Page 87 of Heathens
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I tell the taxi to wait for me outside of the cathedral. Once inside, I wave to the guards—it isn't uncommon for me to let myself in for a book or materials to study at home on my day off—so they only wave back. I let myself into Auguste's office. Making quick work of my plan, I'm in and out of there in less than twenty minutes, back in the taxi and on my way back to Gare de Lyon.
I smile most of the drive over, wondering when Auguste will start to lose his mind. In a way, I’m glad things happened in the order that they did. First, we took one of his girls out from under him, which disturbed him enough to distract him the entire trip to Monaco and the train ride back to Paris.
And next?
His mind.
When I arrive at the Saint-Germain-en-Laye station, it’s almost dark, so I walk quickly through the familiar streets to my dad’s house. When I open the gate and walk up, I hear voices, and, smiling, I push the door open.
Killian, Anna, Felix, Henry, my father, and Lily are sitting around the table. My nieces are sleeping, presumably. They all have glasses of wine, and my heart wallops at the sight of Lily—clad in jean shorts and a plain white t-shirt, no makeup—sitting so casually with my family, fitting right in with little to no effort. From the looks of it, Anna is teaching her sign language. I can tell by the flush on her chest that she’s on at least her third or fourth glass of wine. Felix has his arm around the back of her chair in a protective manner.
“Hey,” I say, setting my bags down. Everyone greets me, and by the time I get to Lily, she wraps her arms around my neck. I pull her up and away from the group.
“How is she?” I ask, looking around.
Lily shrugs and the smile drips off of her face. I see the sadness beneath the alcohol flush. The despair hidden just behind her bright irises. Perhaps it’s the reason she’s swaying on her feet—her eyes glassy and unfocused.Drunk.
“She’s sleeping. I sat with her for a few minutes.” She pulls her lips into her mouth, and, horrified, I realize she’s trying to keep herself from crying. Her eyes fill with tears, threatening to spill over her lids.
“Hey,” I coo, pulling her into my chest. The group quiets, looking at us, and I gesture for them to carry on.
“Who wants to see the garden? The cucumbers are going crazy this year,” my father says, and everyone shoots up and out of their seats, heading to the garden out back.
“Evelyn will be okay,” I whisper, rocking Lily as she shakes against me.
“I don’t know what I expected,” she warbles, her voice broken. So, so broken. Just like her heart. “I didn’t expect a joyful reunion—I know she’s suffered. I’m trying to be sympathetic. But her eyes—it was like she didn’t evenrecognizeme, Salem. Like she’s forgotten who I a-am,” she wails, putting her face in her hands as she weeps.
I keep rocking her, keep stroking her back and running my hands underneath her shirt along her spine. I know she likes that—likes her back rubbed like that. She groans.
“I’m tired,” she whispers, pulling away. I didn’t notice the bags under her eyes before, the half-anguished, half-resigned expression. Like she’s not sure which emotion she should feel.
“Okay. Let’s go upstairs.”
I pick her up and carry her in my arms. A doll. She’s like a broken doll—so fragile, so malleable. I vow to mend it, to make everything better for her.
Pushing my old bedroom door open, I stop when I see a girl—Evelyn, I presume—curled up on the bed in a fetal position. She has long, flaming red hair. Translucent skin. Her eyes are closed, and she’s snoring. In the corner, Benedict is sleeping with his mouth open, his head back against the wall.
Has he been in here the whole time?
I turn to find another room, but Lily moves against my chest.
“No, here,” she says thickly, her voice heavy. “I want to sleep here.”
Nodding, I set her down next to Evelyn, tucking them both in my old, full-sized bed.
And then the most miraculous thing happens. Evelyn stirs, and, as if she's programmed to know when Lily is near, turns around and wraps her arms around her friend. Lily starts to cry silently, pulling Evelyn closer. I take a step back. And then another. When I'm by the door, I hear Lily whispering to Evelyn, caressing her hair, pulling her ever closer.
Soul mates.
They truly are soul mates.
Two and a half years of being apart, and they fit together just as perfectly as before. Benedict continues to slumber in the chair, and I step out of the room.
I will make Auguste pay.
With every tiny movement of his things—with every switch of his drawer contents, with every inch lowered on his chair, my goal is to unsettle him as much as I can before I break him completely.
