Monster In the Mirror, page 4
He went in, flipped on the lights, and took a hard look around at the disorder he worked in. He really could have used Izzy’s help with all of this, but he doubted there was any chance of that now.
She wouldn’t want to work for someone she thought was making fun of her. If that was what she thought. He wasn’t sure. In truth, women were a bit of a mystery to him, as he suspected they were to most men. But he knew that whatever burgeoning friendship he’d thought they’d had, it had died on the landing this evening.
Sad. But he couldn’t dwell on it, or he’d get bogged down by the fact that what happened tonight would keep happening for the rest of his life. Unless he found a cure.
He took his lab coat off the hook by the door, pulled it on, then went to his desk. It was really a long worktable in the center of the laboratory. It held his computer, copious notebooks, and on one side the equipment he’d used to create the new dopamine inhibitors.
He turned the computer on and sat in front of the triple screens as it came to life. He opened the file he’d started to track the progress of the new drugs. He’d taken a baseline blood pressure and resting heart rate before he’d done each injection. Starting now, he’d record those things every hour on the hour until the sun rose, setting his alarm in case he fell asleep.
As midnight grew closer, he might even take blood samples, depending on how imminent the shift felt. If the dopamine inhibitors did nothing, there’d be no need. But if they delayed the shift, or by some miracle, prevented it altogether, he would absolutely want to study the changes in his blood.
He yawned, but he wasn’t really that tired. There was a small cot against the wall where he could rest, if necessary, but excitement was starting to build in him. Was it possible these new drugs could actually block Edgar from emerging?
Henry could only wait and see.
Izzy’s blood pressure was still elevated, but this time it had nothing to do with the tiger. Which she still really, really wanted an explanation for, because she wasn’t so sure she bought that it was someone’s pet. Not when that someone was supposed to be a witch. Did Henry really think she’d believe that? How gullible did he think she was? Man, what kind of nutcase had she moved next door to?
And why did the smart, funny, handsome ones always have a screw loose? Although in Henry’s case, it seemed to be more than one. So unfair. She’d pegged him right when she’d asked him if he was a mad scientist, that was for sure.
She put the bag of coffee she’d bought on the counter. A couple of stools here would be nice.
Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde. Who came up with a thing like that? Did he really think it was funny?
Because she didn’t. And if—a big if—that really was his name, why wouldn’t he change it? That would solve a lot of problems. She had firsthand experience in that department.
As she started to cool down, however, she began to question if his tall tale wasn’t just something he pulled on all the newcomers as opposed to something directed at her specifically, which was what it had felt like at first.
Especially because of the monster comment. That was what had set her off. That was what had made her think he knew.
But how could he? She’d only just arrived. She hadn’t even told him her last name. Which wouldn’t have mattered anyway, because she’d changed it. There was no way he could know. She was letting her fear get the best of her.
She sat on the couch, slouching back to stare at the ceiling and think about what she’d escaped. She didn’t want to go through all of that again. But she didn’t want to move again, either. She’d only just gotten here!
She sighed as her heart rate slowed. This was an overreaction on her part. It had to be.
Henry was just a slightly weird goofball. Maybe more than slightly, but that was it. He was an eccentric. Really intelligent people were often strange. He had no agenda. He wasn’t out to expose her.
He didn’t know who she really was.
She twisted her fingers together as the old anxiety bubbled up. It was hard not to give in to the paranoia. It was part of who she was. It was in her blood. As much as she hated it, she had to accept that side of her personality, because denying it felt unhealthy.
Better to acknowledge and deal, right?
She really had no idea, but she couldn’t afford to break down. Not now. What she needed was to get control and manufacture some peace for herself. There was only one way to do that. Get rid of the clutter she could control. Find a place for everything and put it there.
She heaved herself off the couch, took her AirPods out of her purse, put on some alpha wave background music and went to work doing the one thing that grounded her more than anything else.
Organizing.
She began to unpack, put things away, and organize her new space. She started in the kitchen, opening all the cabinets and drawers so she could assess the space she was working with. The range was a flat-top solid surface, which she liked, because it seemed very safe to her. If the range had been gas, she never would have moved into the apartment. She found the stacked washer and dryer right where Henry had said they’d be, on one side of the pantry.
That was good. She might do some laundry. Her old place hadn’t had a washer or dryer, so she’d arrived with a hamper full. And she knew where her laundry pods were.
Without any further delay, she got a load started. It was tempting to work on the bedroom while she was in there, but that would take the longest, and she wanted the kitchen done.
As the washer chugged away, she looked into the cabinets. They seemed clean, but she generally preferred to put shelf paper down. That would mean waiting until tomorrow, though, because she didn’t have any. She did, however, have paper towels. Better than nothing.
As she worked, some tantalizing aromas from the pizza place below her apartment drifted up. She smiled. She could see how easy it would be to give in to that every once in a while. She wiped the cabinets out just to be sure, then laid paper towels in them, trimming them to size. Good enough.
It took her an hour and a half to get the kitchen in order with all the pots and pans, dishes, silverware, and other utensils put away, but already her sense of calm had begun to return. The coffee maker was right where it should be, ready to go.
The pantry held the few nonperishables she’d brought with her. Tomorrow’s breakfast would be oatmeal with raisins and brown sugar, but that would work until she could get to the grocery store. That was at the top of her list to do in the morning. She’d need to make a grocery list, too, but she’d do that over breakfast.
She hoped to pick up a paper or maybe find some help-wanted ads on the grocery store’s bulletin board. If they had one.
Because she had to get to a job soon. She wanted to start hunting for one tomorrow. She couldn’t work for Henry. Not after what had happened tonight. It would just be weird.
She moved her clothes into the dryer, then started on the living room, which didn’t take long. She had a soft, navy-blue throw that she’d knitted herself ages ago and a pair of navy and white throw pillows to add to the couch.
She got her television set up, including connecting it to the Wi-Fi, which was included in her rent. She could at least get her streaming channels that way. Paying for cable wasn’t going to happen.
A rug and a coffee table would be nice, but unless Shadowvale had a thrift shop or secondhand furniture store, those would have to wait. She put out the very few knickknacks she had. A glass paperweight. A little decorative jar of shells she’d collected over the years. A handmade ceramic bowl bought at an art fair. But no candles. Not ever.
Next was the bathroom.
She put down her navy-blue with white stars bathmat, hung her galaxy shower curtain, then went to work organizing the cabinet space. Again, she laid down paper towels before putting her things in.
There was more space here than at her last place, so it was easier to organize.
Finally, she was ready to tackle the bedroom. There was a lot to do. Mostly clothes to hang and put away, but the closet would need to be organized by color, then within the colors, by sleeve length. Sleeveless, short sleeves, mid-length, long, then jackets.
She didn’t have that many clothes, but she liked them easily accessible. Everything got organized by some kind of system. Shoes, casual wear, accessories.
Then there was the room itself. She had a small rug to go by the side of the bed so she wouldn’t have to put her feet on the cold floor first thing. But before that went down, she swept, pleased to find her broom gathered very little debris. Whoever had cleaned the apartment ahead of her arrival had done a good job.
She unrolled the rug, then made the bed with her sheets, quilt, and pillows. Since there were no nightstands, she used a small shelving unit next to the bed. It was about the height of a nightstand and not much wider. It would do for now. She set a small reading lamp on it, then plugged in her phone charger, attaching her phone to it right after.
Onto the shelves went the few paper books she refused to part with, her e-reader and charger, a box of tissues, and her favorite body lotion. There were no family photos. Those just held too many memories.
She stood back and took a look. A plant would be nice. She’d had to leave all of hers behind, because she hadn’t had the room in the SUV. She’d had to leave a lot of things behind, a lesson in living life more simply, she supposed. But with or without a plant, the shelving unit would work well as a temporary nightstand.
Now it was on to the clothing. It was what she owned the most of, although her wardrobe wasn’t excessive by any means. She favored quality over quantity, preferring to own two or three good pairs of pants over a dozen that might not last more than a year or two. And because she spent money on pieces that lasted, she never left any of them behind.
Her sartorial preferences weren’t about vanity but rather another form of disguise. Or maybe self-protection was a better term. People judged you by how you looked, and that had as much to do with what you wore as it did your hygiene and grooming.
A person with noise in her head and darkness in her soul wouldn’t be expected to present themselves the way Izzy did. She valued any distance she could put between herself and that stereotypical image.
With a sigh, she surveyed the remaining chaos. There was nothing to do but get started.
She unpacked all of the bags, boxes, suitcases, and duffels that held clothing, accessories, and shoes, laying it all out on the bed.
One box had nothing but hangers, which she’d packed as full as possible. Thankfully, there were still a handful in the apartment’s closet, left behind by whoever had lived here previously.
Piece by piece, she put it all away. There were items that needed to be steamed or pressed, something she would have loved to do, but exhaustion was starting to win. It was nearly four in the morning. She straightened the last pair of shoes on the closet floor and decided she’d done enough.
She could sleep peacefully, the noise in her head tamped down for now.
She was about to change into pajamas when a disturbance outside caught her attention. It was a thumping sound, like something heavy and dense on metal.
The door to her apartment was steel but had a peephole. She peered through it, unable to see anything. There was a sidelight of security glass next to the door, but it was wavy and really meant for letting light in, not looking out of.
She went around to the window in the kitchen, which had blinds on it. A valance of some kind would help soften the look of it. She turned out the lights in the kitchen and living room, then parted the blinds with her fingers to peer out.
A mountainous form was slowly coming up the steps. It was a man. But he didn’t look like any man Izzy had ever seen. He was too large, too muscular, and not in a bodybuilding kind of way. His size looked unnatural. Like muscles had grown over muscles. Like he’d been built of cinder blocks and sinew.
The blue scrubs he wore were stretched thin. The lab coat over top of them seemed to have split at the shoulder and arm seams. His brow was thick and furrowed, and the security lights reflected in his gaze showed a deeply intent single-mindedness. What the man was focused on, Izzy wasn’t sure.
He kept coming up the stairs, each step an effort that seemed to take both concentration and coordination. His chest and torso looked as wide as the front of a semi-truck. His legs were like tree trunks, his feet like bags of cement. She couldn’t imagine the strength required to complete one step.
Hands the size of baseball mitts clung to the metal railing, making it seem puny in his grasp.
He was terrifying and fascinating at the same time. Every now and then, he’d let out a deep, throaty grunt. She wasn’t sure he was real and yet, there he was, coming closer and closer. As he drew near, the security lights reflected something Izzy hadn’t noticed before.
Her blood ran cold as she realized what she was looking at.
A small white scar running through his left eyebrow.
Edgar lumbered up the steps toward Henry’s apartment. The steps were high, and having to climb them made him angry. Although not as angry as they did sometimes. Going up was hard. Coming down was easier. He was just so tired, and he didn’t know why.
All he wanted was to lie down on Henry’s big, soft bed and sleep. Then he would feel better. Then he would get up, find something in Henry’s house to eat, and then Edgar would be ready to go out and break things. Maybe he would go to the park and pull trees up by their roots. Or stomp all the flower beds. Or push over the gazebo. He wanted to destroy something very much.
But not as much as he wanted to sleep.
The stairs creaked under his weight. Stupid stairs. Why were there so many of them?
He huffed out a breath as he finally reached the top. He caught movement out of the corner of his eye, but by the time he turned his head, there was nothing there. Maybe it had been a moth. Or maybe the blinds had moved.
It didn’t matter. Nothing mattered but getting into Henry’s house and lying down on that big, comfortable bed.
He stared at the door. It was locked. It was always locked. If he could have broken it down, he would have, but he’d tried that before. It hadn’t worked. All that had happened was his hands and knuckles had gotten very sore and he’d gotten very angry.
Hands. Hands were important. Why? He looked at his hands, flexing them. Then his eyes narrowed in on the flat, black panel next to the door. That’s why hands were important. He pressed his palm to the screen, only managing to fit half of it on there.
Nothing happened. He growled. Stupid lock. Why did Henry want to keep him out? Why? Why? They should be friends. Henry treated him like the enemy.
Edgar’s lip curled. Someday he would come face-to-face with Henry and he would punish him for the way he’d treated Edgar all of these years.
Always trying to get rid of him. Always trying to stop him from coming. Locking him up when he did visit. That was not how you treated a friend. Not how you treated a brother.
Edgar growled again. That’s what they were. Brothers.
He smashed his palm to the glass again, succeeding in getting the other half against it. He waited for the click of the door unlocking. But there was no sound. Nothing happened. His anger grew, making him snarl and ball his hands into fists. Stupid lock. Stupid door.
He pounded his fists against the door, rage rumbling out of his chest. Henry was a bad brother. Very bad.
Edgar’s shoulders felt tight and his arms heavy. He heaved out a sigh. He was so tired. But Henry was not getting rid of him this easily. Oh no. Edgar could wait. He put one hand on the door and eased his bulk down to sit with his back to the metal. He pulled his knees up, leaned his arms on them, then rested his head against his forearms. He was so tired. Maybe he’d just rest right here until Henry came home.
Henry was stiff and sore and a little unsure of where he was. He blinked as he came awake and took in his surroundings. He now knew where he was but not why.
Well, he knew why. This was Edgar’s doing. But Henry didn’t remember it happening. He didn’t remember exactly when Edgar had wrested control and shifted into being.
He leaned his head back against the metal door to his apartment and let out a soft groan. He hurt the way he always did after a shift, a sort of general soreness in his muscles that felt like he’d done a harder workout than usual. He lifted his hands, flexing them and looking at his knuckles, then his palms. There were no cuts, scrapes, or bruises, so that was good.
Didn’t mean he was in the clear. He got up slowly, giving his body time to adjust to being Henry again, then pressed his hand to the panel beside the door. As he did that, he glanced over at Izzy’s door.
Had she seen Edgar last night? He hoped not. The click of the door unlocking reached his ears. He hoped she’d been long asleep before Edgar made his climb. But if she had seen him, Henry sincerely wished she hadn’t lost her will to stay in Shadowvale.
He felt for her. Finding out she shared the world with creatures she’d only previously thought to be make-believe had obviously thrown her. Seeing Edgar after that conversation might have sent her running.
He went inside. His cell phone was hopefully still in his lab, but for now, he’d use his landline, a relic he’d yet to get rid of because of Edgar. But first, he went to the windows that looked out over the street.
Izzy’s car was still parked out there. But the sun was barely up. For all he knew, she might be getting ready to haul everything back downstairs and drive off. He really hoped that wasn’t her plan.
Wasn’t sure he could stop her if it was.
He dialed an all-too-familiar number.
“Hello?”
“Deacon? It’s Henry. Any reports last night?”
“Nope. I take it that means …”
“Yep.”
“You okay?”
“I’m good. No damage done that I’ve found yet. Haven’t been down to the lab yet, but I’ll check soon.”
