“Years,” Wallace said. “You said you’d been dead a few years.”
“That’s right.”
Wallace’s stomach twisted strangely. It wasn’t unlike the hook in his chest, though it burned more. “You’ve been here every night by yourself?”
“Most nights,” Nelson corrected gently. “Every now and then, someone like you comes along, though they don’t tend to stay very long. It’s transitionary. One foot in one world, and the other in the next.”
Wallace turned toward the fire. It was almost out. “I don’t want to talk about it anymore.”
“Ah,” Nelson said. “Of course not. What would you like to talk about?”
But Wallace didn’t reply. He lay down on the floor and curled in on himself, arms wrapped around his chest, knees against his stomach. The hook in his chest vibrated, and he hated it. He closed his eyes and wished he could go back in time when everything made sense. It hurt more than he expected.
“Okay,” Nelson said quietly. “We can do this too. Take all the time you need, Wallace. We’ll be here when you’re ready. Isn’t that right, Apollo?”
Apollo woofed, tail thumping silently on the floor.
CHAPTER
8
He opened his eyes again when he heard an alarm clock ringing from somewhere upstairs. It was still dark outside, and the clock above the fireplace said it was half past four in the morning.
He hadn’t slept. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t get himself to relax. It didn’t help that he wasn’t even remotely tired. He’d drifted, not quite dozing. He replayed the moment right before his death over and over again in his mind, wondering if he could have done anything different. He could think of nothing, and it only made him feel worse.
Pipes in the walls groaned and creaked as someone turned on a shower overhead. The sound of the water brought a fresh wave of misery. He’d never take another shower again.
Mei was the first to come down the stairs. Apollo greeted her, tail wagging. She yawned, jaw cracking as she rubbed between his ears. She wasn’t wearing a suit like she’d been the day before. Instead, she wore a pair of black slacks and a crisp white collared shirt under an apron like the one Hugo had worn the night before.
Nelson was gone from his chair. Wallace hadn’t even heard him leave.
“Why are you lying on the floor?” Mei asked.
“Why do we do anything that we do?” Wallace said dully. “There’s no point.”
“Oh man,” Mei said. “It’s far too early for your existential angst. At least let me wake up more before having to deal with such a bummer.”
He closed his eyes again.
And opened them when he felt someone above him.
Hugo stood there, staring down at him, dressed as he’d been the day before. The only difference was the bright pink bandana around his head. Wallace hadn’t even heard him approach. He glared at the cable that connected them.
Hugo smiled. “What’s this?”
“How are you so quiet?” Wallace asked.
“Practice,” Hugo said with a chuckle as he patted the slope of his stomach. “Or maybe you weren’t paying attention. Come on. Get up.”
“Why?” He hugged his legs tighter.
“Because I want to show you the kitchen.”
“It’s a kitchen,” Wallace said. “Once you’ve seen one, you’ve seen them all.”
“Humor me.”
“I highly doubt I want to do that at all.”
Hugo nodded. “Suit yourself. Apollo.”
Wallace yelped as the dog ran through the closest wall. He circled around Hugo, sniffing his feet and legs. Once he’d finished his inspection, he sat down next to Hugo, his one ear flopping over.
“Good boy,” Hugo said. He nodded toward Wallace. “Lick.”
Wallace said, “What? Wait, no! No lick! No—”
Apollo licked quite furiously. His tongue slobbered on Wallace’s face and then his arms when he tried to shield himself from what most certainly amounted to assault by canine. He attempted to shove the dog off him, but Apollo was heavy. His breath was terrible, and for a brief moment, Wallace wondered about his own breath, because he hadn’t brushed his teeth in days. But then that train of thought derailed quite spectacularly when he opened his mouth to shout, only to have dog tongue brush against his own.
“Ack! No! Why! Why.”
“Apollo,” Hugo said mildly.
Apollo immediately stepped back, sitting once again beside Hugo, looking down at Wallace as if he were the asshole in this situation.
“Kitchen?” Hugo asked.
“I will destroy everything you love,” Wallace threatened.
“Does that ever work on anyone?” Hugo sounded honestly curious.
“Yes. All the time.” Granted, he hadn’t used those exact words before, but people had learned to fear him. Those in his employ, those not in his employ. Colleagues. Judges. A few children, but the less said about that the better.
“Oh,” Hugo said. “Well. Until you do that, you should come and see my scones. I’m proud of them.”
“Your scones?” Mei shouted from the kitchen. “How very dare you!”
Hugo laughed. “You see what I have to deal with? Get up, Wallace. You don’t want to be there when we open. People will walk all over you, and no one wants that. You least of all.”
He turned on his heel and walked around the counter before pushing through the double doors, Apollo trailing after him.
Wallace gave very serious thought to staying right where he was.
In the end, he got up.
But only because he chose to.
* * *
The kitchen was far bigger than he thought it’d be. It was a galley kitchen: on one side were two industrial-size ovens and a stove with eight different metal burners, almost all in use. On the other was a sink and the largest refrigerator Wallace had ever seen. At the back of the kitchen was a small breakfast nook with a table near bay windows that looked out onto the tea garden.
Mei had flour on her forehead as she moved from one side of the kitchen to the other, frowning at the bubbling pots on the stove before muttering, “Is it supposed to do that?” She shrugged and bent over to stare into each oven.
A radio sat on top of a cabinet, and Wallace was shocked at the heavy metal music pouring from the speakers, thunderous and awful and in … German? Mei made it worse by singing along in an off-putting guttural voice. It sounded like she was trying to summon Satan. Wallace wouldn’t put it past her to be doing just that. And oh, did that start a line of thought he didn’t want to even consider.
He startled when he saw Nelson sitting in one of the chairs at the table, hands resting on his cane. He’d … changed his clothes? Gone were the pajamas and bunny slippers. He now wore a thick blue sweater over tan slacks and shoes with Velcro straps. And he too was grunting along with the music as if he knew each and every word.
“How did you do that?” Wallace demanded.
Everyone stopped to stare at him, Hugo in the process of tying his apron.
“Do what?” Mei asked as she reached up to turn the radio volume down.
“I’m not talking to—Nelson, how did you do that?”