14:43 /// Bed of Bone

“You’re diabolically brilliant,” Jan says, grinning. “This could actually work.”

“But how are we going to find a killer to replace us in fifteen hours?” I ask. “Maintaining this charade with my AI assessor, how long will that last before our truth shatters?”

He yanks his coat from his swivel chair. The chair spins around. He puts the coat on. “You have no idea what people will sell their lives for.”

I rub my temples with my index fingers. “How do we even pick someone? Who will it be?”

“Your husband.” His topaz eyes light up, and hell is a giggling audience. “Two birds with one stone. Then we have the assessor to deal with, which it sounds like you handled brilliantly this morning. Your husband understands the behind-the-scenes, and with what you’ve mentioned, it already sounds like the culprit knows the loopholes in the system, like your husband.”

“No.”

“But—”

“I said no.” I step back. He’s always wanted my husband out of the way. But he couldn’t have predicted that the idea would come through my lips. Who can I trust? Who do I blame?

Hurt smolders in his eyes as he stares at me. “I can see it in your eyes, what you’re thinking. The answer is no,” he says, running a hand through his hair. “You stared at me like that last night, as if I’d hurt you. Up till then, you’ve always trusted me.”

“I saw a different side of you that scares me.”

“I see a different, diabolical side of you, but I’m not letting that redefine what you mean to me.”

I push the conversation aside. “We need to bury the killer’s DNA in her body, so the detective’s tools pick up their DNA,” I say. “Do you know someone we can use?”

“Ja, a bunch of people. On speed dial.” He narrows his eyes. “What do you take me for?”

“Well, Jan, you seem to have a bunch of corruptible tricks in your bag and those bodies in your family’s foster agency.”

“Empty shells, love. The doctor at our agency in Oodi can still transfer you into one of their bodies and have someone take the fall in this current body of yours.”

I muse. “We need to see my family first, and then we can consider that.”

“I’ve an idea of who can take the fall,” he says. “Your husband—”

“How about your ex-wife-to-be?” I interrupt. “I mean, you’re done with her, might as well be done with her completely.” His lips clamp shut. “Exactly.”

He surrenders his hands. “Good point.” Takes a deep breath. Steps forward. Hands delicately on my shoulders. “I’ll put up my wife, if you put up your husband.”

The air leaves my body. Just as swift, a creature-quick movement sweeps through the closed door. A woman. The dead victim. Our victim. Moremi Gadifele. She limps toward us. I fall back over the leather couch. My breaths come out quick. “Oh, Jan, she’s here. Blocking the doorway.”

He stares at the door. Drags his hand through his hair. “There’s no one there. Love, it’s just in your head.”

“She’s right there.” I point. I get to my feet. Grab my handbag. “I need to get out of here.”

Jan nears me. Places his hands on my shoulder. Frames my face, and only my eyes revolve to the side. “Love, we’re in this together. I understand. What happened last night was too, too much.” Moremi steps forward, a meter away from us, and I freeze. “And it’s understandable you are tormented by what we had to do. No one should have to go through that. Now.” He spins me, remarkably faces me toward the doorway, to her. “You need to face your fear. It’s a hallucination. I guarantee you, if you touch her, your hand will slip through her, and she’ll fade. That’s the thing with nightmares. Face your fears, love. Trust me, they’re not real.”

She leers.

“No, I don’t want to,” I mumble like a child, try to step back but he holds me steady, my back against his chest. Moremi leans to one side, the side with the twisted foot, facing in the opposite direction. I grimace, close my eyes, but Jan’s lips are at my ear, his voice dripping into me. “Love, if we don’t face this now, it’ll only keep following us, and we won’t be able to operate. I’m right here.” His hand rappels down my arm, tangles with my fingers, raises my arm, and I lean back as he raises it toward her. “I’ll do this with you.”

She hobbles, her brown skin smeared with blood. On closer inspection, her face—the revealed muscle, the bit of bone, the crucified eye, sunken into a bed of bone and tendon—sneers at me. “Ja nè, I told you you’d regret burying me, and now you’re trying me again.”

I struggle to let the words out. I mutter, “Moremi, listen—”

She looks surprised that I know her name.

Moremi’s voice gasps through her split lips. “Why?” That’s it. A simple question. “Why did you do this to me? You’re the one that took my breath away.” Her eyes are big like last night but with the venom of anger. She stands sentry at the doorway. Her left foot is missing a couple of toes. The other is too flat, pointing in the wrong direction.

“I have risen, fed by your greed, your pride, your fear,” she croaks, sounding like an old woman on her deathbed. “Fed by your DNA beneath my nail beds.”

Jan stretches my fingers. Her heart-shaped face is not decomposing but fresh and gleaming in the morning sun. We’re the same height. Fingers inch away. She tilts her head, beckoning me. I shut my eyes tight. My fingers near the edge of her face where the air turns hot, dip into her eye socket, glimpse the bulb of her cheekbone, glow with a pain full of sun. A death, velvet in its flow, wages through my veins.

I tip back, a broken volcano, a molten mountain, buckled from its stance. A pain so unfathomable, it burns and rebirths me. A scream scrambles from my larynx, claws the ceiling, bangs the windows, breaks the world. A bit of air, a gap of safety. No more contact from yesterday’s death. Air flows around me, a running stream of life, but I’m suffocating, suffocating, suffocating, and spinning on the last remnants of life in my lungs. Jan heaves and heaves for oxygen that no longer speaks our lungs’ language. I punch my chest, gobble bits of air. The first intake, sharp and cold. My eyes water.

“Get me out of here!” I scream.

Jan wheezes, eyes me, can’t believe what he doesn’t see but feels. Still doubts, as if it’s electricity that’s somehow leaked from a broken appliance. Moremi blocks the doorway, Secretary Sam beyond, waver­ing on pinpoints of heels, staring through Moremi at us, a debacle.

Jan edges back. “Bliksem. There’s no other exit.”

I’m trapped. My eyes ricochet. A sharp, bright glisten disturbs my eyes. Picture windows. The reflection of sunlight screams across all the glass in the room, drowning me in it. The glass windows are nonoperable. But I stumble over the coffee table, knocking down décor books. Punch my arm against the window. Nothing.

“Running only makes it worse for you.” Moremi heaves the other foot forward. “Let me touch you.”

The window is cold against my back. Jan stares at me, can’t see how we damaged her body last night. “No!” I shout. My arm, I swing it against the window again. A crack flicks across the pane like lightning.

“You’re going to hurt yourself! What the hell are you doing?” Jan shouts.

Again. I bang my arm against the glass. Pieces of skin-flannel fly off my arm, exposing grey-steeled bone-metal. Again. An explosion of cracks spread across the window. A meteor. Shards spray against the floor into a song of crystals. The wind screams through the open wound. Wind cranes inside, gropes us. Outside, all the buildings, the architectural marvels, stand like huddled pistons firing into the sky-squad.

“Stop!” Her hoarse voice pierces me like a bullet riddling through flesh. “If you walk away from me, someone else will die.”

Jan wraps his hands through his hair like a madman pulling at straw. “Don’t!”

I don’t think. I throw myself into a mouth of air, tongues of wind wrap and lick me.

I hit the steel mesh of the scaffold. It smacks against the façade.

My prosthetic arm indicates the speed of the wind. Not safe. Tallest building, high vortex. I step onto the scaffold, frightening the maintenance workers. It sways. The ground beneath sinks and swells in my vision. Don’t look down. Moremi drags her battered body to the window. Rain and wind buck down on me.

I lunge, arms waving as if trying to grab a curtain of wind, use it as rope, and swing across into the pool. Held by nothing but air, the wind wheezes through my ears. My lungs contract, fear trickles in. I spin my arms as the air holds me wary. Screaming, I crash into the swimming pool across the lane dividers, a cold, biting feeling. Joh, I made it. I’m caught between maddening laughter and hyperventilation.

I look back. Moremi’s standing on the horizontal metal frame of the scaffold. The wind does not graze her. No need for physics—she launches herself off the scaffold as if it’s a trampoline and lands an arm’s length away from me. No splash. Chlorine tangles into my scream as the tight molecules of water restrain me from moving faster. She walks through water as if it’s air. Fuck me. I drag myself across. Her broken fingers hook into my braids. A burn sears into my shoulder, her hand. I scream, striking out with my nails bared. I stumble, swallow more chlorine. Gasp. Choke. People stand by with their kettlebells, watching me scream for help. The density of the water is unrecognizable to her form. Her blood colors not the waters. I crawl-swim to the edge, remove my coat; a necklace gets lost in the depths of the pool. The cold winter hugs me as I reach for the edge, haul myself up. I stumble about, the sun dizzying around me. I collapse onto the concrete paving, panting and coughing. I swat away assisting hands, wipe the pool water from my face.

I limp on one stiletto, kick it aside. Past the reception desk. Punch the buttons to open the elevator doors. It’s taking too long. The stairs. Standing in the pool, she stares at me; evil gloom drips across her gashed lip. I push gymgoers aside. She paces toward me. Down the stairs I go, careening from banister to wall, the dark shade clinging to me. Stumble down the stairs. Throw a scream out like a missile. No one’s there. I take a breath. My backbone clicks. Blood trickles down my pants, peeking out at my ankle. I touch my thigh. Pain. I cringe, get up, water eclipsing my body, making it harder to maneuver without slipping. Make it downstairs.

Jan hurries through the entrance doors, the wine-red backpack strapped to his shoulder. People’s eyes cling to us. In a fit of apologies, he carries me into the elevator, punches B for basement parking. Bloody hell, I’m crying. “I’m burning,” I shout, trying to remove my blouse. “She burned me with her hand.”

Jan holds me in his arms. “Shh, it’s okay. I’m here. I’m sorry.” He gently sweeps the blouse down my shoulder. Crumples in sadness. The smell of burning skin stings my nose. I twist my back to the mirror. A hand-mark burn boils into my skin. I clench my teeth from the scathing pain. Her touch can burn me. She is beyond powerful—what more can she do?

Jan’s lips press to my forehead. He tucks wet braids behind my ear. “We’ll fix this. We’ll fix it. I promise.”

The elevator doors ding open. Moremi stands there. Too late for my scream. She throws Jan aside, against the concrete column. Headfirst. Knocked out. Blood trickles from his head, fans out. I jab my legs at her. Her hands, three fingers less, grip sharply into my shoulders, her mouth cranes open, thick blood pouring onto my chest. A light flickers. We’re surrounded by sixty or so stationary cars. At the far end, near the exit, is a security guard. On the other end, by the other elevators, a couple push a cart toward their car, away from us. I’m about to scream, but Moremi punches me in the chest.

“I will kill you the same way I died,” Moremi bellows, rippling the cold air into a burning sensation. “I’m going to cave your head in the same way you did mine. My existence is built around your DNA. An automatic GPS route to you. No matter where you run, I’ll always find you.”

“No, no, no, asseblief,” I cry.

“Yes, yes, yes,” she says. Her fist flies forward. Pain. Pain explodes in my forehead. She drags me out of the elevator by my hair. How can this be the end? No, it can’t be. It won’t. My arms hustle around with her, tackling her to the ground. My legs shoot outward, wrap themselves around her. She slips out, this damaged body more powerful than mine. She raises her fist, the other crunched around my blouse’s collar.

“I’m sorry. Please forgive me,” I cry. “Asseblief, just give me time.”

The shadows of the basement shift between our faces. Her pupils yawn and pulsate, ravenous and rabid. “You would like to borrow some time?” she asks, which stuns me. Am I even allowed? What are the rules? Are there rules?

I’m talking to Satan, so I pause, thinking. She seizes my throat. Her palm is a Venus flytrap, smashing my face into the cold, dusty concrete floor. The undeniable speed and pressure of her grip crushes the sound from my scream. Sparks of white and dark light dance before my eyes.

“Yes, yes, please give me more time!” I scream, slurring words.

The security guard turns, can’t see me down on the floor. I hear his footsteps as he tries to find the source of the scream. But he’s going in the opposite direction, toward the couple who are just as confused. I’m too scared to scream again.

Moremi’s damaged lips attempt to smile. “How long did I take to die?”

“W-w-what?”

“How long. Did I. Take to die?” She enunciates every word so it terrifies me.

“I-I-I don’t know.” She has the upper hand. Anything to delay.

“You buried me alive. Snuffed my breath. Filled my lungs with muck.”

“I-I-I’m sorry,” I plead.

“How many family members do you have? Close relationships?” That’s her question. My daughter. My husband. A brutal brother. A quiet father. An optimistic, caring mother. No other relatives. Close relationships—Jan, my lover.

She lets go of me. Traces my footsteps as I hurriedly take the opportunity to drag at Jan’s body. He wakes, leaning against me as I guide us along the long path to the car. I extract the key from my handbag. Drop it twice. Unlock the car with sweaty fingers as Moremi stares, smiling beguilingly. Jan drops into the back seat and I follow suit, yelling for the car to engage self-driving mode with the door still open. She reaches in casually, hands gripping the sides of my abdomen, her body scraping against the concrete floor, as the car’s tires squeal in high-octane speed.

“Five relatives and one lover; six lives. All of them,” she says, her legs striking through a column as the car turns to the exit. I cringe expecting impact, but she shows no pain, knows no pain. “Be careful what you wish for. The time I took to die is the time left until someone you love dies,” she whispers, letting go, her body falling to the ground, a rolling thud beneath the car—a speed bump. I look through the back window, see her body roll to a still. She disappears like a hazy sunset into the swaying smell of burnt tires.