The Scab Collector (5/5)

Another public restroom, another encounter with the mysterious stranger who looked like a bleached-out cousin of Cody's. They were in a gas station. He strode in while Cody was washing his hands and eyed Cody's reflection in the mirror. Cody met Cyril's eyes with his back turned. Then Cyril leaned against the sink and took one of his hands, then kissed his fingers.

Cody couldn't help but blush. The whole experience seemed new. Cyril licked the tips of his fingers, then took two of them in his mouth. A preview of— Augh. Oh god no. Too much pain to be a dream. Cody had two fewer fingers. Cyril chewed and swallowed.

<<>>

“Cody.” I mean it more urgently than I say it. My voice isn't all the way awake yet. “Cody, it's not real. It's not real. Wake up.”

I shake him as hard as I dare, but it only seems to make things worse. He keeps making these muffled, choked-off sounds that I think would be yelling if he would only wake up. They lengthen into whimpers and moans, but not the kind I usually hear from him. Why can't I wake him up?

Pinching him only makes him cry louder. “Cody, love, come on. Wake up.” I don't want to dump water on him. I'll still have to sleep in our bed. It's too cold not to use all the blankets. What if it never dries properly and the mattress grows mildew? Instead, I haul myself out of bed and drag Cody out after me. He's still crying, but it doesn't get louder, so I guess that's a good sign. I hear Viv's blankets rustle as I pull Cody toward the kitchen with me. He's on his feet, but barely. I can't believe he's sleeping through this—

“Ow!” He's kicked me in the shin. Cody, I mean. Probably trying to kick Cyril in the dream.

“Let go, let go—” He whines and struggles out of my grip, then falls over and thumps his head on the wall on his way down.

“Are you awake yet?” I ask, already knowing the answer. He's staring at the floor like he doesn't recognize what's in front of him. Then his eyes re-focus, and he lets out a loud sob and presses his hands over his eyes.

I kneel next to him and try to hold him even though it's awkward from this angle. “It's okay. You're awake. You've okay.”

“That was a horrible dream,” he wails.

“Shhh. I know, I know. You're awake. It's okay.”

“W-why am I in the hallway?”

“I pulled you out here 'cos you wouldn't wake up. I was going to splash you from the kitchen sink.” I can't tell whether he's laughing or crying now. Probably both.

Viv lumbers toward us with at least two blankets pulled around his shoulders. “What happened?”

“Cody had a bad dream.” I stare Viv in the eyes for several hideously uncomfortable seconds and hope he gets the message.

He looks away from me and sighs. “Cyril?”

I nod.

“What do you mean, 'Cyril'?” Cody says, voice unstable but intelligible through the weeping.

“Are we really doing this now?” Viv asks me. Like he wants to go back to sleep. How can he sleep right now?

“Yes,” I tell him. “You want to go back to bed and let me tell him?”

That wasn't really a question, and he knows it. I can tell by the way he sighs and shakes his head. “I'm making cocoa first.”

Cody grabs at my t-shirt and sniffles.

“It'll be okay,” I tell him. “Viv's making cocoa. It's all going to be okay.” Is it really, though? Viv's the expert on Cyril. If he knew how to make him go away, surely he'd have done that already.

Cody leans closer and presses his face against my neck for a few seconds, then uses my shoulders for leverage and pushes himself up. As he shambles into the kitchen, I head back to our room for a blanket and his softest, rattiest hoodie. He pulls the blanket tighter around himself after I go back to the kitchen and wrap it around his shoulders. I put on his hoodie and pull the hood up, then re-arrange my hair so it all falls over the front of my shoulders. My feet are cold. I should buy some slippers whenever we get a decent pair in at the shop.

Viv deposits three steaming mugs of instant cocoa on the kitchen table, then takes his blankets back from the chair he left them draped over and cocoons himself again, pulling the blankets around his knees and tucking the edges under his feet once he's perched on the chair. And then says nothing.

“Are you starting, or am I?”

“Who's Cyril?” Cody asks.

“The hot mystery man from your dreams,” I say.

He shudders and tries sipping his cocoa. Shudders again. Guess it's still hot enough to burn, then.

“He's—I don't know what he is. I've been seeing him since I was sixteen, but he didn't start going after people I knew until last year.”

“Sixteen?” Cody frowns disbelievingly.

“I—yeah? Why does that surprise you?”

“You're twenty-three.”

“Yeah?”

“He's been hanging around you for seven years.”

Viv bites his lip and stares into his mug. “More like six. He only showed up a couple months before I turned seventeen.”

“That's still a long time. Is he still nice to you, or what?”

Viv snorts. “No. I mean. Eh. He tried to murder me, but then when that didn't work he kept trying to make nice to me?”

He glances around, then sips his cocoa. It takes me a second to realize he's looking to see if Cyril makes an appearance. Now it's my turn to shudder.

“And he was pretty quiet the first year or so after I moved out. At first I thought maybe I'd managed to leave him behind in Michigan. But then he kept trying to sabotage my work. That was when I was still making most of my money selling stuff online and doing temp jobs. I'd lose peoples' orders, or find ink dumped all over the t-shirts I'd made. Or he'd hide my phone so I wouldn't hear the alarm in the morning. And that lasted until I was—like—two months into the job I have now. I only lasted that long 'cause Leah always woke me up.”

Viv pauses. Puts his mug down, then picks it back up and takes another sip.

“So I guess that was why he started going after her. All I know for sure was he was hiding her stuff. For a while she blamed it on a girl she was seeing, but we both knew it wasn't her. I wish I'd said something then, but—I was afraid she wouldn't believe me. I wish I'd said something. I don't even know if Cyril escalated past that or not. Neither of them will say anything about it. When Leah had had enough, all she would say was she needed her own space. But she looked scared. And she hadn't been sleeping well." Viv stops to drink more cocoa. He looks like he could cry.

Cody, to his credit, has been frowning and tapping his mug for most of the time Viv has been talking. He waits to make sure Viv's finished before speaking. “Wait, so it's not just nightmares? Like, all that shit really happened?”

Viv nods. “I never really felt like I was dreaming him. Like, I told myself I was when he first showed up in my bed because it was the only reasonable explanation, but it always felt so real. I—I really liked him at first. I was so scared no guy would ever like me, and then here comes this crazy hot guy who's so into me he moves into my bedroom. It was like living in a romance novel.”

Cody smiles at his mug. I don't like the sadness in the face he's making. Like he understands exactly what Viv's saying, even though I'm guessing the reasons for Viv's insecurity are different from Cody's. Did I make Cody feel that unattractive when we were kids? I had always told myself I preferred girls until I met him, and he was too—I don't know what. It wasn't just that he was good-looking, even though he was. There's just something about him that's impossible to ignore, even when he's not constantly fighting for your attention.

“Have you tried getting rid of him?” Cody asks.

Viv shook his head. “Like, maybe it's irrational of me, 'cause if anyone knows that there's an actual need for those kinds of services, it's me. But I don't trust anyone who says they can exorcise things. I don't know how to tell the flakes apart from the ones who know what they're doing—if any of them do. And—like—this is stupid as hell of me, but I don't want him to get hurt.”

“He's hurting the people close to you, though.” As if hurting Viv wasn't enough, but listening to him talk, maybe it really isn't.

Viv squeezes his eyes shut. “Sorry. I know it's my fault.”

“That's not what I said,” I tell him.

“It is, though.”

“It's not. It's Cyril's fault.”

“He's my problem, though.”

“No,” Cody says. “He's our problem. And we're going to figure this out. Together.”

<<>>

None of us slept. We all three went back to bed for a while, but we wound up whispering and holding each other until I had to get up for work. Then Cody made us pancakes. Then when I got to work, I immediately started having trouble keeping my eyes open. Frank took mercy on me and sent me home early, and I can't remember much between that and now, other than stumbling past Cody watching something on his phone on Viv's futon on my way to the bedroom. Don't know how long I've been napping, but he's in here now, holding me. There's definitely less sunlight coming through our window, but it's not all the way dark.

When I stretch and shift position, my arm brushes against something thin and hard. What was that? Whatever it is, there's more than one—

Knives. I can just barely make them out in the dim remainders of the day's light. Actually, one of them's a pair of scissors. There's more near my legs. How many—

When I try to get up and get a better look, Cody sticks his arm under me and grabs me around the middle. With his free hand, he grabs a blade and holds it against my neck. Not quite against my jugular, but not far away enough that I feel safe trying to get myself free. "What are you—" No. No, that's the wrong question, isn't it? "What did you do with Cody?"

"Presumptuous of you to assume your husband would never try to murder you."

Definitely Cyril. "Let go of me."

"But I don't want to."

"What are you getting out of this, exactly?"

Cyril moves the knife ever so carefully. The point of it trails down my neck. I think he might be breaking the skin, but I can't tell for sure. If he is, it's obviously not enough to kill me. "What do you think, sweetie?"

"Okay. Fine. I'm irresistible. Got it. Where the fuck is Cody?"

"Fuck if I know. Out? He left in a hurry. Maybe he decided to cut his losses and get away from you and Viv while he could. After all, I'll always pick Viv over him."

"Then how come you're not with Viv now?"

"I never said I was only interested in Viv."

"Oh, but I bet you really are, though. You want rid of me and Cody like you wanted rid of Leah. That's all."

"You bet?" Cyril presses the flat of the knife against my throat. I can feel his hair brushing against mine and my shoulders when he leans in to suck on my earlobe. The wetness of the inside of his mouth makes me retch. "What are you betting, Joss?"

"It's a turn of phrase—" Eugh. He's undoing the buttons on my shirt. As discreetly as I can, I feel around for a knife handle. It might not do me any good. But it would be something, at least.

"Don't disappoint me. I love gambling. You bet I'm not interested in you or Cody. Only Viv. What are you betting? Is it your life? I've already got your life right here in my hand—"

"I'm dreaming," I realize. "This is a dream."

"God, I wish you were dreaming," Cyril said. "I could do anything to you if it was a dream, and it wouldn't kill you."

My fingers are closing around what feels like the good paring knife—

Wait. Wait a minute. Was he not trying to murder Viv when he was a teenager? If that was how he treated Viv when he was awake, then—

"Put the knife down," Cyril hisses.

I can feel the sharp end of the blade in his hand against my skin. He's a millimeter away from killing me at best. Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck. I let go of the knife.

"That's better," Cyril whispers. I'm shaking. Even if this is a dream, I can't seem to wake up, and I don't know what he'll do next. He's—I can only describe it as petting my neck with the knife blade. "Now, we're going to sit up together. Okay?"

Slowly, we bend upward from our waists. He pulls me up with him, knife at my neck the whole time. When we're sitting, he moves his arm up mine, until he can reach my face with his free hand. It's dry and hot and mildly insubstantial against my skin. Almost like some kind of electrical current.

"Now," he says. "I want you to pick up that paring knife from before."

I think of stabbing him in the side with it, but it wouldn't stop him from cutting my jugular, so I only pick it up.

"Put it in your mouth," he tells me.

I scowl. "Why the fuck would I do that?" For a second, I was so angry I forgot about the knife at my throat.

"Because," Cyril presses the sharp edge of his knife against my skin again, "if you don't, I'll kill you."

The bedroom door opens a crack. There's someone behind it, but they're hidden in shadow. Whoever it is makes a shushing gesture with one finger. Cody. Viv is so pale he practically glows in the dark, but whoever's at the door isn't doing that. I think it's Cody. Thank fuck Cyril hasn't done anything to him—

"Scared now?" Cyril asks. He must have noticed me noticing Cody, but I don't think he's noticed Cody himself.

"I thought you didn't want to kill me," I say. "Does this mean I've won the bet?"

Cyril laughs and rubs my cheek with his thumb. His hand and the knife press harder against my cheek and neck, squeezing my head between them. "That makes winning losing. Unless you're feeling suicidal? You're not considering what I'd do with you out of the way, are you?"

The door inches open, slowly. I need to keep Cyril talking, or at least focused on me. "What are you going to do?"

"Put the knife in your mouth and I'll tell you," Cyril says. "Just the blade. Just the tip."

It is Cody. He's in the room now. I lock eyes with him and bring the knife toward my lips. He'll do something about Cyril before this can escalate any more. It's my job to keep Cyril distracted. It'll all be over soon. The tip of the paring knife is flat against the front of my tongue—

Then Cody's fingers close around a fistful of Cyril's hair from behind and he yanks him off the bed by the hair. I hear Cyril's body hit the floor. Then Cody dips toward the floor, too. Gracefully, not like Cyril tripped him. He must have Cyril pinned, but neither of them is saying anything.

I don't know how long it takes me to move and look over the edge of the bed, but eventually, I do. I'm not sure how to describe what I'm seeing. Cody is straddling Cyril at the waist, pinning him to the floor. Cyril's mouth and throat are—this is the part that's difficult to describe. Pinkish-red, of course. That doesn't say much. Missing. That says something. He doesn't have lips or a chin anymore, but he should still have a mouth. But he doesn't. It's like—it's like he's made of clay. Kind of. Clay and—not paint. Not clay, either. Silly putty and strawberry syrup, maybe. Yeah, that's pretty accurate. There's no cavity, no bones or teeth, nothing that really resembles human tissue at all beyond the color and the wetness.

Cody is digging his fingers into Cyril's chest. Nevermind his shirt, apparently that's not really fabric, either. He's pulling up gobs of strawberry syrup-silly putty and shoving them in his mouth, fast as he can chew and swallow.

Cyril still has his eyes. He's staring up at me. I can't read his expression, but I feel accused.

<<>>

"I don't believe you," Leah says.

It's been about twenty-four hours. Cody insisted I invite her over for pizza when I called in this morning so we could tell her all about what happened and thereby save her and Viv's friendship. Wasn't how he worded it, but I could tell it was what he meant. Leah's staring at his distended stomach, unsure what to make of it. He hasn't gotten out of bed all day, or eaten a thing. Even water is hard to keep down.

"Did he put you up to this?" She sounds hesitant. Cody's still in too much pain for this to be a prank, is what I imagine she must be thinking. All I can say with any trace of certainty is she's trying to assemble her own explanation for what's going on. I could be getting that from the soft frown on her face, though. "Or did Viv?"

"No way," Viv says from the bedroom doorway. "You really think I'd come up with a plan that involves me showing up at your work place?" He didn't see it happen. Deliberately didn't look. He had plenty of time, but stayed out of the bedroom for all of it. I found him cocooned in his comforter, red-eyed, after it was all over.

"You know I'm a sucker for free pizza," Leah responded.

Cody groans. "Please don't say 'pizza' in front of me."

"What, is that what your food baby is really made of?"

"Reverse food baby," Cody says.

"No, that's what happens when you throw up," Viv tells him.

Cody reaches instinctively for his mouth. "Don't say 'throw up,' either."

Even my stomach's starting to rebel with the way they're talking. I suppose I can't blame Viv and Leah for making light of this. Viv is doing it to cope. Leah doesn't even want to believe any of what we're telling her (but the fact that she's here and taking this all relatively seriously speaks volumes—she's never visited us at this apartment before).

"Well if we can't talk here, I'm going back to the kitchen," Leah says. Viv follows her.

"Did you tell your parents about any of what was happening?" Cody asks, out of the blue.

Why would he even think I'd do that? "Of course not. I hardly tell them anything at all, let alone creepy—whatever he even was." I don't want to say his name.

Cody frowns. "When was the last time you talked to them?"

Oh god. "Um—about a year ago, actually." I hadn't mentioned that to Cody, had I?

Cody widens his eyes reproachfully. "Aren't they worried about you?"

I shrug. "Probably." If I don't act self-aware about it, maybe I'll come off as more careless than heartless. That's an improvement, right? "Janet messaged me a few times."

"You should message them back!"

"They won't like anything I have to tell them." Even if I leave out the worst of it.

“You sure? You've got a place to live. Food to eat. A job you don't hate. Me. Viv." Cody looks away. Must be realizing those last two things fall into the things-my-parents-won't-like category. Then again, would they be more worried if I was single?

If I send them a photo, I won't have to come up with anything to say. I get Leah to come back and take a picture of me with Cody and Viv (without Cody's stomach in the frame, of course). I'm wearing a black square-necked blouse and an updo. My arm's around Cody's chest, and Viv's leaning against his other side. A year ago, I never would have let them see a photo of me like this. But I text it to them, captioned "Cody wanted you to know I'm doing well." If Cyril couldn't take this away from me, neither can they.