As soon as Dig left, I worked on getting ready to leave.
The upside-down man was still alive and back to hanging upside down. I think Dig had set him up the other way for a while last night, to stop the blood from rushing down his head. Dig was thoughtful like that, always caring about others’ needs.
The upside-down man sniffled from his cries as I tugged on the knot on the rope, trying to undo it.
“He’s got a nice chin, don’t you think?” I asked. “He’s very clean. Always freshly shaved. Always in new laundered clothes, his apartment is spotless, he organises his blades from smallest to largest. An organised environment is an organised head. Oh, and I like his hair. It’s so sexy. Do you think his hair is sexy?”
The upside-down man choked on his own saliva. “Please… cut me down.”
“I can’t find any blades, Dig took them all.”
“Unpick the knot.”
“What do you think I'm doing? Rude.”
“Hurry, before he comes back.”
“I’ve decided to take him on as a lover.”
“He’s a psychotic killer!”
“At least he has a hobby.”
“Please… please help me.”
“He doesn't mind that I don’t cry,” I said through a smile. “I kind of want to kiss him again, maybe cuddle, maybe get married and grow old together. I don’t know.”
“Please…”
“Last night was incredible. Do you think I should stay for one more night?”
“No!”
“Of course.” I forget about the rope. “You’re right, I need to get out of here and help Tommy.”
“You need to helpme!”
I yawned and stood up, checking the clock. Half an hour had passed. Dig was probably gone by now.
The rope holding up the upside-down man was still too tight. I used whatever I could to pick at it, bending forks, toothpicks, hair pins. Nothing worked.
“I'll try the spare bedroom,” I said. “Maybe he’s left something sharp in there. Hopefully it's not full of dead bodies.”
I went into the spare room and paused.
My mind cleansed of all need to unpick the upside-down man's rope and I dwelled there, in this room that held myself inside of it.
I was on the walls, every angle of my face, every twist of my body, etched and painted and sketched, capturing my likeness as if they were all photographs. There were papers too. Stacks of paper with more pictures of me, curated by careful, artistic hands. “Huh.”
31
“Hey!” The upside-down man called from the other room.
I ignored him, stuck on looking at a sketch of myself so precise it felt as if I were peering into a mirror.
“Hey, girl! Hurry the hell up, you need to get out of there—oh shit.”
Footsteps stopped behind me.
