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“I could try! Don’t put it past me, Emily. I’m really fucking versatile!” Tristan snarled.
“He can’t touch you?” Dylan asked.
“Not as such, no,” I replied.
“Why can’t I see him?” he asked.
“I don’t know.”
“Because he’s so closed off? I dunno.” Tristan shrugged. “You’re the only living person who’s ever seen me.”
“He’s really angry about the mandy.”
Dylan’s eyebrows rose. “Well, that makes two of us.” Dylan ran his hands through his hair. “How long has he been here?”
“Bloody hell, Emily, I don’t have to explain myself to the son of a bitch.”
“But I do.”
Dylan stared at me.
“I’m having a two-way conversation. Please bear with me,” I explained.
“Okay,” he breathed. “What does he want?”
I turned to Tristan. “Well?” I asked him.
“Oh, Emily, it’s obvious. I want you to myself. Tell him to fuck off and that you’re tired and you need to go to bed so I can be alone with you. That’s what I want.”
“Can we discuss this in the morning? I’m really tired, Dylan. I want to go to bed.”
“How are you feeling?” Dylan took my wrist and started timing my pulse.
“Shaky,” I replied. “But I don’t know if that’s from the drugs or the fact that I’ve just told you about Tristan.”
“Your heart rate has come down, and given what I’ve just witnessed, that’s extraordinary. Do you think you’ll sleep? I’m not sure I’ll ever sleep again, in this house,” he murmured. “I should warn you that you’re going to feel pretty lousy coming down. You know, depressed… which, given your state of mind, is not good.”
“Look, Emily, I’ll go and wait in your room.” Tristan sighed, resigned.
“Can you please put the chairs back?”
“Oh, yeah, sure,” he muttered.
The chairs were back in place in the blink of an eye, startling Dylan again.
Tristan disappeared.
I glanced up at Dylan and bit my lip. “He’s gone.”
“Gone, gone?”
“Gone for now.”
“And this is what you wouldn’t tell me?” he asked.
I nodded. “I didn’t think you’d believe me.”
“You were right, I wouldn’t without the theatrics. How does he do that?”
