Quill once told me how I shouldn’t stare into the fog unless I wanted to see what haunted me. Based on his wording, he was quoting Tom. I wondered if Quill ever chanced the warning and looked into the fog. I sensed nothing haunted him before last night. Now I’m unsure what remains of the man I first met.
Feeling brazen, I tempt fate and stare into the fog. Nothing looks back at me at first. Then I notice movement in the gray mass. Athena’s face appears, missing flesh and revealing bone.
“Odessa,” she whispers, calling out to me. “Why, Odessa?”
“Because I was young and stupid,” I tell her. “I would take it back, but I can’t. There’s no way to return to that moment and save you.”
“You killed me.”
“I have to let you go.”
“You let me go then too. You let me die.”
“I’m sorry, Athena. The real you would know how sorry I feel, and she would forgive me. I know you’re not her. You’re the evil in the Lost Highway, but I don’t hate you for showing her to me. I don’t hate me for what happened anymore. You’ll have to torment me with something else next time.”
Wiping away my tears, I close the curtains and walk to the CD player where I turn on Charlie Daniels. Once I fill a bucket with water and carry it to my old room, I open the door and adjust to the stench.
I decide to start cleaning in the bathroom where I wash away the blood and goo. When the bucket’s water turns foul, I replace it and continue working. The CD finishes twice before I feel Quill behind me.
“What are you doing?” he asks in a voice rough from sleep.
“I’m cleaning.”
“Why?”
“So it’ll be clean.”
“Does that mean you plan to sleep in here again?”
“No. I like the couch better.”
“Then why clean?” he asks, now angry.
I look at him and find his expression stuck somewhere between enraged and exhausted.
“This isn’t Tom’s cabin anymore. I want to wash away what reminds me of him.”
Quill says nothing for a long time before grabbing my arm and yanking me to my feet. “If you want to clean up after old Tom, you better get started in his trophy room.”
Dragging me out of the room and down the hall, he unlatches the door to where Tom kept his trophies. I think I know what to expect, but the sight of such horror still shocks me. I reach for Quill, but he shoves me inside and locks the door.
“These poor people,” I whisper, looking over the shelves of body parts floating in jars.
I don’t beg Quill to open the door. I refuse to listen to the voices asking me to join them. They show me a nearby blade and ask me to open my throat. They promise me everything, but I give them nothing in return.
Quill opens the door and stares at me. Although his face is concealed in the shadows, his mood is evident. He wants me to break. If I’m insane, he can save me and be the one in control. Otherwise, he’s only a man lost in a lifetime’s worth of strange emotions.
“I’ll burn them once the fog lifts,” I say, ducking under his arm pressed against the doorjamb. “Thank you for showing me.”
Grunting at my comment, Quill follows me to the living room where I change CDs and play Otis Redding. He leans against the wall and watches me. I glance at him over my shoulder and smile slightly.
“I hate you,” he hisses.
“You’ll get over it.”
Rolling his eyes, Quill heads for the front door. He sees the fog and realizes he has no escape. I watch him stare at the door, and then he looks at me. I think he might strike out at me. Returning to the bedroom, I wash out the bucket and decide I’ve done enough for today.
I step into the shower, wanting to scrub away the horrors I’ve seen and touched. My mind is on Quill, and I wonder what he’ll do next. He’s usually impossible to read, but now he doesn’t even understand himself.
Stepping out of the shower, I find him at the bathroom door. His gaze washes over my naked body, and he exhales coarsely.
“It never ends,” he says, walking away.
I follow him with only a towel wrapped around me. He opens the basement door until I touch his hand.
“We could chain you to the bed in your room. It’s quieter in there. No lying voices.”
“I don’t want you in my room.”
I cross my arms and frown up at him. Quill is behaving like a baby. While I feel pity for him never actually having a childhood, I also lack the patience to deal with his tantrum.
“I won’t go down there.”
Quill leans in and growls, “I can make you.”
“But you won’t. You want me to be in charge. You need me to chain you up and make you orgasm. So are we going to your room or are you handling this problem yourself?”
Frowning, Quill looks around, and I realize he’s never even masturbated before. He has no idea how to make himself feel better. The naughty part of my brain hopes once he settles down, I can teach him a lot of fun things.
Quill sighs full of defeat. The poor guy will have to fuck me in a bed. I want to laugh at his expression but restrain the urge so he won’t lose his already hair-trigger temper. He retrieves the chains from downstairs and brings them to his room.