18
Erik
Her neck was limp against my arm, her body dead motionless as I carried her to my lair bridal-style. She was okay—I checked, but it was terrifying to see Nicole, my angel Nicole, unconscious in my arms. Years ago, I would have been tempted to finally take her. Now I would not rest until she was on her feet.
I brought her down to my lair underground within seconds and laid her gently on a maroon recliner. Once she was free from my grasp, she stirred. Her eyes still closed, she limply lifted her hand to sloppily rub her head. Some hair fell down her forehead and over her eyes. Between my fingers, I tucked it behind her ear. The back of my thumb brushed her forehead. Once I released, her eyes fluttered open and narrowed at the sight of me. "Mr. Y?" she muttered. She tried to sit up but fell back and grunted.
I gently pressed her shoulders down and knelt beside her. "Rest, Nicole. You must have bumped your head on the car."
"Yeah, I did," she breathed. She reached into her purse and rummaged without looking until she pulled out a white bottle. She pinched the cap to open it and two pink pills fell into the palm of her hand. She then put them in her mouth, swallowed and put the cap back on the bottle and put it back in her purse. She allowed herself to look around by moving her eyes only and then said, "Is this where you live?"
"Yes," I replied.
"Are you, like, a hoarder or something?"
What? "A what?"
"A person who hoards stuff," she said firmly. "Like The Little Mermaid."
I looked around as well. "I suppose I never had time to organize anything."
She giggled through her nose. "Okay, so you're either a hoarder who's getting better or a slob. Or both." She cleared her throat. "What's with all the candles?"
"Electric lighting wasn't installed everywhere by the time this place opened," I told her. "We didn't have the motivation to renovate its entirety."
"Fancy," she breathed. She managed to sit up and look more by moving her neck. "Hmm, this isn't that bad. Artistic. Compose a lot of…musicals and stuff in here?" She was looking at the pipe organ I brought from France.
"Yes," I muttered.
She got up and looked around more, until her eyes stopped at the figurine stage. "Hey, this looks a lot like the stage…wherever the hell it is from here," she said. I followed her as she approached it and picked up the completed figurine of her. "Aww, you have a little black one…who looks oddly like me." She gently placed it back where it was and turned to face me. "Do you have something to tell me or something?"
I did, and my opportunity was standing before me. She took a step and slipped on her shoelace. I caught her, perhaps inhumanly swiftly because she squawked and trembled in my arms again. She caught my eye and after only breathing, said, "I'm gonna unmask you now."
"No!" I exclaimed, jerking before she could reach out, almost dropping her. I put her on her feet and whispered, "That is one thing I'm not prepared to reveal." I hadn't even to Imani.
"What's your name?" she asked. She could sense my nervousness and took pity on me. She grasped my shoulder and sat me with her atop the coffin I slept in that was covered with a sheet and looked simply like a box covered in a sheet. "I'll tell you my middle name, yeah? It's—"
"Denise," I said. "I know."
I could smell her fear. "Pretty stereotypical, huh?"
I was ready. "I wouldn't know. I was born Erik Destler in Rouen, France."
She smiled. "Good start! I was born in Harlem—"
"Christmas 1995," I said. "I know."
Her hands clenched. "You knew my mom…so I bet. Now it's your turn to tell me, because I do not know your mom."
She allowed me to take her hands between mine. "Nicole, I am about to tell you something you may not believe. I ask that you only listen and know that you'll believe it in time."
She nodded. "Okay, then."
"I was born in Rouen, France…in the early 1830s."
The doubt in her eyes was maddening, but the hope in her voice was comforting. "Okay, I'm just going to sit here and see where you go from that."