Page 20 of The Hangman's Rope
I crept to the end of the hall and peeked out into the living space to see the guy tapping on the screen of his phone with both thumbs. I retreated quickly to the bathroom, shutting myself inside and locking the door.
I breathed out the breath I hadn’t known that I was holding, slow and steady, and went about using the facilities.
I took an inordinate amount of time to wash my hands and face and availed myself the use of the brush sitting on the edge of the sink, wincing as the bristles snagged and caught in all these miscellaneous knots and snarls in my long locks.
I leaned in and inspected my reflection, trying to think back, rifling through the miasma inside my skull for anything that could tell me a little bit more about myself. But alas, all I did was come up frustratingly empty.
“Lorelai, Lorelai, Lorelai,” I whispered at my reflection, and distantly in the far reaches of my memory I heard a stern woman’s voice cry, “Lorelai Mary Ellen!”
I swallowed hard.
“Lorelai Mary Ellen,” I tried at my reflection and it felt… natural.
“Lorelai Mary Ellen,what, though?” I wondered aloud.
A sharp knock fell at the bathroom door and I jumped.
“You aren’t trying to do anything stupid like crawl out the window are you? Because you got about thirty seconds to open up or I’m kicking this bitch in. You been in there long enough.”
I opened the door and froze as he was right in the frame and thus, right in my space. I swallowed hard and felt trapped in the small bathroom, but then he moved aside and got out of my way.
“Hangman’s on his way home. Told me to fix you something to eat. You hungry?” he asked. I stood trembling and shook my head.
“Good,” he said. “You wouldn’t want to eat whatever I managed to throw together anyway. I’m a shit cook.”
“Sorry to hear that,” I said lamely for lack of anything better to say.
“What about you?” he asked, eyeing me, an almost calculating look. “Know if you’re good at anything?”
I shook my head.
“I don’t, really,” I said.
“You really got nothing going on up there, huh?” he asked.
I gave a bit of a self-deprecating laugh.
“I have plenty of thoughts,” I said. “It’s just like this blank slate when it comes to any memories. Like whatever system of retrieval is in place just stopped working.”
“Lights are on but nobody’s home doesn’t exactly apply, huh?” he asked.
I shook my head.
“Lights are on. I’m here,” I said. “I’m just… not at the same time. I really don’t know how to put it into words.”
“Hm.” He looked thoughtful. “I know a lot of people who would give their left nut to forget about their past,” he said.
“It’s not all it’s cracked up to be,” I told him. “It’s really not.”
“One man’s high is another man’s poison,” he said with a shrug. “Have a seat.” He thrust his chin at the couch, and I crept carefully past him and took a seat in the same cozy little corner as I had last night.
He dropped into the recliner without another word, took up the game controller there and, with a sniff, started to play. With nothing better to do, I just sat and watched.
I was still curled and stiff in the same position when a heavy footfall and a shadow fell outside the window behind me. I jumped, startled as he blocked out the sun and came around to the door leading out onto the porch. He stopped outside it and leaned down a couple of times, bracing his hand against the doorjamb on the outside, and I realized he was taking off his boots.
When the door swung open, he was wearing the same kind of heavy leather jacket and vest with colorful patches sewn onto it that Specter was sporting.
“About fuckin’ time you got here,” Specter said.
