I wasn’t delighted, but because I suddenly felt so tired.
“Then I think we should celebrate tonight. Our first meal together, what do you say?”
“Can I sleep first?”
I did sleep, and for most of the day.
That night Lamont bounded into my room with gifts. Seven pairs of white slippers, one for each day of the week. Seven pairs
of matching cotton gloves, in case I didn’t want to avoid touching the glass, which he personally cleaned once a week. The
gloves weren’t mandatory, just a suggestion, you know, in case…
The slippers, on the other hand, had to be worn at all times. He pointed to the matching black pair on his own feet. He’d
already cleaned the floor of my tracks where I’d tread in bare feet that morning, he told me.
His antics made me laugh. Looking back, I think I may have fully fallen in love with Lamont Myers then, when he was explaining
how important it was that I not step off the bedside rug without a pair of slippers on my feet. He was on his knees, pointing
out my tracks. When I donned the footwear, he breathed a sigh of relief.
We ate dinner by candlelight at a table overlooking the dark, foaming ocean. I had to keep pinching myself to be sure that
I wasn’t on another acid trip. I even wondered at the possibility that I was dead and this was heaven, but I knew people like
me don’t make it to heaven. Never have, never will.
I ate bland food—bread and water and some peas, a little chicken soup—because the doctor said that my stomach was still too
weak to eat steak. I had never really cared for red meat anyway.
My mind was still foggy, but in a pleasant sort of way, like a soft pot buzz. I saw the best of everything around me, and
that contented high was unlike any drug I’d ever tried.
“Why did you come to my rescue?” I asked, watching him cut his steak.
“Is that what happened? I remember you running out in front of me. I had no choice but to get out of my car. The moment I
saw you sitting there so helplessly, obviously strung out, I knew I had to save you.” He placed a neatly carved cube of meat
into his mouth. “I should ask why you ran out at me.”
“The monsters were chasing me. They were telling me they were going to kill me. I saw the streetlight. I was going for the
light, I think.”
“Monsters?”
I told him about them.
“Well,” he said, then took a drink of red wine. “Those monsters can never enter this house. Stay inside and you’ll be safe.”
A shiver passed down my neck. I was certain that he was right. “They can’t get in?”
He looked at me with those big brown eyes—my blond angel of strength—and he smiled. “No. I see everything that happens in
and around this house. I will always protect you.”
If I hadn’t truly fallen in love with Lamont Myers while he made his case for slippers, I did as soon as he spoke those words.
You might say I was easy pickings, but I wasn’t. He found me because I’d rejected Cyrus and gone on the run. Lamont had risked
his life when he picked me up off the road that rainy night. The cost to him of finding and saving me was significant.
Now he would protect me. No one had ever protected me before. As long as he lived I would love him, no matter how obsessively
compulsive he was, no matter how strange his rules.
He had many rules. Rules about touching the walls. And washing my hands. And eating only what was good for me. And wearing
only the clothes that did not disturb him. And a hundred other laws, but more on that later.
Lamont means “the law” and I suppose it was appropriate, but to me he wasn’t the law. He was my savior and he quickly became
my lover and I cherished every waking breath with him.
6
One Year Later
I can remember some things about myself but not everything. My name, Renee Gilmore, for example, is something I could never forget—how could
I, after Lamont’s constant affirmation?
You’re a beautiful girl, Renee. You’re the
“Then I think we should celebrate tonight. Our first meal together, what do you say?”
“Can I sleep first?”
I did sleep, and for most of the day.
That night Lamont bounded into my room with gifts. Seven pairs of white slippers, one for each day of the week. Seven pairs
of matching cotton gloves, in case I didn’t want to avoid touching the glass, which he personally cleaned once a week. The
gloves weren’t mandatory, just a suggestion, you know, in case…
The slippers, on the other hand, had to be worn at all times. He pointed to the matching black pair on his own feet. He’d
already cleaned the floor of my tracks where I’d tread in bare feet that morning, he told me.
His antics made me laugh. Looking back, I think I may have fully fallen in love with Lamont Myers then, when he was explaining
how important it was that I not step off the bedside rug without a pair of slippers on my feet. He was on his knees, pointing
out my tracks. When I donned the footwear, he breathed a sigh of relief.
We ate dinner by candlelight at a table overlooking the dark, foaming ocean. I had to keep pinching myself to be sure that
I wasn’t on another acid trip. I even wondered at the possibility that I was dead and this was heaven, but I knew people like
me don’t make it to heaven. Never have, never will.
I ate bland food—bread and water and some peas, a little chicken soup—because the doctor said that my stomach was still too
weak to eat steak. I had never really cared for red meat anyway.
My mind was still foggy, but in a pleasant sort of way, like a soft pot buzz. I saw the best of everything around me, and
that contented high was unlike any drug I’d ever tried.
“Why did you come to my rescue?” I asked, watching him cut his steak.
“Is that what happened? I remember you running out in front of me. I had no choice but to get out of my car. The moment I
saw you sitting there so helplessly, obviously strung out, I knew I had to save you.” He placed a neatly carved cube of meat
into his mouth. “I should ask why you ran out at me.”
“The monsters were chasing me. They were telling me they were going to kill me. I saw the streetlight. I was going for the
light, I think.”
“Monsters?”
I told him about them.
“Well,” he said, then took a drink of red wine. “Those monsters can never enter this house. Stay inside and you’ll be safe.”
A shiver passed down my neck. I was certain that he was right. “They can’t get in?”
He looked at me with those big brown eyes—my blond angel of strength—and he smiled. “No. I see everything that happens in
and around this house. I will always protect you.”
If I hadn’t truly fallen in love with Lamont Myers while he made his case for slippers, I did as soon as he spoke those words.
You might say I was easy pickings, but I wasn’t. He found me because I’d rejected Cyrus and gone on the run. Lamont had risked
his life when he picked me up off the road that rainy night. The cost to him of finding and saving me was significant.
Now he would protect me. No one had ever protected me before. As long as he lived I would love him, no matter how obsessively
compulsive he was, no matter how strange his rules.
He had many rules. Rules about touching the walls. And washing my hands. And eating only what was good for me. And wearing
only the clothes that did not disturb him. And a hundred other laws, but more on that later.
Lamont means “the law” and I suppose it was appropriate, but to me he wasn’t the law. He was my savior and he quickly became
my lover and I cherished every waking breath with him.
6
One Year Later
I can remember some things about myself but not everything. My name, Renee Gilmore, for example, is something I could never forget—how could
I, after Lamont’s constant affirmation?
You’re a beautiful girl, Renee. You’re the
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