literature

AB: Aftermath 1

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They wouldn’t let her stay alone now. Not after she was finally released from the hospital. She stayed for three weeks. I think it was the longest stay she’d ever had in one. But then, this time there was no way for her to check out against the doctors orders.

If she had, they would have checked her into a psychiatric ward.

For her own protection.

I snort as I think this. There is no way for them to understand what drove Anita to the edge. There is no way to explain to them that her curiosity to my own scars, the possibility of needing revenge against me for murdering her triumvirate will keep her going long after any therapy or drug they attempt.

Anita may be a danger to herself sometimes, but for now, the only danger she posed was to me.

And possibly her family. I pull the cord to the blinds, letting them slap down the window as I lean back in my chair. It is new and barely broken in. the apartment is also new, and empty of anything to give it personality. The only things it contains is, again, my equipment for watching her.

And myself.

I don’t require much. A bed, some food. Necessities. Other than that, there is nothing, and I am able to gaze at the wall as my mind races.

I know that Anita is furious, whenever she has the energy to feel such things. I can see it on her face when she stares out the window in her new kitchen. Whatever human is staying with her on any given night can’t see it. But I can.

I can see.

I know exactly how she feels.

She’s moved back to the city. Her family forced her to break the lease on her house, to rent a town home inside the city limits and less than five miles from them. They want to keep her safe. They want to keep her under their thumbs. Every last one of them.

Except her brother.

He’s the one who’s staying with her tonight. Tall and on the thin side, almost completely opposite the opposite of Anita. But when he stays with her she doesn’t get so angry. And when he stays with her, I begin to think that maybe it would be safe for me to see her.

So I do. This one night, this one time, I think that maybe it would be okay for me to go over. Say hi, find out how she is doing first hand instead of anything I can snoop for. Maybe she will be happy to see me.

Most likely not. I killed her lovers. I almost killed her. I did fail her.

I am walking across the street when a strange car pulls up in front of her home. A man steps out and immediately reaches back in, rooting around on his passenger floor board for something. My hand is on my gun before I realize that it is only a delivery man.

He has two large bags of various sized white containers, and I smile. At least now I might be able to give her a peace offering and prevent her from strangling me when I knock on her door.

I smile at the man, ask him how much it is, explain in Ted’s voice that I’m a friend and why don’t I just pay for it and take it in. I tip him generously and he doesn’t think anything is odd about it. I do. I think that it’s foolish and stupid to let someone who didn’t order the food pay for it.

For all he knows I could be dumping poison into it as I walk the three steps to the door.

There is a doorbell, but I ignore it. Instead I rap my knuckles across it, both bags held in my left hand. I glance down quickly to make sure that the sleeves of my gray-green sweater cover my wrists. They hang to the middle of my hand and I nod sharply, satisfied that nothing will show.

Unless she asks.
book two of suicide, a sequel to guardian.

(anita blake and crew do not belong to me. if they did, anita would not have turned into a member of the power of the month club and bed hopped through most of preternatural st. louis. and then some...)
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