Chapter 43: Biscuits (3)
LANDSBURGE STREETS – NIGHT
Demi crunched the last of his chips. I stared at the pavement.
The city hummed around us. Streetlights glowed. The occasional car passed.
We passed NightMart. The lights were still on. The old woman was long gone.
We passed the bookstore. The doorway was empty. No figure. No shadow. Just darkness.
My apartment building came into view.
I reached for my keys.
Then I stopped.
The door was open.
Not unlocked. Not ajar.
Open.
I stared at it.
I locked it.
I always lock it.
Before every walk. Before every trip to NightMart. Before every late-night grocery run.
I locked it.
I know I locked it.
"Hey." Demi nudged me.
"You okay? You're doing the staring thing again."
"The door."
"What about it?"
"It's open."
Demi looked at the door. Then back at me.
"So? You probably forgot to lock it."
"I didn't forget."
"You've been weird all week. Weirder than usual. You probably forgot."
I shook my head. "I locked it."
"Okay, sure. You locked it. And then the wind blew it open. Or a ghost. Or a very polite burglar who closes doors after themselves."
Demi pushed past me.
"Come on. It's fine. You're fine. Everything's fine."
I stood there for a moment longer.
He's not taking me seriously.
He never takes me seriously.
But maybe he's right.
Maybe I am tired.
Maybe I did forget.
Maybe—
I walked inside.
---
EL'S APARTMENT – NIGHT
Demi was already inside. Flopped onto the couch. Oreo, who had been sleeping there, shot him a look of pure betrayal and moved to the armrest.
"Your cat hates me."
"She hates everyone."
"That's fair."
I stood at the doorway.
Something is wrong.
The door was open.
I locked it.
I know I locked it.
But—
It's not just the door.
It's the apartment itself.
The walls. The floor. The air.
It feels... different.
Wrong.
Like I'm a stranger.
Like I don't belong here.
Like—
"You gonna stand there all night?" Demi called from the couch.
I walked inside.
Closed the door.
Locked it.
It won't stay locked.
Something will open it again.
Someone will—
"Hey." Demi waved a hand.
"You're doing the staring thing again. Come help me with the groceries."
I blinked. "What?"
"The groceries. You bought stuff. It's still in the bag. Help me put them away."
I looked at the plastic bag on the kitchen counter.
Bread. Eggs. Biscuit. Coffee.
Normal things.
Ordinary things.
Things that don't involve time loops and dying gardens and open doors.
I walked to the kitchen.
Demi was already opening cabinets. Pulling out the bread. The eggs. The coffee.
"Where do you want these?"
"The cabinet above the coffee maker."
He put them away.
Then he pulled out the biscuit.
"Ooh. Biscuit."
I stared at him. "What?"
"Biscuit. You bought biscuit."
"I know."
"Can I have some?"
"It's for stock."
"It's for sharing. That's what friends do. They share."
I sighed. "Fine."
Demi grinned. Opened the biscuit. Pulled out a few — not all. Just enough.
"See? I'm being considerate. I'm leaving you most of it. For your stock."
He crunched one. Made a face. "Not bad. A little dry. But not bad."
I put the rest of the biscuit in the cabinet.
Biscuit.
The boss asked if I'd trade a biscuit for a cracker.
The old woman asked about crackers.
And now Demi is eating biscuit.
On my couch.
In my apartment.
With my cat.
While my door stood open.
Or maybe it's closed.
Or maybe it was never open at all.
"You're doing it again," Demi said.
I looked at him. "Doing what?"
"The staring thing. The 'I'm about to see things that aren't there' thing."
"I'm fine."
"You're not fine. You're never fine. That's your whole brand."
He crunched another biscuit.
"Come on. Sit down. Relax. You're home. You're safe. I'm here."
You're home.
You're safe.
I'm here.
He said that.
On the bench.
To me.
And now he's saying it again.
In my apartment.
On my couch.
With my cat on his lap.
And for a moment — just a moment — I believe him.
I sat down.
Oreo immediately jumped onto my lap. Curled into a ball. Purred.
Demi turned on the TV.
We sat in silence.
The city hummed outside.
The biscuit sat in the cabinet.
And I stared at the door.
I locked it.
I know I locked it.
But—
Maybe Demi is right.
Maybe I'm just tired.
Maybe I did forget.
Maybe—
The air was colder inside than outside.
That wasn't right.
But I didn't say anything.
I just sat there.
And stared at the door.
Waiting for it to open again.
Or not.
Or maybe it was never open at all.
I didn't know.
I couldn't know.
I was too tired to know.
I closed my eyes.
The door didn't open.
And for now, that was enough.
---
LANDSBURGE STREETS – SOMEWHERE ELSE – SAME TIME
The shadow flickered in the doorway of the bookstore.
It had been watching.
It had seen El pause. Seen him stare at his door. Seen him hesitate.
He knows.
He doesn't know what he knows.
But he knows something is wrong.
The shadow's hollow eyes burned.
The door was open because she opened it.
She wanted him to see.
She wanted him to wonder.
She wanted him to be afraid.
But he wasn't afraid.
He was just... tired.
Exhausted.
Broken.
And that was worse.
Fear meant he was still fighting.
Tired meant he was giving up.
She couldn't have him giving up.
Not yet.
Not when she was so close.
Not when—
"You're doing it again."
The voice came from behind her.
She didn't turn.
"The door," the voice continued.
"You opened it."
"I wanted him to see."
"See what?"
"That he's not safe. That nowhere is safe. That I can reach him anywhere. Anytime."
The voice was quiet for a moment. Then: "He already knows that."
"Then why isn't he afraid?"
"Because he's used to it. Because he's been running for so long he forgot how to stop. Because—" The voice stopped.
"Because he's not the same El you remember."
The shadow's form flickered.
"I remember everything."
"Do you?"
"I remember him. I remember us. I remember—"
"You remember what you want to remember."
The shadow turned.
The voice belonged to no one.
The doorway was empty.
Just darkness.
Just shadows.
Just her.
Alone.
Again.
Always.
She faded.
The bookstore doorway was empty.
---
EL'S APARTMENT – LATER
I didn't know how long I sat there.
The TV flickered. Demi was watching something. I wasn't watching.
I was thinking about the door.
It was open.
I locked it.
I know I locked it.
But—
The air was colder inside than outside.
That wasn't right.
But maybe I imagined it.
Maybe I'm imagining everything.
Maybe—
"Hey." Demi nudged me.
"You're doing it again."
I blinked. "Sorry."
"Don't be sorry. Just... stop. You're home. You're safe. I'm here."
You're home.
You're safe.
I'm here.
He keeps saying that.
Like it's a promise.
Like it's a prayer.
Like it's the only thing keeping me from falling apart.
Maybe it is.
"Thanks," I said quietly.
Demi looked at me. "For what?"
"For being here."
He was quiet for a moment. Then: "Where else would I be?"
I didn't answer.
Where else would he be?
At home?
Asleep?
Living his own life?
Not dealing with my problems?
Not pretending to believeme?
Not—
"El." Demi's voice was softer now.
"Stop thinking. You're going to hurt yourself."
I almost smiled. Almost.
"I'm fine."
"You're not fine. You're never fine. That's your whole brand."
He crunched the last of the biscuit.
"Now go to sleep. You look like a zombie. A sad, beige zombie."
I didn't respond.
I closed my eyes.
Oreo purred.
The TV flickered.
The city hummed outside.
And the door stayed closed.
For now.