Henry nodded, looked nervously around, expecting at any moment for someone to come out of one of the many doors along this hallway. But the hospital was still fairly sleepy at this hour of the morning. He didn’t know what he’d do if someone came out and panicked at the sight of him. Would he lose his shit and just crush their tiny skull? Christ, he hoped not.
Since he’d woken up this morning, intense dread had welled up in his chest when he thought too long about what was happening. Surely his mind would also be changing as his body was, but the pre-change part of his thought processes occasionally choked on the reality of his situation. He’d feel panic burst into his brain, a mad feeling of suddenly needing to be outside his changing body. Then, fairly quickly, that feeling would be tamped down by another part of his brain – the part that subconsciously knew what was happening. Or that at least was becoming used to his new form. That dread filled him now, but he didn’t know whether this time it was because of his own situation, or because bringing Faye into this was setting her up for whatever disastrous road must surely lie ahead.
Faye walked down to the second door on the left, opened it, went inside. Ten seconds later, she emerged, waved her arm frantically for Henry to follow. Henry, keeping his head ducked so as not to destroy the light fixtures in the hallway ceiling, closed the distance to the doorway in three strides. Once inside the boiler room, Faye closed the door behind him.
It was nearly pitch dark inside. A thin stream of weak sunlight filtered in through a small window near the back wall. Machines hummed all around Henry, easing his nervousness a little. He instantly felt more at home here. Unseen. Surrounded by steel and mechanical things.
Is that what I’m becoming? A machine? He shuddered at the thought. If he was a machine, how would he start to see Faye? What would she be to him? He brushed these thoughts aside. Shook his head quickly, physically trying to rid them from his mind.
“It’s dark,” he said.
“I turned out the lights,” Faye said. Henry sensed her close, but not within arm’s reach – not even his mammoth arms.
“Thank you,” Henry said. “For hiding me here.”
Faye said nothing. He sensed her move closer. Closer still.
“What happened to you, Henry?”
“I changed.”
“Into what?”
“I don’t know.”
“Why did you come here? Why did you come to me?”
“Because Milo is dead. And I wanted to see you. I thought you could help me.”
“I know. But what about other friends? In your… group. Society. Whatever it is.”
Henry had never shared much about the Inferne Cutis. Faye knew what he was to a certain extent – knew that he was different, that he healed quickly from injuries that would kill another man. But her mind somehow separated those facts from her growing love for him. She felt no need to ask more about what he did at night when he left her apartment. Maybe simply because the less she knew, the safer she’d be. That’s certainly why Henry never elaborated on his nightly Runs.
“I’m scared to go back,” Henry said. “I don’t know what they’ll do to me.”
“What do you mean? What would they do to you?”
Henry was silent for a moment. Then: “Whatever I am. Whatever this is… I don’t think it’s supposed to happen. It just…”
Though her eyes were starting to adjust to the darkness in the boiler room, she could still only make out Henry’s general shape. But it was enough for her mouth to betray her. She said, “But I don’t even know what you are.”
The words were out before she knew it. She wished she could take them back. She felt Henry stiffen, felt the air around him grow somehow… colder. Even though he’d said much the same thing himself, hearing it from her was different.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean that, Henry.”
She knew her words made her sound distant, uncaring. She was trying to protect herself, but it was coming out wrong. But as close as they felt most of the time, this was uncharted territory. New boyfriends generally don’t turn into anything more or less than human.
Behind Henry, Milo hovered, watching. He didn’t know why he was here, what he hoped to achieve by hanging around his old friend, especially when he couldn’t make contact. And even when he did make contact – if Milo’s fingertips actually had brushed Henry’s face – Henry didn’t know what he was making contact with. Milo was just the cold spot in a room to Henry, perhaps a half-formed thought.
He’d stayed with him through the night, which he’d promised Henry he would. But the night was over now. Milo should get on with his afterlife. Maybe I’ll go haunt some abandoned factory somewhere, he thought. Or an old set of train tracks. Find a house where a bunch of people had been murdered, and whisper weird shit into the new homeowners’ ears at night. Something fucking interesting, for Christ’s sake.
But he couldn’t leave yet. He didn’t know how he knew, but something still felt … unfinished.
“It’s… It’s OK,” Henry said. “You’re right.”