Page 30 of The Cannibal

She looked up at me, complete puzzlement on her face.

I held my finger to my lips, a gesture for silence.

The moment the police joined the staff behind the glass doors, I released her hand.

That is when I took my leave.

The little girl did not follow me, or call me. Neither did any other witness as the gawking herd hovered nearby, distracted by their own insatiable curiosity.

The walk home was just as much a flurry as the incident itself. My boots were cutting into my ankles again, the sores from yesterday reopening. Luckily I was never alone, shrouded by a cover of characters spilling into the streets for lunch. All I saw was a sea of heads, some hatted and some feathered, some just hair and some with parasols.

The longer I walked, the more I slowed as I realized there was no humanly possible way they could be on to me. Between the sheer number of people and the fact they probably were least expecting a woman behind such a crime, I may have been safe.

But as soon as the adrenaline began to wear from me, the more I was aware of my aches. My stomach hurt more than before I ate, somewhere between absolutely famished and completely nauseated by anything I could put in me. My shins ached from the steady stride, my eyes burned from the light, my brain pushing against the inside of my skull. I could barely keep my direction. I just knew to follow along Fifth Avenue and I would run into it eventually.

By now I was sure my ankles were split open inside the new leather boots.

I wanted to collapse to my knees, but the pavement was filthy. Somehow I was both shivering and sweating, no medium between the flashes of hot and cold. My mouth even felt chapped, though I assumed it was dehydration.

Then I saw it, the pink brick and copper, the wisteria hanging off the roof.

A chimera carved into the cornerstones.

Home.

Despite the cutting of my shoes, I moved quicker, desperate to reach the door. I was already crying, ready to let my mask down and retreat into my room.

Then, sirens in the not far distance.

They’re coming.

I panicked, knocking and ringing the door. A doorman came to answer, and when it opened, Rebecca stood there as if she was leaving.

“Rebecca!”

She looked startled, as if she wasn’t expecting to see me, especially not in a state like this. She held her hands out to my shoulders to steady me, her white gloves stained from the blood-soaked fabric.

“Where have you been?” Her voice like that of a worried chaperone. “We have been looking for you all morning.”

“I . . . I just . . .” Suddenly my vision was clouded by little specks of stars. More and more of them until it faded completely, and my body jolted.

It didn’t even occur to me that my body had fallen from her grasp or that my head had hit the steps when everything blackened. Not until a faint pain began to throb, but I was unconscious by the time it settled.

The cold washcloth brought me back to the land of the living. Beads of water collected on my forehead before dripping off my brow and tickling my ear. A deep breath filled my lungs, as if revived.

“There you are.” John’s baritone voice hummed like a warm radiator.

I shifted to move, and he scooped his hand behind my neck.

“Steady now.” He lifted me to prop another pillow under my head.

It was dark when I opened my eyes, the only light came from the street and a candle on my bedside.

“What have I done, John?” I reached for his hand.

He leaned forward in the chair, his elbows resting on his knees as he enclosed my hand in his. “Focus on getting better before you trouble yourself.”

“I’ve done something terrible,” my voice strained.