article of clothing off her body. The heaviness of the day sinks into her pores, making her extremities feel like lead. She tends to harbor stress in her back. The weight of everything and everyone is on it. She needs to wash them off so she can feel like someone resembling herself again.
There is no timer for the shower. No five-minute rule. The hotel is a vacation spot—a place where people don’t have to think about time. She turns on the rain showerhead and lets the warm water pour down her hair, her face. The stream travels down her body to her feet. The string that winds her so tightly starts to unravel.
She lathers in shampoo and soap and reminisces of the days when things were simpler. The time when she did not question reality. When she could walk the world knowing where she belonged. But she belongs with Metis, she tells herself.
Only for a month.
Melancholy returns. In a few weeks he will be gone from her memory. He will live only in her dreams, to be reawakened later by whatever triggers her brain is receptive to. If at all.
Maybe she will find Absinthe in the next cycle. But what if he cannot remember her then? Can she stand the pain of looking into the eyes of someone she loves and seeing no recognition? Seraphina said it is more painful than one can imagine. Metis has lived it.
She opens her eyes and sees him leaning against the doorframe.
“How long have you been standing there?” she asks.
“Not long enough.”
“I’m almost done.”
“Is there room for me?” he asks.
She nods, and he sheds his clothes. In all the times they have been intimate together, she has never seen his naked body from this distance. He is well made—tall with lean muscles and a strong chest wide enough to sleep on. His handsomeness is striking. It is not the conspicuous, peacock-like handsomeness Benja owned. His is born from the stillness of his features and the focused intensity of his eyes. Real. Warm blooded. And very male. She feels her core heating up.
The door to the shower opens, and his skin is on hers at once. His hands run over the topography of her body like a river over land, leaving evidence of its passage. Her skin, slippery from water and soap, abides. She feels the roughness of his stubble raking down her neck.
He continues lower until he is on the floor, kneeling. His hands are holding her by her hips. She feels tremors coming from him. He is crying.
Suddenly her heart expands to accept everything she feels. The love she has for Metis. The loss they will soon face. The death of her friend. The emptiness left by those who killed themselves tonight. The sorrow of those who cannot be with the ones they love.
She kneels next to Metis and wraps her arms around him. She hums the tune she sang Benja to sleep with.
Thane waits. He is in a white room with no windows inside the police station in Elara. The artificial light coming from overhead gives it a stark, clinical look. He feels agitated. One of his knees bounces uncontrollably. He doesn’t want to be here. Across from him sits a man in a brown fedora who has introduced himself as Officer Scylla. He is why Thane cannot simply leave.
“Is there a reason you still need me here?” Thane asks.
“We just need a few more answers.”
“I told you everything I know.” His voice is gruff. He did not know the process with the police would take so long. He needs to be out there, finding Aris and Metis.
“You still haven’t established the reason you were at Bodie’s house on a Thursday night,” Officer Scylla says.
“I was lost. I walked from downtown and wanted to see the view. So, I went up the hill. I knocked on the house to ask for directions. When no one opened the door, I looked through the window and saw all the—”
“The house is registered to a Bodie and Seraphina. Did you know either of them?”
“No. I told you that.”
“How about anyone else who was at the house?”
“No.”
“Where did you say you work?”
“The Natural History Museum.”
“The one in Callisto?” Officer Scylla asks.
“The one and only.”
“So you don’t know anyone in this city at all?”
“No, I don’t. Why do you keep asking me that?”
“Because, Thane, I’m confused as to why someone from Callisto would be in Elara this late at night. And that he happened to stumble upon a lot of dead people in a house.”
Thane springs up. His chair falls backward and clangs against the floor.
“I have nothing to do with this!”
“I’m not saying you do. But
