Page 88 of The Little Shop of Curiosities Cursed Object 1, The Music Box

Throwing back the covers, I fling myself out of bed and dart towards the bathroom. My knees smart on the hard tile as I drop to the floor and vomit into the toilet bowl. My stomach is trying to turn itself inside out and my head is spinning.

When what little was in my stomach has been rather unceremoniously evacuated from inside my body, I manage to suck in a breath. Once I’m certain I’m done for the moment, I grab a handful of toilet paper and wipe my mouth before flushing the toilet.

I gingerly ease my body into a sitting position against the wall. Resting my elbows on my drawn-up knees, I cradle my aching head.

This dream is the clearest of all of them, leaving a reel of gruesome images cycling through my mind.

Typical. The rest of them probably had the most useful information, but the one of a demon tearing a man to shreds—literally—is the one on high-def repeat in my poor abused brain.

Fuck. It had looked like an abattoir, blood and entrails splattered all over the walls and ceiling. There wasn’t an inch of that parlour that wasn’t dripping with the stuff by the time Cordelia and her demon were done.

I’ll never be able to forget the noise the bishop’s head made when the demon crushed it. It was a strange pop and then a revolting squishing noise followed by absolute deathly silence.

The silence had almost been worse than the man’s screams of agony.

Memories of how Bishop Fairchild’s insides had ended up on the outside set my stomach roiling once more, and I’m back to hanging over the toilet and gagging, but nothing’s left to come out. Dry, painful heaves tug at my ribs.

When they finally stop, I push myself to my feet and peel my pyjamas off. Setting the water to the right temperature, I step under the showerhead to let the spray beat down on my pounding skull. Once the sweat is rinsed from my clammy body and my headache has dulled down to a pulse, I finally allow my mind to drift.

I’d gone to bed last night with Sam on my mind and had drifted off to sleep with his kisses replaying over and over. Since I was so abruptly awoken this morning by those gruesome memories of blood and vivisection, I’d not had time to go back to dwelling on our moment. Even now, I’d rather not think about it, not because I don’t want to but because I don’t want those thoughts tainted by the revulsion left over from the dream.

I suppose I could call them nightmares now, but even this one hadn’t induced a sense of fear. It was much worse. I’d felt…satisfaction.

A feeling that wasn’t mine.

If I had to guess, I’d say that, with my empathic ability, it must have been Cordelia’s emotions I was feeling. But it shouldn’t be possible. She lived and most likely died in the mid-eighteen hundreds. I don’t even know how I’m seeing her life, and I sure as hell can’t even begin to fathom how I can be experiencing her emotions.

The water starts to run cold, so I shut it off. Stepping out of the shower, I quickly dry off and brush my teeth. By the time I’m back in my room and dressed, I feel a little more human again, but I still head into the kitchen to make a ginger tea to settle my stomach.

It’s raining again but not like before. The heaviness in the air is gone, as is the torrential downpour. Now it’s just a light, misty summer rain, and when I open the window to let in a little air, I’m greeted by the pleasant and heady scent of petrichor.

Taking a small sip of my tea, I glance out the window and into the street, watching absently as a car pulls up and parks in front of my building.

I don’t give it much thought until I see a familiar figure step out. Then my heartbeat picks up, and before I realise what I’m doing, I set my mug on the counter and head downstairs to the door, opening it to Sam raising his fist.

The pleased, excited feeling that had been dancing in my stomach only a moment ago now sinks like a brick. His smile is nowhere to be seen, and his posture is almost rigid. It’s not like him at all. Gone is the teasing man I’m getting used to seeing and in his place is someone who looks like he’s about to do something he doesn’t want to.

Does he regret our kiss yesterday? Oh my god, was it not good?

I have no other frame of reference, so I’d considered it to be pretty fucking spectacular. I never thought I’d actually want to voluntarily feel someone’s emotions, but thinking he doesn’t want me makes the nausea return full force.

Having to rely on my other senses for once, I make myself look closer and see reddened eyes and a tightness to his jaw.

“What’s wrong?” I ask with a frown.

He stares at me for a moment, almost as if bracing himself for whatever it is he’s come to say.

“It’s raining,” I say to fill the awkward silence. “Do you want to come inside?”

“I can’t,” he finally says. “I haven’t got long. I’ve got to be on the road soon.”

“On the road?” I parrot in confusion, my eyes flicking to the car he climbed out of, one that is clearly not his.

He follows my gaze and answers my unspoken question. “I hired it this morning. I’ve a long drive ahead of me.”

“Where are you going?”

“Back ho–” He breaks off and swallows. “Back to Leeds. I’ve a family emergency and I have to–”