Tyrell was insane.
You were real.
“Henri,” I said again. Ever since you’d returned, I couldn’t get your name out of my head. It felt good to say it. It soothed me, like a prayer.
“Yes, Orlando.”
“You’re real?”
“Yes, I’m real.”
I still had my doubts, but you were tucking Derek’s finger into your pocket like it was a Scooby Snack. My mother always told me I had an overactive imagination, but I didn’t think I could make this up. Before I had a chance to ask any more questions, you knelt beside me, turned my chin from side to side, then lifted my arms carefully to inspect them. I couldn’t believe those same gentle hands had just severed a finger.
“So many bruises,” you said with worry. It was weird to see Tyrell being kind. He was such a stone-cold bastard most of the time. That’s why I believed you were inside of him. Possessing him? I wasn’t sure what the word for it was. But it was actually more believable than Tyrell suddenly giving a shit.
“How did you do it?” I made the gesture of sawing my index finger.
“Pocket knife.” You patted your pants.
“Oh. Did Derek… is he going to be okay?”
“He’ll be fine.” You didn’t seem to care either way. I may have wished for it, but I didn’t actually want Derek to die.
“I think I’m in shock.” The whole thing was so surreal. I took a few deep breaths while you waited patiently at my side. The way you looked at me… it made me feel calm. Safe. I should’ve been freaking out more than I was. “Are you, like, a body snatcher?”
You smiled and despite the bizarre circumstances, I grinned too. But you didn’t answer my question.
“What a strange day,” I said.
You helped me to my feet. My gut hurt from that punch of Tyrell’s. I had to admit, seeing his viciousness turn on Derek had been pretty satisfying. But cutting off his finger? That was some psycho shit. Then I remembered all the times they’d chased me, beat me up, talked shit about me, threatened to come to my house and slit my mother’s throat if I didn’t start pushing drugs for them. It wasn’t like I’d even make a good drug dealer. They just liked tormenting me.
And then today, when Derek started unbuttoning his pants, I thought I was going to lose it. I might really have bitten off Derek’s dick if he’d tried to put it in my mouth. That terror made me feel like an animal.
“Assholes,” I muttered and wiped the drool from my mouth. When had I been drooling? Somewhere between the punch to the gut and being choked out, I guessed.
“Are you in pain?” you asked. It was freaky hearing you talk from inside Tyrell’s body. A real human voice instead of just noise in my head. I reached out and squeezed your cheeks, just to prove I wasn’t dreaming. Your lips puckered like a fish. I decided then to go with it.
“I’ll be fine. Madame Lavoie has done much worse.”
You hooked my arm around your broad shoulders and wrapped yours around my waist. I could have walked fine on my own, but I liked leaning on you. It made you more real, somehow.
“Maybe we should give that finger back to Derek?” I’d read somewhere that doctors can reattach appendages after being severed, even better if they’ve been kept on ice.
“No,” you said sharply.
“No?”
“Absolutely not.”
I didn’t think I could convince you, so I let it go.
We headed back toward my neighborhood, stopping along the way to pick up my backpack, which I’d completely forgotten about. As we neared my house, I asked, “How long will you be like this?”
“A couple of hours. Maybe less.”
Then a thought occurred to me. “You’re not going to hurt Tyrell, are you?”
You shook your head. “Not unless he hurts you.”
