him. “So, Mister Complete Stranger, why did you toss yourself off that building?”
“No, you misunderstand,” he said. “Your brother did jump from that building and he did kill himself. But I am not your brother.” His face was calm, his voice patient. It shook her that he was so still. Mark was normally a mass of twitches, jokes, sarcastic remarks, finger-snapping, arm-waving–everything about him kinetic.
But now he sat immobile and considered her with composed green eyes, his hands calm on his mug. It was scaring her.
“Okay, I get it,” she said. “You don’t want to talk about it right now. Fine, fine! Whatever. We can talk about it later.”
He gazed at her a moment longer and she felt heat creeping into her cheeks. Then he turned back to the window. Without looking at her he said: “I’m very hungry.”
* * *
She cooked for him and he ate. He ate eggs, bacon, and toast and wasn’t satisfied, so she made him potatoes, too, fresh grated and fried with a little chopped onion, and he ate them too and wasn’t satisfied so she cut up a chicken she’d been saving for the weekend and she fried the chicken and he ate that, too, and finally seemed satisfied. His stomach stuck out from his bony frame.
They had talked very little.
Kelly was confused. She couldn’t shake the feeling–every time her back was to him–that it wasn’t her brother sitting at the table. It looked like him, but didn’t sound like him, didn’t act like him. It isn’t him her mind insisted that’s not your brother and she told herself she was crazy, that it was just the power of suggestion, that she just hadn’t seen him in a very long time…but nothing could convince that voice of doubt in her mind.
She turned from the sink where she’d piled the dishes as she’d cooked. He was rubbing his stomach and staring out the window again. He looked a bit uncomfortable. No wonder, she thought, half my kitchen is in his stomach!
“Are you staying here tonight?”
The Devil wondered at this woman’s love for her brother even after two days of him vomiting and pissing the bed. Even after tearing himself so violently from the face of the Earth. Was there nothing that would stop her loving her adopted sibling?
“Is it just because you are siblings?” he asked. “Is that the reason? Or is it something in you specifically?” He tilted his head inquiringly as he considered her. She was plain of feature, only her eyes elevated to the realm of beauty. And she was very alone; the Devil knew that. He knew it from this too-silent house so carefully and meticulously maintained.
She was shaking her head, arms folded over her chest.
“Mark, I don’t know what you want from me, I really don’t. Of course it’s because you’re my brother. I’ll always love you. Even when you are acting the jackass. As you are now.”
He blinked and then a slow smile spread across his lips. He nodded.
“I think it is more about you; something in you. The ones that come to me…they are weak. Weak in their minds and weaker still in their wills. But not you,” he said. He considered her again, head tilted in an oddly un-Mark-like way. “You are very strong. Very determined. Very strong-willed.”
Pleasure slipped through her like balm, soothing her tired nerves. How long had she waited for some acknowledgement from him? But she only shook her head again. The feeling that this was not Mark was still clamoring in the back of her mind, but getting louder, coming to the fore.
“Mark, listen…”
“I am not Mark. I am not your brother,” the Devil said, his voice calm but very, very firm.
“Okay, fine, you’re not Mark, even though you look just like him and we’ve been together since you…fell or jumped or whatever from that building two days ago. Fine. You’re not my brother,” she said, arms tightening at her chest. Her body had tensed, as if readying itself for a blow. She couldn’t get her fingers to unclench. She felt
“No, you misunderstand,” he said. “Your brother did jump from that building and he did kill himself. But I am not your brother.” His face was calm, his voice patient. It shook her that he was so still. Mark was normally a mass of twitches, jokes, sarcastic remarks, finger-snapping, arm-waving–everything about him kinetic.
But now he sat immobile and considered her with composed green eyes, his hands calm on his mug. It was scaring her.
“Okay, I get it,” she said. “You don’t want to talk about it right now. Fine, fine! Whatever. We can talk about it later.”
He gazed at her a moment longer and she felt heat creeping into her cheeks. Then he turned back to the window. Without looking at her he said: “I’m very hungry.”
* * *
She cooked for him and he ate. He ate eggs, bacon, and toast and wasn’t satisfied, so she made him potatoes, too, fresh grated and fried with a little chopped onion, and he ate them too and wasn’t satisfied so she cut up a chicken she’d been saving for the weekend and she fried the chicken and he ate that, too, and finally seemed satisfied. His stomach stuck out from his bony frame.
They had talked very little.
Kelly was confused. She couldn’t shake the feeling–every time her back was to him–that it wasn’t her brother sitting at the table. It looked like him, but didn’t sound like him, didn’t act like him. It isn’t him her mind insisted that’s not your brother and she told herself she was crazy, that it was just the power of suggestion, that she just hadn’t seen him in a very long time…but nothing could convince that voice of doubt in her mind.
She turned from the sink where she’d piled the dishes as she’d cooked. He was rubbing his stomach and staring out the window again. He looked a bit uncomfortable. No wonder, she thought, half my kitchen is in his stomach!
“Are you staying here tonight?”
The Devil wondered at this woman’s love for her brother even after two days of him vomiting and pissing the bed. Even after tearing himself so violently from the face of the Earth. Was there nothing that would stop her loving her adopted sibling?
“Is it just because you are siblings?” he asked. “Is that the reason? Or is it something in you specifically?” He tilted his head inquiringly as he considered her. She was plain of feature, only her eyes elevated to the realm of beauty. And she was very alone; the Devil knew that. He knew it from this too-silent house so carefully and meticulously maintained.
She was shaking her head, arms folded over her chest.
“Mark, I don’t know what you want from me, I really don’t. Of course it’s because you’re my brother. I’ll always love you. Even when you are acting the jackass. As you are now.”
He blinked and then a slow smile spread across his lips. He nodded.
“I think it is more about you; something in you. The ones that come to me…they are weak. Weak in their minds and weaker still in their wills. But not you,” he said. He considered her again, head tilted in an oddly un-Mark-like way. “You are very strong. Very determined. Very strong-willed.”
Pleasure slipped through her like balm, soothing her tired nerves. How long had she waited for some acknowledgement from him? But she only shook her head again. The feeling that this was not Mark was still clamoring in the back of her mind, but getting louder, coming to the fore.
“Mark, listen…”
“I am not Mark. I am not your brother,” the Devil said, his voice calm but very, very firm.
“Okay, fine, you’re not Mark, even though you look just like him and we’ve been together since you…fell or jumped or whatever from that building two days ago. Fine. You’re not my brother,” she said, arms tightening at her chest. Her body had tensed, as if readying itself for a blow. She couldn’t get her fingers to unclench. She felt
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