Page 32 of The Last Feast
SEARCHING
AUGUSTE
One week, and I’ve lost my mind. One week of searching for a woman no one remembers while being questioned by the police for Odette’s death. I don’t even remember their questions as I leave the police station—all I have are my own, all about Hana.
Felix is already waiting for me, but I search the faces of everyone I pass for her as he falls in step with me. He waits until we’re in his car to ask, “What happened between you two?”
“Nothing. We were friends.”
Where the fuck is Hana?
I continue searching the faces of every person we drive past, hoping one of them will have her eyes, her freckles, anything to say she’s real, that she’s still here.
Felix, however, has a different plan as he hesitantly says, “My dad mentioned something about a video on Odette’s phone. They think it’s proof you killed her.”
I don’t care about a video of me telling her to stop undressing me. The police showed it to me, yet all I could think was that it’snot me. I don’t recognize who that was, not since Hana altered my DNA.
“You’ll need a lawyer,” he says, like I’m not aware of the situation. “You should tell your parents. They’ll be able to get you good representation, and it will look good if you have the Aigner name attached to you fully.”
He hasn’t asked me if I killed her, so I look at him. “Why haven’t you asked me if I did it?”
“I know you, Auguste. You couldn’t even tell her to stop holding your hand. You definitely didn’t kill her. It was some sick bastard. They said there were other prints, blood too, so you’ll be fine.”
Hana.
She is real. She left her fingerprints behind.
During my anatomy lessons, I learnt everyone is born with a hole in their heart, one of the designs to allow life to form in the constrictions of the womb. But in three out four people, it closes shortly after birth. The remaining one has a congenital heart defect. Science and medicine call something everyone is born with defective because it doesn’t go through the correct functions, yet they’ve never given a name to those born soulless. It’s ironic that we—society, medicine, philosophy, religion, any and all institutions—will keep searching for a way to “fix” people physically, as if the biggest danger isn’t those with defective desires.
Hana isn’t like them. She’s violent, brutal, terrifying, but she still has humanity because she simply ended Odette’s life. She didn’t abuse her, lie to her, or make her live in fear of her own body. She plainly told her she was going to die, explained the process, then followed through with integrity. There was no false pretense of the pain being something Odette deserved. Hana was curious about killing her, and as fucked up as that is, she wanted her to die for her own enjoyment. So, she killed her.
She’s broken like me, but there’s no predefined path for our lives. Hana is aware she’s fucked, accepting of her life, but I’m terrified of it. Yet, we’re still the same—our scars don’t have to be identical to recognize one another, which is why she ran. Because when everything inside you is broken, love isn’t a comfort. It’s another wound, ready to damage the parts of your soul that you kept free from harm.
Still, I look for her as we drive, checking the cars we pass, the people walking through the cold as the streets slowly merge into trees. Then, I search the trees, waiting to see her face.
With her, the world isn’t so terrifying, and I’m not drained by being in her presence.
I don’t even know where we’re going until we pull up outside my childhood home. Felix keeps the car running as he points at the snow-covered gate. “You can’t avoid them now. They’ll know you were questioned.”
The chief of police receives the biggest donations from my parents. It’s why I wasn’t charged, only questioned, as if that makes a difference when there were two officers full of judgment sitting across from me.
I don’t feel guilty about Odette’s death, but the snowy path glaring back at me does. My parents are older now; they could slip, hurt themselves. It used to be my chore to clean the path leading to the gate while my father did the other to the garage so my mother didn’t fall getting in and out of the car. The driveway is also covered in snow, and the car must be in the garage, because it’s not parked in the usual spot.
So, I get out and delay going inside as I go to the shed. Felix’s tires roll over the gritted road as I take the plastic shovel. The distraction doesn’t stop me thinking about Hana though. Where she is, how she is, did she eat—question after question arises as I drag the red plastic through the crisp blanket of white snow to unveil the grey paving blocks.
When I reach the front steps, I catch my reflection in the window beside the door. My cheeks are red, the air fogging in front of my lips, but there’s no movement inside the house. It’s all still until the next door neighbor pokes her head out of the door, pulling her cardigan tighter around her.
“Are you moving in?” she asks, narrowing her eyes at me.
“It’s Auguste, Mrs. Bohm.” I turn, pulling my hood down so she can see my face.
Her eyes widen in surprise as she steps down from the porch to meet me at the fence between the two houses. “You’ve grown into a fine young man. I am sorry to hear about your friend. I remember how you’d always play together on your bikes. Is that why you’re staying here?”
No, I’m here because Felix has forced me to be.But the people pleaser raised to protect the family name answers, “I thought I’d visit my parents since I’m on a break from med school.”
A deep crease forms between her brows as she slowly looks at the house then back to me. “You’re visiting them here? I thought they’d moved to the lake?”
My parents moved and I didn’t even know. I suppose it’s to be expected, since we only exchange one message a year, but I thought they’d tell me significant details about their lives. Rather than embarrass anyone by admitting the truth, I lie, “Yeah, I just felt like the nostalgia of home.”
