Eileen's voice carries throughout the apartment. It's a welcome change from the quiet Henry was used to, as grounding as it is comforting. He finds himself drawn to it every time she's home, and he's drawn to it now, half paying attention to the one-sided conversation.
"Mary's sick, so I guess I'm going in tonight," Eileen says as she exits their bedroom. She navigates through unopened boxes to find her shoes at the entryway. "I know we weren't planning on doing anything special today, but I still think we should go out when I get back. It might do us some good."
Henry hums in response as he continues folding their laundry.
"Or," she continues, leaning her weight on the wall to slip on her flats, "we could stay in. I've been meaning to try this new recipe…"
She trails off. Clearly expecting a response, Henry turns to look at her.
"No, I think we should go out too," he says. Eileen straightens up to regard him. "It'll be good. Besides, you've been working so much lately — if anyone should be cooking, it should be me."
The suggestion earns him a laugh.
"Oh Henry, honey, you're sweet," she replies. "But I'm not sure I should trust you in my kitchen for Valentine's Day."
He looks positively sheepish. It's endearing, and Eileen moves to give him a kiss on the cheek, smiles when he leans into it, presses another just because.
"I'll see you tonight," she says, and she's almost out the door before she realizes there's a package on their doorstep. "Um, Henry, were you expecting something in the mail?"
Henry shakes his head, offers her a quiet no as she steps next to her to observe the package. It's small and unassuming, closed shut by duct tape, with no shipping label in sight, and suddenly the air is somehow different, foreboding. There's a feeling of wrongness that settles somewhere in the pit of Henry's stomach while Eileen bends down to pick it up, rotating this way and that in her hands.
"Well, there's no sender, so maybe—"
Something inside of the box begins thrashing and Eileen drops it with a yelp. Henry immediately shields her as it seizes violently on the ground, accompanied by a piercing squelching sound, when all at once it stops.
"Oh God, what is that?"
Eileen's nails dig tiny grooves into his back as she clutches at his skin. He shakes his head and picks it up, sits it on their countertop. She leans over to hand him a knife and he slices through the duct tape with little resistance.
The smell hits them first. It's putrid and permeating, and Eileen has to cover her mouth to keep from gagging. Henry steels himself before finally opening the flaps, and he's only vaguely aware of Eileen's scream as they face what's inside of the box.
A heart. A human heart.
Beside the heart rests a note. With shaking hands, Henry reaches for it, trying desperately not to think about the blood on his hands, about the ramifications and what this all means.
MoM, it reads, and Henry's stomach drops.
You HAve mY HEaRT.