Fragile and heartsick, I turned on the shower, and stepped inside to take off my clothes. The deep gashes on my left forearm and shin had closed, but the edges were still angry. Dried blood and guano clotted my hair, and angry purple bruises mottled my ribs, back, and butt.
The physical pain faded as steaming water poured over me, and I savored the heat. I scrubbed myself until every last bit of me squeaked pruney clean. By the time I finished, the morning sky was beginning to show itself as a grey haze above the horizon. I tossed my filthy clothes into a big garbage bag. I remembered to call Blix and Larry from their hiding places, and set them up in a casserole dish lined with an old dishtowel. Not much of a bed, but would have to do for now. I set my alarm for noon and crawled under the covers, wet hair and all. I was asleep before I hit the pillow.
The alarm woke me a few hours later. The heaviness I’d felt earlier had vanished. Funny what a good cry and a few hours of sleep can do. I got up and checked myself in the bathroom mirror. Not a mark on me, not even a bruise. Only a thin pink line remained along my arm where the machete had bit me. I looked good.
Seeing my strange reflection in the mirror, I tried to convince myself I hadn’t actually killed Garr. I would never forget the sound his lifeline made as it popped between my fingers. But the fierce thrill of joy I experienced when he collapsed on top of me must have been dream. The loss of oxygen must’ve caused me to hallucinate. That part couldn’t be real; that would be wrong.
Blix lay snuggled up in the casserole dish, and I found Larry curled up in the kitchen sink. He seemed to like the water. Both sat up, alert as soon as I came into the room. Cute. They were starting to grow on me. I didn’t need to banish them with the others. I couldn’t imagine sending these two little guys to some dark cavern for the rest of eternity. My mother had died after spending two years in a locked ward. These little ones had never done anything wrong, they didn’t even smell anymore.
“Relax, guys, you’ve got the day off.”
I went into the bedroom to find something to wear to the funeral. I didn’t want to wear pants, but the only black dress I owned happened to be a sleeveless linen cocktail number with black beading around the neckline. A little dressy for the afternoon, but I decided to wear it. Black was Rhys’ favorite color. Besides, it looked good on me. I paired it with a peacock blue pashmina. The viewing would be inside, and I would need the scarf. If Rhys and I went out for dinner afterwards, I could carry it. Perfect.
I realized I’d made my decision. I wanted Rhys. I didn’t care what he was. Nobody’s perfect. Who was I to talk, anyway? I wasn’t exactly Webbers bread anymore, either.
I checked my cell phone messages. Karen had left a message saying she’d see me at the visitation, and Fontaigne left a message saying Lance had been released, and they’d both be there. Nothing from Rhys. I wondered if Oneiri would be at the funeral. Henri, I corrected myself.
A sudden thought made me shiver. If I did kill Garr, what happened to Rex?