Page 24 of Death's Obsession

The sound of my neighbor’s door unlocking forces me inside my own apartment, and I can’t help but think that this is my punishment for ignoring the calls and not following the ambulance to the hospital.

Candles decorate every corner of the apartment, pulling me back to my dream. This time they’re of all shapes and sizes, some on a candelabra, others planted firmly on the floor.

Every inch of the kitchen bench is covered in platters of fruits and crackers, pomegranates and apples, a roasted turkey, potatoes and vegetables, bruschetta and vinaigrette, bottles of red and white wine, all on top of a deep red tablecloth. Another set of fine china is set up for me. The table is straight out of a movie, like a dining room fit to serve a queen.

In place of a TV hangs a painting that was not there when I left for work this morning. Candles and an assortment of flowers all around it like a makeshift shrine.

I stare at the painting, completely transfixed. It is the most phenomenal thing I have ever seen. As well as the most frightening. A cloaked man stands over a sitting woman with long brown hair wearing a dress spun from gold. Every inch of her is the spitting image of me. Down to the butterfly freckles and the soft scar on my lip. Where the man’s head should be is pure inky darkness. The Faceless Man. My Faceless Man. Letum. It's the type of painting that belongs in a museum, that artists all around the world would talk about for centuries to come.

I turn and take note of the rest of my apartment, following the rose petals that lead to the bedroom. I’m so numb from everything that has happened today that I’m not sure how to react, other than just to stare at it. Dumbfounded.

My foot hangs over the threshold of my room. Scattered across my desk is everything he has ever given me: the letters, a bag, the thriving lily, silk dresses and lace blouses, a crystal flower, an onyx skull, black feathers, the bag of rose petals that I haven’t thrown out.

On the bed are some of the items that I thought I had lost. The ones I swore I left it in one place, and the next, gone. The matching charm bracelet that Dahlia and I always wore. The photoframe of me on the day of graduation, holding up my stupid business degree with the biggest smile on my face. A pile of hair ties. My favorite red lace lingerie with black ribbons.

In the middle of all my things, a single brown parchment that reads:

I’m coming for you.

Chapter eight

Lilith

When I slip beneath my sheets, there’s no alcohol or medication putting me to sleep. So I toss and turn, my mind a jumble of questions.

I returned all of the things I thought I lost to their rightful places. But the things from Letum remain untouched on my desk. I’m almost proud of them.

No, proud isn’t the right word. Comfort isn’t strong enough either. Cherished? Wanted? Seeing every single thing laid out like that says something stronger and more meaningful than any of his letters. It’s like he’s telling me that he’s here for me, as he always has been.

The question remains: why me? What did I do to garner his attention? What is it about me that has made him obsessed? I do nothing but mope around my apartment, go to work, unload some of my problems on Dr. Mallory, then repeat the dull cycle.

I need to talk to Letum. I deserve answers. If only he would stop hiding, it’s not like I haven’t figured out he purposely disappeared. He obviously wants me and thought that Evan was in the way.

Eventually, I fall asleep. Just like the last time, I wake up somewhere other than my bedroom. This time I don’t ignore the nagging feeling in the back of my head that tells me this isn’t just a dream, but something else entirely. Something more, something real.

The velvet blankets tangle around my legs as I move to sit. Like the last dream, the void above me is swirling with shadows, each flicker is another soul being sucked into the void.

Candles are lined around the room, creating a triangle with the bed in the middle. I only just realized that the triangle is almost as large as my bedroom.

Letum dressed me in something just as revealing as last time. Or maybe I dressed myself in it. I pull myself off the bed and wrap the red velvet blanket around me to try and hide as much of me as I can. The black carpet is plush beneath my feet, and I can’t help but wiggle my toes before inspecting the room. It’s like he’s keeping parts of me I thought I lost.

The four walls around me are painted black, hidden behind grand bookcases filled to the brim with an assortment of items: books, skulls, ornaments from all around the world, vases, and more things that I thought I had lost.

There’s a picture of me beaming in front of the Trevi fountain when Dahlia and I backpacked through Europe for two months. A poorly made paper plane and crane with my messages on it. The pearl hair clip that I got when I was a little girl. A mug that I made with Dahlia on a Wine and Pottery night. My sunglasses. A little elephant that used to live on my bed and I slept with it every night.

A fireplace simmers calmly between two bookcases, right in front of a chaise flanked by a single-seater wingback couch. There’s something about this room that is familiar, I just can’t put my finger on why.

My body is so attuned to Letum’s physical presence that I know exactly when he materializes behind me.

“You look good in my space.” The rumble of his voice casts silken shivers through my body.

I spin around and become caught in his trap. He’s wearing the same sleeveless cloak that shows off the mouthwatering curve of his muscles. I didn’t get the chance to run my fingers over the ridges the last time. Would he shudder under my touch? Would the marks on his skin recoil from me? Would I be able to feel them?

“I know who you are,” I force myself to say. Having practically his entire body on display is too distracting, especially when the sharp ‘V’ on his stomach is pointing directly to the area that I’ve been wanting to feel between my legs for longer than I care to admit.

“I did tell you my name.” His tone is almost teasing.

I frown. He knows what I meant. “I know what you are.”

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