Sinister

Chapter Seven

"I guess I've been more tired than usual," Leighton admitted, not meeting Dr. Rook's gaze. "But I've been working a lot so that might be part of it." Leighton bit her nail, wondering if she should come clean about the dreams she couldn't avoid.

Dr. Rook tapped her pen on the edge of her clipboard. "You know, Leighton. When you don't take your medication regularly you can cause all sorts of imbalances in your bloodstream. Perhaps you would like to make the change to monthly shots?"

Leighton jerked her head to the side. "No, I'm getting back on track. Promise." In truth, Leighton couldn't remember being more erratic than in the past week. But then again, Tate had stolen a significant portion of her memory.

"Do you think your job is causing you stress? Perhaps you should rethink employment at this particular time," Dr. Rook suggested.

"Work is the only thing that keeps me sane," Leighton answered, stomach hardening to stone. Being alone was the problem. Leighton couldn't seem to stop thinking.

"Perhaps something else in your life is making you anxious?" Dr. Rook offered. The constant fear of running into Tate was what made Leighton anxious. But how could she explain that to her doctor?

Leighton realised she had to give Dr. Rook something to work with. "To be honest, I think I started to distance myself from... what happened. And then suddenly it all came back to me and it's been a lot to handle." Leighton's lie wasn't overly elaborate. Whilst she hadn't remembered anything from the event that derailed her life, she had been reading every article she could on it.

Apparently, her boyfriend of six months had assaulted her multiple times and in an attempt to please him, Leighton had kept quiet until she simply couldn't. Leighton had come forward with her version of the truth and her boyfriend, Braden, had come forward with a warped story that painted her as a liar.

McGuinty had been the officer assigned to Leighton's case and had worked with her for months to uncover any evidence that could be used to build her case against Braden. Eventually, Leighton's case pulled through and Braden was exposed.

Despite the town's sympathy for him, Braden was unable to move on and had killed himself. Once again, Leighton had been turned into the villain and that's when the PTSD and mild depression had started to settle in, bringing Dr. Rook into Leighton's life and taking her out of school for three months.

Leighton knew all of this second hand. Even though it was her past, she couldn't help but feel detached from it all, like she was reading another person's story. None of the emotions that should have been there were present, leaving Leighton confused.

Dr. Rook didn't seem surprised. "That often happens with survivors of serious traumas. Separation from the event can make you feel better for a short while but of course, it is always better to deal with problems head on."

Leighton nodded, sliding her hands up the opposite arms' sleeve. "It's hard too, with constant reminders. No one in this town seems to forget anything."

Dr. Rook smiled dryly. "Perhaps the recent increase in deaths will be enough to sway the spotlight from you. Until then, just remember your support system."

Leighton followed up her appointment with a four hour shift at Dante's Tavern bussing tables and cleaning up the bathrooms. The night flew by without any major hiccups, aside from a stubborn child who poured their drink on the floor four times to spite their mother.

Towards the end of her shift, Leighton put in two orders of roast beef melts and finished up her duties in the back of the pub. When the last chair had been flipped over and placed on the tabletop, Leighton grabbed her order and yelled a goodbye to her coworkers.

The hospital wasn't a far drive from Dante's Tavern, just a straight shoot down Main Street and a few quick turns. Leighton parked at the strip mall across the street and grabbed the brown bag with dinner.

Karen was sitting in the waiting room when Leighton arrived. Karen jumped up, grabbed the bag from her daughter and tore into her sandwich ravishingly. Karen closed her eyes as she chewed, leaning back against the wall.

Leighton laughed and pulled out her own food, taking a bite. "It's good to see you too mom," Leighton chortled.

Karen swallowed and sighed. "Sorry baby," she said, pushing her blonde hair out of her face. "This has been the longest shift of my life." Karen swore as she dropped gravy onto her scrubs.

"At least you're through it," Leighton said, chomping on a sliced pickle. She balanced her food on her lap as she took a sip of Karen's water.

Karen shook her head. "There was a fire out in the rural part of the county, maybe half an hour away. We just got seven burn victims sent our way. Don't worry, I'll get Tom to come and get me."

Leighton perked up at the news. "Was anyone seriously hurt?"

Karen covered her mouth as she spoke, hiding chewed up beef from view. "I'm not sure, a few nurses told me that two people died at the scene. Apparently some kids were playing with matches and alcohol too close to a barn."

Leighton watched as a nurse pushed a man on a gurney down the hall. "Huh," she breathed, thinking.

"How was Dr. Rook and work?" Karen asked, diverting Leighton's thoughts.

"Fine," Leighton mumbled, still distracted.

Karen finished eating as quickly as she could, wiping her mouth with a napkin before standing and crumpling her garbage into one hand. "Thanks for feeding me, sweetie."

Leighton grinned. "Get back to saving lives." Karen kissed her cheek and then she was gone.

The sun had sunk over the horizon by the time Leighton was walking back to the car, tossing her keys from hand to hand as she made her way to it. Leighton slipped into the front seat and turned over the engine, frowning when her headlights lit up the shop in front of her. She didn't remember parking in front of Petra's Store of Mystical Mayhem.

Turning the engine off, Leighton slipped out of the car and entered the shop, listening for the wind chimes. Apparently, so was Petra. The tall redhead came to the door, mismatch eyes narrowing as Leighton entered.

"I wasn't sure if I was going to see you here again," Petra said, crossing her arms. Petra waited for Leighton to respond, tapping her heavily ringed fingers against the bare tops of her arms.

Leighton shrugged. "I guess it took me awhile to decide that I needed to come back here."

Petra smiled coyly. "Well, come on in then." She turned, heading for the back of the store with the expectation that Leighton was following. She did so reluctantly.

The door that Leighton had watched Petra emerge from the first time they met lead to a casual living space, decorated heavily with ancient looking tapestries and complicated astrological posters. Petra had statuettes of all sorts of creatures ranging from griffins to a phoenix in the back corner.

Petra sat on one of the plump couches, gesturing for Leighton to follow suit. Leighton eyed the seat before she sat, sinking more into the fabric than she had expected to. Petra wore a small smile as she took to playing with a set of tarot cards.

"Have you ever had your fortune read?" Petra asked, raising her eyes.

Leighton shook her head. "I'm not interested in that sort of thing."

"Don't believe?" Petra guessed. She tilted her head to the side, red curls spilling down her shoulder. "Even after what you've seen?"

Leighton sucked in a breath and held it. "I have some questions."

"You'll get my answers," Petra responded, patient.

"Okay," Leighton whispered. In her mind, she was sorting through her thoughts. She decided to start off easy. "Do humans really have souls?"

"Absolutely," Petra answered, "some would argue that all living things do."

Leighton bit her nail. "Okay... what happens to your soul when you die?"

Petra shifted in her seat, setting the deck of cards down and leaning back, spreading her arms over the back of the couch. "That's a difficult question to answer and it's one I suspect you don't really need to ask."

"Can a soul be broken in parts?" Leighton inquired, stomach folding in on itself.

Petra watched her for a long moment with her uncanny eyes. "Were you touched by death?"

Leighton jumped, feeling as though she had touched a live wire. "What?"

"It happens," Petra said. "Every few centuries. A mortal is touched by the embodiment of death and they live through it. Are you one of those mortals?" Leighton's lungs were frozen. Was she?

"I don't―" she shook her head, "I don't know."

Petra seemed far more interested in their conversation than she had when they started speaking. "Apparently, those who are touched by death are then drawn to death. Is that true about yourself?"

Leighton felt like something sharp was stuck in the middle of her throat. Was that why she was always stumbling upon Tate when he was collecting a soul? Because she was drawn to the dying?

Instead of answering, Leighton posed another question. "Would there be a way to stop the uh... embodiment of death from doing... well from killing people?"

Petra blinked. "Why would you want to?"

Leighton was surprised the shop owner needed clarification. "Because people are dying before their time." Leighton bit her lip, not sure if she said to much. An image of Jack Norton drifted past her mind's eye.

Petra picked up her deck of cards, fishing through them until she selected Death. Petra ran her fingers over the card before slowly lifting her gaze. "Death is often misinterpreted as evil or damaging. In tarot, death can be one of the best cards to draw. It represents purity, and can often offer a fresh start. It is also unconquerable. There is no avoiding death."

"But why should someone die young when they don't have to?" Leighton questioned.

Petra sighed. "How can you be sure that their time, isn't their time? Perhaps they were always meant to die young. Perhaps the death figure chooses that path for the mortal."

Leighton rolled this over in her mind. "Are you saying that the death guy chooses who is going to die?" Leighton felt her face grow hot as she pictured the young girl at the fireworks.

Petra seemed stumped. "I'm not sure, there isn't an easy answer to that."

"How would he even know who to kill if he wasn't the one who chose the victim?" Leighton asked, more to herself than Petra.

Petra raised an eyebrow. "He?"

Leighton realised her slip up and stood, an idea coming into her head at the same moment. "Thank you for your help, Petra, you've been great."

Petra stood as well, a look of worry flashing over her features as Leighton made her way to the door. "There's something else you should know! If you were touched by death, there is a reason for it."

"A reason?" Leighton repeated, tucking her hands to her sides. "What reason?"

Petra sucked in a breath. "I don't know specifics. I just know that there is no such thing as coincidence."

Leighton turned on her windshield wipers the moment the first few of rain drops began to obstruct her vision. She gripped the wheel tightly as she rounded the corner, coming to Rudd's Bookstore which had once been her favorite place to go.

Now, the shop looked barren. The sign wasn't lit up and the storefront was dark. None of the lamps were lit, hiding the books from view and to add to the unsettling feeling of the store, the police had strung yellow tape over the door.

Leighton got out of her car, leaving it running as she ran for the overhang, throwing one hand above her head as a makeshift umbrella. She squealed as her sneaker landed in a puddle, soaking her sock and making her foot heavy.

Leighton hesitated for a moment, staring at the shop. There was a tugging sensation in the back of her brain that she couldn't seem to ignore. She knew that if she tugged back, she'd be sucked back in time. She left that rope alone.

Instead, Leighton propelled forward, placing one hand on the glass and starting a slow walk. She kept her eyes trained on the ground, dragging her foot along the pavement for good measure.

It didn't take her long to locate the black pebble. Leighton picked it up and turned it over in her hand, nothing was outwardly menacing about the stone but she remembered seeing another one on the counter and hearing McGuinty mention black stones amongst Jack Norton's things.

Dropping the pebble into her pocket, Leighton ran back to her car and reversed out of the parking lot. Heading across town. Leighton tried to string together sentences as she drove, working out ways to express what she wanted to say.

By the time she parked in front of Tate's building, all of her planning had become redundant. Before she had the time to regret her choice, Leighton forced herself out of the car and headed for the front of the building.

Leighton located the resident sheet and slid her finger down the panel, looking for Tate's name. When she couldn't find it, she looked again. His name wasn't there but there was one blank panel beside the numbers 4-16.

Taking her chances, Leighton buzzed the number and waited. The intercom crackled but no one picked up. Frowning, Leighton turned around, debating whether or not to return to her car and go home.

The door opened, nearly smoking Leighton's knee. She jumped backwards, making room for the middle aged man as he pushed his way past her. Leighton caught the door as it swung closed, propping it open with her hip as she looked to Tate's number again, memorizing it.

The elevator was on her immediate right and she didn't have to wait long for the doors to glide open, revealing an empty lift. Stepping in, Leighton selected floor four and waited. The elevator was full of creaks and groans and had the tendency to jerk to a stop every couple of seconds.

Stepping off, Leighton made way for a woman with a stroller and ghosted down the hall, keeping an eye on the growing door numbers. The end suite was number sixteen. It took her a moment to gather the courage.

As soon as Leighton knocked she regretted it.

There was a dull thump and a clear swear word before the door was yanked open, revealing Tate. He was shirtless and flustered looking, one of his cheeks was stained with an odd black soot.

"Go away," he growled, slamming the door. Leighton blinked, staring at the number sixteen with disbelief. Frustration boiled to the point where she began banging on his door with both hands.

Tate ignored her for the first three minutes. Leighton stepped back as the door was opened again, this time Tate was more than flustered.

"Are you deaf or stupid?" Tate thundered, chest heaving. "I'm not in the mood."

His insults only fed her courage. "I'm coming in," Leighton announced. She pushed past him then, entering his apartment without his permission. Tate made a noise of distaste and shut the door behind them, turning to face her with his arms crossed over his broad chest.

Leighton marvelled at the sight of his extraordinary body. He was lean and wide, muscle subtle but there. But his skin, that was the most impressive. It was pale, like it had never seen the light and it was covered with tiny markings of all shapes.

Leighton's eyes roamed his bare chest, his collarbones, his throat. Every inch of him was covered in pale markings, standing out from his skin only because they caught what little light was offered to them. A thin black cord was strung around his neck. Dangling from it, just underneath the hollow of his chest was a black stone with a white line down the middle.

Tate made a grumbling noise in his throat and disappeared into another room. His departure knocked some sense into Leighton. Her cheeks flushed deeply, she had been staring. More than staring, she had been ogling.

To busy her thoughts, Leighton looked around Tate's apartment. There wasn't much to see, only a few pieces of stray clothing and a few books scattered around. Tate didn't even own a TV, just an old looking plaid couch and a La-Z-Boy recliner with duck tape stuck to the left armrest.

"Why are you here?" Tate challenged, now clad in a dark grey t-shirt. Leighton's eyes strayed to her mark on the crook of his elbow.

Leighton swallowed, voice still sharpened from his earlier insults. "I just want to talk."

Tate scoffed, "Talk? Or accuse?" Tate frowned and lifted his hand to his cheek, rubbing off some of the black char there.

"You can't blame me for accusing," she hissed back, "I was just going off what I saw."

Tate rolled his eyes. "Yes, that is the problem. You believe what you see despite the fact your lens is tinted. You're ignorant."

Leighton recoiled. "Me, ignorant? You're the ignorant one! How could you think that I would be happy to listen to a man I watched take two people's lives? How could you think I'd fall down in gratitude to the person who stole my memory without asking?"

Tate was livid. He strode forward, closing the distance between them and placing his hands on his hips. Tate almost seemed to be leaning in towards her, Leighton didn't back down.

"How many times did I tell you that I was helping them?"

Leighton tried to maintain her anger. "You act as though you've never met a human before. No sane person accepts that killing someone is the equivalent of helping them!"

"Have you accepted it now?" Tate asked, eyes enticing her own.

Leighton thought about it. "Almost."

"Have you lost your mind?" Tate pressed, swallowing hard.

Leighton raised her face slightly, angling herself towards him better. "Nearly."

Tate grinned. "Hopefully it's gone by the time we're done talking." Tate leaned forward, enough to tease her before he pulled away and brushed past her. Leighton followed his form, watching as he rubbed his cheek again.

Leighton gasped as it clicked in her mind. "You were at the fire tonight! The one with the kids at the barn."

Tate seemed taken aback. "How could you know that."

"My mother is a nurse at the hospital, she had to work longer because they transferred some of the patients to St. Hope. You must've been there, two kids died and you have charcoal on you." When Tate didn't answer Leighton went on. "Did you go into the fire?"

Tate glared at her. "They had to die engulfed in flames, I didn't have a choice."

"But how come you didn't..." Leighton left the questioning hanging. She wasn't sure if someone who collected dying souls could die themselves.

"Is that what you came here to talk about? The burn victims? Are you here to blame me for setting the fire or something?" Tate asked, sounding bitter.

Leighton shook her head, still trying to get over the mental hurdle that Tate might be immortal. "Uh―no. Actually, there's other things I wanted to talk to you about.

Tate sat on the couch, not bothering to offer Leighton a seat. Feeling slightly intimidated, Leighton reached into her pocket and pulled out the black stone. Immediately, Tate was standing.

"Where did you get that?" he yelled, rushing to her. Leighton couldn't move as he put his hands on either side of her face and shook. "Did you find that in your room? At work? Where was it? When did you find it?"

Leighton's voice was being squeezed. "Uh― "

"Leighton!" Tate boomed, sending an eruption of shivers all over her body. The room was starting to become noticeable colder. "Leighton, where did you get that?" Tate's fingers dug a little harder into her temples and jaw.

"Rudd's shop," she gasped, still stupefied.

The lines of Tate's shoulders instantly dropped as he relaxed and released her face. "Thank, God." The phrase was odd coming from him. His hands dropped to his waist. He eyed her like he was afraid she was going to disappear.

Leighton sucked in a desperate breath. "What was that all about? Why were you so worried? What does this mean?" Leighton raised the pebble.

Tate's eyes were lethal. "That's what marks people for death."