Page 93 of Pieces of Ash

M left a small crew behind—only four guys, with one inside and one outside at all times.

Boian had perimeter duty in the morning. Costin was beside the front door. After dinner, Sandu and Marku took over for the next twelve hours. Like fucking dogs. M’s kennel of thugs.

Grosavu, that evil fucking witch, had her eyes on me all day. Like I would do what? Start an illicit affair with potbellied, foul-smelling Costin? Get hammered on the cooking sherry on the fucking sly? She knows M locks up the alcohol whenever I am alone. That’s the joke of it all. Ican’tget into trouble, and she still fucking watchdogs me, typing texts to M, her lord and master, every time I walk from my room to the kitchen, following me around like she’s my fucking shadow.

Anyway, at midnight, I’m in my room watching some stupid horror movie where the girls run into the basement instead of out to the car, and there’s a knock on the door, and I justfucking know it’s Grosavu coming to check on me, and I’ve had it with her bullshit.

I yell, “If you come in here, you fucking troll, I will throw this crystal vase at your fucking head.” I know she’ll tell M that I was yelling and swearing, and he’ll call me and tell me to expect a special punishment. He’ll say a good wife doesn’t swear and doesn’t yell. And I’ll get beat for it when he gets home.

But it might be worth a beating just to clock Grosavu in the fucking face.

I hear the door open and close, and I think to myself, Is this bitch actually walking into my fucking room?

I pick up the vase on my bedside table, and it’s like a cement block it’s so heavy. I grab the white roses and throw them on the carpet, ignoring the thorns that dig into my palm, and launch the water on the wall across from me. And I swear to CHRIST I’m about to hurl that $4,000 20-pound monstrosity at her, when I hear a voice say,

“I surrender.”

Fuck.

It’s not Grosavu, it’s a man.

And at first? It didn’t click. I didn’t know who it was.

I didn’t. I swear.

Because I barely ever hear his voice, and when I do, it’s directed at his father or brother, not at me.

So I’m wondering which of the four brainiac mongrels from downstairs has lost his goddamned mind, coming into my room at night, whenherounds the corner.

And…

The world…stops.

It isn’t one of M’s moron guards.

It’s Anders. Standing in my room. Smiling at me. And I know this smile. I know it like I know my own soul and it says, “Hello. How are you? Stay strong. I love you. I’m here.”

And that’s what I hear myself whisper aloud, the words dusting over my lips, feather soft.

“Hello. How are you? Stay strong. I love you. I’m here.”

He puts his hands on his hips, darting a quick glance at the vase I’m holding over my head.

“You wanna put that down, killer?”

I place it beside me on the comforter and ask, “How are you here?”

He takes the remote control from my bedside table and turns off the TV, then presses the button that closes the shades over my windows.

“Albany is two hours away,” he says, watching as the shades lower, the gears a soft hum as darkness slowly envelops us. “I’m not actually here. I’m there. In my hotel room. Asleep.”

“You’re not here?”

He shakes his head. “Nope. I can’t be here.”

“Okay, you were never here,” I say. “How did you get in?”

“The tunnel to the wine cellar,” he says, replacing the remote. “My brother and I discovered it years ago.”