Page 9

It couldn't be coincidence that both her sister and I were attacked by some supernatural force after being in contact with Luc. He was the only thing we had in common, aside from Polly. He had to have something to do with this... but how? And why?

"It's his fault," Polly said for the millionth time as she paced the hotel room we had taken shelter in. Her crutches thumped rhythmically after her. "I know it."

"How can you be sure?" The coincidence was hard to ignore, but I had my doubts. Luc hadn't exactly been nice to me, but he had never been threatening.

The speed of her pacing picked up, and Polly rambled on. "I just have a feeling, okay? Apparently intuition is a real thing now, so why can't I have a hunch?" Thump-thump, thump-thump. "But you don't need to be psychic to realize he's the only link. And I just know it's him."

"Okay, I will admit it's pretty suspicious, but why would he target me? Your sister, Lillian, had at least been in a long-term relationship with him! I've only spoken with him once!"

She came to a sudden stop, right in front of me. "Maybe... he's just a sicko?"

"You said he dated your sister for years. Did you think he seemed like a sicko then?"

Polly went quiet for a second, then eventually shook her head. "But maybe he was good at hiding it," she muttered.

"Maybe..." I said, but I heard the doubt in my own voice.

She rolled her eyes. "Why are you suddenly defending this psychic jagoff? He was a dick to you! I mean, I know he's cute and all, but he's also the only remotely supernatural person you've been in contact with, and all this started right after you went to his shop. So."

I raised my hands in surrender. "Okay, yeah, that's all true. But still... all he did was give me a bad fortune. He never tried to kill me."

"Oh, no? Then what do you call that thing?"

It was my turn to roll my eyes. "We don't know he had anything to do with that. Look, I can agree that he's suspicious, but all I'm saying is... I just want more proof before we go, like, staking the guy."

"I don't think we need to stake him," Polly said, but her eyes shifted to somewhere far away for a second, and the corners of the mouth twitched up, like she was imagining doing it anyway.

"Well, whatever we need to do, I just want to make sure before you go all attack dog on him. So keep an open mind until all the evidence is collected."

Polly snapped back to reality. "Evidence? You watch too much crime drama, Rach. Whether you like it or not, Luc is the most likely suspect... Unless, you know, you can think of any other supernatural weirdoes who might have reason to kill you?"

I pondered that for a moment.

It wasn't like I had a ton of enemies, or any for that matter, and certainly not supernatural ones. "Rick, maybe? But he doesn't hate me... He wants me back, not dead. And he's not exactly the paranormal type." I got no response from Polly, so I continued to sift through the people I knew in my head. An absurd candidate came up, but in some ways it made sense... "H-Harriet?"

She snorted and then burst into raucous laughter. "Are you serious? I mean, I know she's a pain in the ass, but... no. I can't see it. She's just a wannabe Regina George."

Continuing the search through my internal list of people I knew, I found it a struggle to think of anyone who hated me.

My teachers and classmates at college had all liked me well enough.

My ex-friends might not be talking to me—well, I wasn't talking to them—but I doubted they would ever want me dead. Eventually, I shrugged, out of options.

Polly flopped down on her bed, looking very smug, finally giving her crutches a rest. "See? The only person it could possibly be is Luc."

"If you say so," I sighed, but there was still something about all this that didn't sit right. It felt like I was missing something, something obvious. My memory twinged, and I thought back to our latest encounter on the street. Just before he had turned to look at us, he had seemed downright cheerful, but then he...

That was it. That was what was bothering me. "But... what about the way he looked at us when we saw him on the steps?"

"Huh?" Polly replied.

"Before you tried to attack and murder him, remember? The expression on his face. Didn't you see it?"

"What about it?" Polly sounded like she didn't get why it would be important.

"He didn't look evil... he looked shocked. He looked at us like we were ghosts."

She put her hand over her face and groaned. "So? Maybe he was surprised to see us still alive like he expected his pet had finished us off."

"No... no, I don't think so. There was definitely a kind of... sadness there. I don't know." I shook my head, trying to clean away the clutter so I could get a clear look at things. "I just can't see him as some evil sorcerer, killing for the sake of killing."

Polly sat up, and her full lips pressed together into a thin line. "I hate to break it to you, Rach, but you don't have to be an evil sorcerer to kill for the fun of it. Some people are just that fucked up. Like serial killers."

I couldn't help but laugh at the absurdity of that. "Now you think he's a serial killer? Really?"

"Why not?" Polly shot back, her brow furrowing deeply at my disbelief. "You said it yourself, there's no other reason for him to target you. Maybe he saw you as an easy target... Living on your own, no friends, completely vulnerable..."

I shuddered. That description was accurate, but it made me feel sick. "Maybe," My voice noticeably weaker when I spoke again. "Just... Innocent until proven guilty, you know?"

Polly groaned loudly again and then staggered back to her feet, leaving her crutches leaning against the side of the bed.

As she wobbled over to our small bag—filled with cheap clothing we had picked up at Costco—she stared me down.

"What is it with you and this CSI crap? It's not like he's going to have a trial. We can't exactly go to go to the police and get them to arrest him. 'Oh, please help me, Mr. Policeman! My hunky neighbour is trying to kill me with sorcery!' That'd be a good way to get us locked up." She shamelessly shed her clothes and began pulling on her pyjamas.

I averted my eyes and studied my hands instead. What Polly had said made me pause; to be perfectly honest, I hadn't really thought that far ahead... Right now, I was just taking one day at a time, trying not to die. "Actually... what are we going to do if we do find out he's behind it?"

Polly hucked a horrid floral nightgown at me, and I managed to catch it before it hit me in the face. She was wearing a similar one, complete with ruffles and buttons shaped like hearts, which clashed with her clenched jaw and her sharp, icy eyes. "We're going to kill him."

My heart stuttered in my chest, skipping several beats.

"Kill?" I squeaked.

She narrowed her cold eyes at me.

"What did you think we were going to do? Ask him nicely to put his hell-beast on a leash? No, Rach." She walked towards me, cast thudding, her gaze locked with mine.

"We have to kill him, to save ourselves. And if he is—in any way—responsible for Lillian's death, I can guaran-fucking-tee you that I will enjoy it."

My hands were trembling, so I clenched them into fists to stifle it. "I... We... No..." I sputtered. "W-we can't just kill him! We have to talk to him first!"

Polly was right before me then, staring down at me. "Well, if you're so set on talking to him, then you better get some sleep. We're getting up at five." And with that, she turned and disappeared into the bathroom, brand new toothbrush in hand.

I got up and slipped out of my own clothes as I thought about Polly's ultimate goal. The idea of killing a person was unthinkable to me, even if my own life was on the line. I tried to imagine myself, some implement in hand—it shifted between a knife and a gun—as I bore down on Luc, ready to kill. And each time I got close to him, the vision would snuff out, unable to follow through; I couldn't even complete the act in my head.

If it really did come to murder, I supposed I'd just have to leave it to Polly.

?

"...Came down with something rough. Hasn't been able to get out of bed for the past couple of days," Polly said coolly, but her fingers were tapping impatiently against the driving wheel.

I wondered who she was talking to.

"Yeah. Yeah. Well, couldn't Leah do the presentation? She's really sick. And aside from that, she's been having a really tough time..."

I realized then. "Are you talking about me?"

Polly glanced over.

I raised my eyebrows, silently questioning, and she made some motions with her hands and pointed at the phone.

.

.

but I had no idea what that meant.

Giving up, she shrugged and continued with her conversation.

"Well, I figured I'd help her out for a bit. She doesn't have anyone else at the moment. Yeah—Oh? You knew? Oh, Harriet told you. Of course."

I rolled my eyes.

Polly must have caught it because she suddenly grinned wide.

"Yeah, well that bastard was probably the one who gave her it. We'll have to wait for the results, but, at least for now, I'll be taking care of her. I mean, I have enough vacation time saved up and—whaddya mean, 'maternal instincts'?" Her smile died.

Laughter leaked from the other side of the call, and Polly's sneer quickly fell away before she joined in as well. They continued their back and forth, but I began tuning it out, settling into the seat. I could guess by now that she was calling someone at work, probably to cover for our continued absence. They seemed to buy it... Must be nice to be boss.

Waiting for her to finish, I took in the sights from our vantage point.

It was still early—the clock on the car's dash said it was just after six—and the streets were dead. We were parked half a block down from my apartment, lying in wait to see if we could catch Luc in the act. In the act of what, we weren't sure, but it wasn't like we had any other leads.

Suddenly Polly's Blackberry came flying at me, and I fumbled to catch it. After I managed to get a good grip on it, I glared at her. "Why are you always throwing things at me?"

"What?" she said, innocently. "I thought that'd wake you up."

Continuing to scowl, I plunked her phone in an empty cup holder. "Who was that?"

"Sean, from the office," she replied, confirming my guess. "I told him you might have mono, and that I was taking care of you. Figured it'd buy us some time."

"Mono?" I whined, scrunching up my nose. "Why'd you have to choose mono? Now everyone's gonna think I've been making out with some gross dudes. Couldn't it have just been the flu or something?"

"I chose mono because it takes at least a month to recover from and it's highly contagious—the perfect excuse to be out of the office for a long time," Polly said, matter-of-factly. "I mean, who knows how long this is going to take... Besides, everyone knows about your cheating ex thanks to Harriet, so they'll think you just got it from him."

"Fucking Harriet," I snarled and left it at that. Though I didn't like Polly's solution, I couldn't take issue with her logic, so I just huffed, crossed my arms, and went back to watching my apartment building through the rear-view mirror.

After a moment of quiet, something prodded my cheek, and I slapped it away.

"What?" I snapped.

"Geez, you sure are grumpy in the morning," Polly teased.

Sighing, I rubbed at my eyes. "That's because I haven't had any coffee yet... Just why didn't we get coffee—" as if on cue, I had to pause to stifle a yawn, "—before we parked?"

"Because nothing was open at five in the morning," Polly said calmly, incomprehensibly unfazed by our early wake-up time. "You can go and do a coffee run later."

"I thought we were on a stakeout," I mumbled, fighting back another yawn. "Aren't stakeouts supposed to be covert?"

"It will hardly look suspicious if you're out buying coffee in your own neighbourhood,"

I groaned in response, leaning back into the seat. "Whatever."

Polly ignored me and turned her attention to across the street.

We sat in silence for a good while, simply watching my unassuming apartment block.

No one—human or otherwise—made an appearance.

As my brain finally began to wake up, regardless of the coffee, I noticed something about Luc's apartment that I hadn't before.

There was a number painted on the glass, below the intricate design of a hand surrounded by eyes.

From where we were seated, it was difficult to make out what each of the numbers were, but it was clearly a phone number.

"Have you tried calling him?" I asked Polly.

She shook her head. "No. I saw that number, but it's too early to call. He'll think it's suspicious. We should wait until it's a normal time."

"Ooor..." I drawled. "He wouldn't be expecting a call so early. Maybe he'd think it was an emergency and be forced to answer. Or maybe we'd wake him up, and he'd answer without thinking about it."

Polly took a moment to mull it over. "When he was with my sister, he did like to sleep in..." she said thoughtfully. "Fine, let's try it. Call him with my phone, and if he doesn't answer, we'll try with another phone, so he doesn't recognize the number."

"Good idea." I plucked her phone from the cup holder. "But I can't see the number clearly from here..."

"Well, then, now would be a good time to get some coffee for us." Polly smiled. She tapped on the glass of the driver's side window, pulling my attention to the little café across the street. They had just turned on their open sign.

The promise of coffee was a far greater motivator than the mystery at hand. I freed myself from the seatbelt, snatched the money that Polly held out for me, and leapt from the car.

There was no traffic, so I jaywalked across the street, straight to the café.

The door's small jingling bell announced my arrival, and the waitress working started. She went wide-eyed when she saw me; I recognized her as the waitress who had been here when I'd had my meltdown after I had heard that thing for the first time.

She didn't look pleased that I was her first customer of the day, and I didn't blame her for her hesitancy.

"H-hello," she said, her voice squeaky. "How are you today?"

"I'm good, thanks," I replied, careful to make my voice soft and quiet. I glanced up to the chalkboards above her head, inspecting the menu. "Do you guys do breakfast for take-away?"

She nodded.

"Great! Can I get... a bacon breakfast sandwich with hash browns, and a veggie omelette with fruit, to go? And two plain coffees."

"Sure," she said, and I noticed her hands were trembling slightly as she punched my order into the register system. I must have made quite the impression. "That'll be $21.18. It will take a moment, so you can have a seat."

"Actually..." I said, handing over two twenty-dollar bills Polly had given me. "Do you mind if I pop outside for a second? I want to make a call. I'll be back in two seconds."

The waitress looked a bit wary, but I had already paid her, so there was no way she could object.

"Okay," she said finally, handing me my change.

"Thanks!" I dropped a chunk of change into the tip jar, hoping that'd make up for freaking her out last time, and dashed back outside.

I waved to Polly in the car, then headed down the street towards my apartment. When I got close, my skin erupted into goosebumps and the hairs on the back of my neck prickled. I shrugged my shoulders, trying to shake the eerie feeling, but it was no use.

Suddenly nervous that it was a sign that the invisible creature could be lurking nearby, I didn't want to sit around and call him from the sidewalk. Instead, I quickly snapped a picture of the window with Polly's phone, turned around, and headed back to the café.

I just wanted to get out of there.

Our coffee and breakfast were ready by the time I got inside; I thanked the waitress, scooped up a handful of seasoning packets and some plastic cutlery, and made my way back out to the car.

"Did you make the call?" Polly asked as I slid back into the car.

"No," I said, handing her a coffee and a packet of sugar. "I just got the number. It felt... freaky."

"What?" She snorted as she peeked at each of the breakfasts, then chose the omelette.

"I don't know. It just felt weird standing there." I opened the remaining breakfast and popped one of the chunks of hash brown into my mouth. "I didn't want to stick around, you know? And I can call him from here."

"Right," Polly said. She closed the top of my breakfast and pulled it away. "Then do it. You can eat after."

I tried to snatch it back, but she was too quick. Grumbling to myself, I pulled out her phone again and inspected the picture I took. I quickly memorized the number—repeating it over and over under my breath—and then went to the phone screen and punched it in.

As I held it to my ear, my breath hitched.

.

.

I realized I didn't know what I was going to say. Should I tell him who I was, or should I lie? Should I just launch into my questions, or lure him out somewhere so we could meet him in person? I suddenly regretted letting Polly rush me; this was important... We might only get the one chance.

It rang once before it was picked up. "Hello," came his smooth, gentle voice. "This is Luc Couillard."

I froze up at the sound of it, still unsure what to say. But before I could form any words, he spoke again.

"...If you're calling regarding my psychic or palmistry services, unfortunately, I'll be unavailable for the next few weeks. You can leave a message, but it may be a while before I can get back to you. I apologize for the inconvenience."

Voicemail. There was a tell-tale beep, but I just hung up.

"Well?" Polly said, expectantly.

"It was a voicemail message. He's apparently 'unavailable' for the next few weeks."

"Are you fucking serious?" she snarled. Plopping both breakfasts into my lap, she flung open her door and stepped out onto the street.

"Wait!" I called after her, but it was too late; even impeded by her cast, she was already across the street, barrelling down on his apartment. All I could do was watch as she descended the steps and knocked on the door. Even from where I was, I could hear the pounding of her fists.

The unsettling atmosphere I had felt was fresh in my mind, and I was suddenly fearful for Polly. What if the noise brought the monster out? I quickly put the meals aside, intending to go and bring her back.

As I climbed out of the car, I watched her pound on the door again, and I heard her shout his name a few times, but there didn't seem to be an answer. Eventually, she walked back up to street level and just shook her head at me.

He was gone.

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