Page 19 of I Hope This Email Finds You in Hell

It shatters beneath his weight. His dagger goes skidding across the vinyl planks into the entrance of the galley kitchen.

The doorway to my room is to my left. I can still make it. Beliar Luke is getting to his feet. Real Luke’s eyes lock on the dagger, though he’s the farthest from it and still stuck behind the couch.

I don’t think, just pounce past my bedroom into the kitchen. My hands close around the still-warm hilt.

“Give it to me,” Real Luke instructs, stalking my way. Beliar Luke finds his footing, lunging to tug Real Luke away from me by the nape of his T-shirt. Real Luke struggles against the hold, the intensity of his gaze burning into mine as he holds out his hand for me to pass the dagger. “I need it to finish him off. Please, Brie.”

“You give him that dagger and any chance of both of us getting out of here alive is gone,” Beliar Luke says. “No saving Krystal, or the others.”

With a final tug, he slingshots Real Luke onto the couch, becoming the middleman. We lock eyes, his hand out for the dagger. The corner of his mouth lifts. “C’mon, Brianna, don’t let me down.”

“No!” Real Luke yells, leaping to his feet. “He doesn’t even know your name!”

“He doesn’t,” I agree. But it’s that exact flub that makes me sure that Beliar Luke is the real Luke, which means Real Luke is…

Beliar.

I toss the dagger to Luke and hold my breath as he catches it and spins. It’s perfectly timed as Beliar lunges off the couch. The blade sinks into Beliar’s chest and his mouth parts with a gasp.

For a horrifying moment, I’m sure I chose wrong. Then the ripped black shirt around the dagger starts molting, and so does the rest of Luke. But it’s not Luke, and that becomes more apparent by the second as pieces of his skin and clothes crack apart like the glass and porcelain littered across my floor. The edges curl like burning paper until he is consumed in an inky darkness similar to the shadow that clawed its way out of Debra last week. With a wretched scream, the darkness twists in a tornado of violet smoke, disappearing until all that’s left are wisps and a smell so foul, I fear no amount of body spray can save us.

The dagger drops to Luke’s side as he exhales, rolling out his shoulders. He turns to me.

“All it took was calling you Brianna?”

I don’t realize how shaky I am until a shuddering breath escapes that’s meant to be a laugh. “The name thing has been pissing me off for weeks. I didn’t even think you knew my real name.”

He frowns. “Of course I know your real name. I’ve only been calling you Brianna because—”

Sirens sound from outside, cutting him off. He strides to my kitchen window to peek through the sheer curtain. Sure enough, two cop cars are pulled up out front.

“Too much to hope they’re not here for us?” he asks.

“If I were my downstairs neighbors, I’d assume that was the domestic dispute of the century.”

“Fair,” Luke huffs.

“What do we do?”

I brace myself for him to leave me to clean everything up. Not just my trashed apartment, but also fabricating a story for the police. Not to mention the neighbors.

“Where are you going?” I ask, following him into my room. He doesn’t gun it for the fire escape, which would align with my assumptions. Instead, he pulls my duffel bag from where it’s slung over the back of the chair in the corner of my room and tosses it to me.

“Start packing. Only essentials. I’ll get the car and bring it right below your window. You have five minutes.”

“I’m sorry, what?”

He’s already on the fire escape. “Five. Minutes.”

And then he’s gone. The sirens continue, and suddenly they’re joined by footsteps in the hall. Seconds later, a knock.

“This is the Tarrentown police,” a deep voice says from the other side. “We were notified of a noise complaint and are here for a wellness check. Is everything alright?”

“Yes!” I yell, the word kicking me into action. I tug open the underwear drawer Luke so thoughtfully closed, grabbing a fistful of options and a handful of socks before stuffing both into the bag.

“Can we come in?”

Another random assortment from the T-shirt drawer; a few pairs of leggings. “Uh, I just got out of the shower. All that sound must’ve been me dropping the shampoo bottle. I’m just clumsy!”