Then he bellows from the hallway,“Fallon!”
I leap, but when I open the door and look outside, he’snot there.
“You’re welcome,” I say and close my door.
I glimpse out my window into his apartment and catch the blonde putting Cory on the plant stand. And then watering the others. What a nice lady. And she smiled at me.
I sigh and look at Jack on the counter in all his orange perfection. I grab my carving knife and then lower the shade on my kitchen window.
“Time to spill your guts, Jackie O,” I say, and let the massacre begin.
But soon, I can’t block the screaming in my head.
“I’m sorry,” I sob, plunging the knife down again. “I’m so sorry, I have to do this.”
With slick hands, my breath is ragged as shrieks echo off the kitchen tile. I can’t tell if they’re coming from inside me or the pumpkin. Strings of orange guts squelch between my fingers. The scent of raw pumpkin flesh hangs heavy in the air.
“I have to clean you out,” I choke, scraping frantically at the insides. “If I don’t remove everything, the candle will heat the leftover fibers, and you’ll collapse from structural failure due to internal moisture!”
Knock.
The sound detonates against the silence, and my shoulders jolt.
Knock knock knock.
“Fallon?” Rhys yells from the hallway.
Oh no, I hope he’s not returning Cory. I stagger to the door, holding a knife with sticky hands, and fumble for the lock. The second the latch disengages, it swings open.
Rhys pushes inside with wild eyes and a gun raised, ready to pull the trigger. “Bloody hell. Are you hurt, lass?” he rasps, chest heaving. “Is someone in here? Where are they? Show me. I’ll rip their fucking heart out.”
I blink up at him, my tears blurring his face. Then I drop the knife and crash into his chest. “Oh, Rhys.”
He catches me instantly, arms locking tight around my back like steel bars. My cheek presses against his shoulder, warm and steady, while I quake. He smells like fabric softener and the sweet smoke in the air this time of year.
“I heard you,” he says, softer now but still sharp-edged. “You were crying.”
“They were stuck,” I mumble.
He pulls back just enough to search my face, brows furrowed in confusion. “Who? Who was stuck? Did you try to flush someone down your toilet?”
I gulp a laugh.
“I’ll show you.” I lead him by the wrist into the kitchen.
The gun stays firm in his grip. The cold steel against my skin thrills me at a time when the spiraling won’t stop.
“You don’t need that,” I say. “It’s not what you think.”
“I’ll be the judge of when to put my heat away.” He refuses to trust that I’m safe.
Hewants to keep me safe.
I stop in front of Jack with his guts spilled out all over the counter. “There. I had to do it.”
“A pumpkin?” His ribs expand in a full body exhale, seeing the orange crime scene. He drags a hand over his mouth. “You had me terrified.”
“I needed to carve him,” I say simply.
