Hayami gathers her legs up to her chest and glances around the room.“What did you see?”
“I’m not sure.”My second lie.“Just a flicker of something.It could’ve been dust floating over the lens.But I wanted to check.Sorry to have disturbed you.”
“It’s okay.I’d rather you check these things.”She scans the room again and then looks up at the camera.
“You can go back to sleep.”
“No.”She shakes her head.“I was having an awful dream.”
“What about?”My question is too quick, and I’m not sure whether she picks up on it.If she does, she doesn’t show it.
“I don’t know.I just know it was awful.”She lowers her legs, revealing her underwear, but she doesn’t seem to notice.“Pass me my robe, will you?”She nods to the hook on the back of the door.
I fetch her robe and hand it to her as she swings her legs out of the bed.I note the fluidity with which her body moves compared to the stiff way she’d moved not five minutes ago on the camera.Did that really happen?What had I seen?Fuck, was I hallucinating?That’s never happened before, but what else would explain what I thought I just saw?
Swallowing, I avert my gaze as Hayami stands and threads her arms through her robe.When I look back, she’s tightening the belt and pushing her feet into her slippers.
“Fancy a drink?”she asks.
“It’s almost three in the morning,” I tell her.
“Didn’t stop us last night,” she replies, and I have to tell myself not to stare as the image of her from the video monitor creeps back into my brain.
It wasn’t her.
It looked like her.
I watched her climb out of bed.
It can’t have been her.
“Are you okay?”She folds her arms.“You look… concerned.”
“I’m fine.Let’s get that drink.”
We make our way down the stairs.I’m glad she’s up.I’m not sure I’m ready to go sit back in that room and watch the monitor that’s just tricked me, or to trust my eyes, which could be making me see things that haven’t happened.
The kitchen feels normal as I pad to the cupboard and pull out the bottle of whisky.Hayami takes up the chair she sat in last night as I pour two glasses and push one over to her.
She sips it carefully, her face squeezing slightly as I imagine the burn hitting the back of her throat.
“You’re getting a taste for it,” I tell her, downing my own and then pouring another.
“It’s definitely an acquired taste, but I can see why so many people drink it.It’s like you can feel it moving into your system and burning away whatever was there that was hard to swallow.”
I glug my second glass, hoping to burn away the image of her standing in that room, pulling at the sides of her mouth as if she were trying to split her face in half.I should take it steady.Shouldn’t really be drinking on the job, but that god-awful image is seared into my head, and I need it gone.
Last night felt different.She was sleepwalking, or whatappearedto be sleepwalking.There were no sharp teeth, no blood in her mouth.And this evening, to have raced up the stairs and then found her sound asleep makes me question my sanity.
“What’s it burning away for you?”I ask, hoping she isn’t paying attention as I pour myself a third measure.
Hayami sneers.“Where to start.”She tips the glass to the side as if trying to make the liquid dance.“The life I have, if you can call it a life.The life I’d like to have if my surname weren’t Devall.What about you?”She angles the glass towards me as if it’s a microphone.
I heave a sigh, unable to let the words fall from my mouth.
“Whisky doesn’t seem to work for me.”
“No?”Hayami regards me before she says, “Is it something to do with how you got your scars?”
