Sign Here(79)

But then there she was, not in a motel but in her husband’s family’s summer home—her summer home—and the words had been said, splattered on the knotted wood and the picture frames that needed a light dusting.

And she was alone.

She texted Mickey and Sean she was going home for an early-morning meeting with the gallery’s summer staff and threw her toiletries and sweats into a bag. It would be better for the kids if she and Silas had a night apart to cool off, to adjust to the inconvenience of all that truth. But really, when Silas stood in front of her and demanded she tell him how she could do this to his family, she finally saw the truth she had ignored all along.

Lily had spent her whole life carving herself into the perfect shape for him, hacking off whatever parts got in his way. The concave to his convex. Because that’s what it meant to be a wife, a mother. Because marriage required sacrifice. Because together, they made one, more complete shape. But when she looked into his eyes then, she knew what that voice in her had always known: Silas wanted the empty parts of her, the parts made for his comfort. But not the rest. The part of her that wasn’t holes.

Maybe the answer wasn’t a different man at all, but a different her. Or maybe the detonated foxhole of her life was the kind of bad she needed to feel instead of an answer, and to expect one man to fix it just by smiling was delusional. Maybe even dangerous.

But at that moment, Lily didn’t care.

“I’m starving,” she said to the empty bedroom.

And she threw her bag over her shoulder and walked out the door.





PEYOTE





A FEW SECONDS AFTER I thought I would go completely insane if the elevator doors didn’t open, they opened. There I was, back on the Sixth Floor in that gold and white hallway, with higher ceilings than I’ve ever seen underground. It was the kind of space that made you want to take a deep breath. But there was no time for wonder.

I heard the slapping before I saw him.

“Hello, visitor!”

Felix came to a stop in front of me, all his animal parts collected like a preschooler’s drawing come to life, horror-style.

“I said human this time,” I answered, stepping back. There was no getting used to Felix.

“Yeah,” Felix said, black eyes gleaming. “It’s a little Sixth-Floor humor. It doesn’t matter what you press; I’m all we’ve got.”

“Funny.”

“I’ll let them know you think so!” His eyes rolled back before I could stop him. A moment later, he twitched. “Message sent.”

“Great. I need to get back into the Looking Glass.” I took a step forward as I said it, fueled by my lack of options.

If push came to shove, I could take him.

“No, you couldn’t,” Felix responded. “I am much more dangerous than you are.” The fur on his arms parted as metal rose up: long, thin barrels with scopes on the ends. Red sight beams checkered my body, murder confetti.

“How did you know I was thinking—”

“You can’t go back to the Looking Glass, Mr. Trip.”

I looked at his arsenal, surprised the weight of it didn’t topple him right over, wheels spinning in the air. I sidestepped, but the red dots followed.

“Look,” I said, taking another slow step forward, my hands up. “If you can read my mind, then you know I have no choice. My colleague who I was with last time? She is—”

“Is the female experiencing distress? I could explain the treatment for distress following the Looking Glass in a comforting manner, but compassion is an advanced feature. You don’t have that kind of clearance.”

“She’s fine,” I said. “But she stole my results, and she won’t give them back. I just want the answer to my original question. That’s all. I’m owed that, don’t you think?”

Felix’s jaw cracked open, alligator teeth sparkling under bear fur. He seemed frozen like that for a second, before I realized it was a mechanical attempt at laughter.

“Ha ha ha ha,” he said.

Fuck you, I thought.

“You can’t go back to the Looking Glass, Mr. Trip.”

“Please,” I said. My voice surprised me, the weakness in it. I was high on outrage, but outrage is nothing but steam. I know; I see it in my deals every day. Too often, outrage is the last use of the air we are so sure we’ve earned.

Felix blinked, plastic lids capping his glass eyes. The left one stuck for just a second.

“But I have something here that belongs to your friend. She left it behind last time.”

“What is it?”

“Your partner, she lost it in the Looking Glass. Came right off her neck when you shoved her across the room.”

I looked at him.

“You can’t seriously think we don’t have cameras,” he said, his eyes rolling from the ceiling to the walls to the cannons protruding from his hairy little shoulders. He had a point.

Then his eyes rolled back again, and there was a commotion from his middle, a whirring and grinding of gears. Finally, a small drawer popped out from where his belly button might’ve been.

“Go on,” he said, with what I thought was a hint of either irritation or flirtation. “Take it.”

I had to crouch down to reach the drawer, and my fingers grazed the coarse hair of the hide stitched up his middle. It looked like cow. Maybe dalmatian.