Page 21 of Drag You Down
Itwaslocked.
How did the package get inside?
I let out a small whimper of fear, then continue down the street. I follow my usual path to the grocery store, but I stop before I enter.
I need to know what the Devil sent me.
No.
I should throw it away.
There’s a trash can outside the grocery store, and I angrily take the box out, the note still taped to the top, and go to shove it in.
I stop before I do.
The box doesn’t smell of sulfur.
But, even out here, with the scent of dirt and filth, I swear I can smell something else.
Copper.
My hands shake and I pull the box back to myself. It can’t be. I’m imagining it. I’ve been drowning in the scent of blood for the past week, the Devil’s kiss on my tongue and my back bared in penance. That’s all it is.
But I step away from the trash can—a woman gets angry at me for getting in her way—and go past the grocery store to sit on the steps of the apartment building next to it.
I take the lid off the box. Nestled inside, among packing paper, is a smaller box.
The deep violet box is prettier than anything I’ve ever owned. It’s long and slender with delicate hinges and a soft cloth-like exterior. I don’t recognize the logo on top.
It looks like the kind of box I see in the jewelry store display windows.
I open it with trepidation.
Laying inside on the white silk fabric is an elegant wristwatch.
I stare at it in confusion.
There’s no blood on it, nothing gory. The leather strap is a rich shade of brown. The watch is polished silver, with delicate hour and second hands ticking the time away.
Why did I think it smelled of copper?
I lift it out and turn it around in my hands.
‘Angel & Lamb’ is etched on the back, along with a date.
The same date we’d met.
I shake my head angrily. “You aren’t an angel,” I whisper to the watch. “And there’s nothing to celebrate about that day.”
“You okay?” somebody asks.
I quickly stuff the watch back, then glance up to see an older man in a gray suit looking at me with a concerned expression.
“Yeah,” I say, trying to smile. The expression pulls at my cheeks awkwardly. “I’m fine.”
Another lie to add to my pile. Soon I’ll be nothing but lies, living in a garden of them.
I stand up and walk back to the trash can, glad the man takes me at face value and walks on. I move the box toward the trash can opening?—
