Let’s pretend that Aeron loves me.
And that we’re safe. All safe.
Let’s pretend I’m splitting, because it feels like it, my whole pelvis on the business end of an angry knife—
If I could split down the middle, at least half of me could run away.
TWENTY-SIX YEARS AGO
Aeron
Aged Six
Everywhere
She cried when I was born. She tells me most days, when we’re having toast or cookies. I tore her up from the inside out, she says, and I think, well, that’s also what she says about Daddy.
Maybe it’s just what boys are meant to do.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Aeron
Legacy (noun): a rich man’s word for rot.
Grasshoppers, I can’t bear the sounds.
The first flies have found Harvey. He’s barely gone, but they creep around the garbage bags taped over the windows and buzz on his dry eyeballs like he’s cattle.
The other sounds wash in from beyond the wall. First the shouts, then the cries, and that rhythm, the unmistakable stuttering thud of a fuck. She screams.
My Leo is in there.
God, I’m thirsty. My tongue fucking hurts.
My Leo is in there.
My brain fucking hurts. I don’t quite remember where I am.
“You’re a mess,” says Tuija, squatting down in front of me in her ridiculous cut-out bathing suit. “You should be ashamed of yourself.”
“Tied up,” I manage, my voice hoarse.
“I can see that.”
“You’re dead.”
She glances left and right. Tuts. “Huh. So I am.” Then she grabs her huge left breast, squeezing until it bulges beneath the suit. “Have to say though, the implants are holding up pretty well in the afterlife. Bravo, Doctor Price. Bravo!” She claps, each smack of her palm echoing around the dark water villa.
“Fuck you,” I spit.
“I missed you too, you evil shit.”
“Firecracker.” I shuffle in my bindings, as if she can somehow help. “Everything’s fucked.”
“Why do you think I’m here?”
“Massive head trauma.” No, really. I think I’ve fractured my skull.
She rolls her eyes. “Come on, Freud. We don’t have all day.”
A thick bang shakes the walls, and another scream sweeps through, stinging my ear drums. Even Tuija flinches.
“My Leo’s in there,” I choke out.
Tuija shakes her head. There’s something wrong with her hair—I see it when she leans closer. It’s not her usual silky blow dry; instead, it hangs in matted rat-tails of brown and red. “I warned you about her.”
“You warned me about a lot of things.”
“And look where it got me. Still. Your Leo’s probably gonna have it worse than me, just FYI.”
If I had the energy, I’d spit at her. “You’re not helping.”
“What exactly do you want me to do, Aeron? Whack out my special ghost lasers and cut you free?” She makes a hissing sound through her teeth and strokes a finger across my taped middle. “Yeah. Looks like I’m all out.”
“You—you must be here for a reason.”
“Wrong, fuckface.” She folds her arms. “You’re here for a reason, though.”
I push the words out, though they taste foul. “To die.”
“May as well. I mean, what’s left to live for? Your reputation’s screwed—even if they’ve cleared you as a suspect, Daddy in there’s hardly gonna look good, is he?” She sighs theatrically. “Goodbye, Lore Corp. Your precious girlfriend will be dead soon—or at least, she’ll wish she was. So goodbye, *. God knows where everyone else is. What’s going to happen to Ash now, smart ass? And why the fuck did you hire Gwen? What were you thinking?”
“I was thinking I needed a new assistant, because you fucked off and left me!”
“Bitch, please. If she doesn’t have something to do with this, I’ll eat my hat.” She frowns. “I don’t have a hat, but hey, I’m dead. Don’t have a lot of things. Huh.” She purses freshly-lacquered lips. “That’s depressing.”