“What are your dreams like anyway . . .” I murmur.
“Huh?”
“Because you have them, right? I don’t. Not really . . . I’ve been having nightma—” My finger bumps something metallic on the very top of the frame, and I have to stand on my tippy-toes to reach. Then it clatters to the ground.
It’s a fucking key.
“Hello? What are you talking about? Jules, I really think you need to leave.”
I hold the key between my thumb and index finger.
“I’m gonna give you one last chance to open the door, Mack.”
“Is that a threat? Are you threatening me?”
“Not a threat, just a heads-up.”
“What are you talking about?”
Before he even finishes his sentence, I shove the key into the little lock on the gold knob, twist, and open it.
Chapter 7
“Holy mackerel,” I stand frozen in the doorway. My blood runs cold, my body stiff.
Run! Move! Go!
But I can’t. I’m stuck.
There he is. Standing before me. Not the blond-haired green-eyed man from the picture frame. Of course not him.
It was never him.
But instead, it’s the iridescent blue-eyed fish creature. With the large head and scales, the wispy fins flowing beneath his chin. The fan around his ears.
And now I see the rest of him. “Man who looks like a fish” is right. He looks halfway between evolution. Or maybe he looks beyond evolution. Maybe that’s closer to the truth. Fish emerges from the primordial soup only to be sucked back in once again, but this time with more tools. Because he has legs. Hands and feet, although slightly webbed, are attached to arms and legs. Both of his sides have fins running down the length. And he’s covered in pearly scales.
I think I might throw up.
“Close the fucking door!”
His voice shocks me back to life. In reality, only a mere second has passed. Startled, I push the door closed behind me.
I’m still just standing here, but he stalks over near me, and I almost flinch at his reach. But he’s simply turning the locks on the door.
Then he puts out a webbed hand. “Give me the key.”
My hands shake as I hold out the key, and he snatches it from me, my skin making brief contact with the smooth, cool scales of his fingers. I shudder.
He puts his hands on his hips, standing before me. He knows I’m staring. He knows he’s on display like a four-hundred-pound tuna at the Tsukiji Market. Or like one of those oversized fish men take pictures with on boats. This brings it into a totally different perspective somehow.
“Are you scared?” he asks, but not in a threatening way. Almost in an apologetic way, with his head tilted, watchful eyes trained on me.
“I—I . . .” I can’t get the words out. The shaking in my body won’t stop.
Behind him is a tank. The huge one. And from the water prints on the hardwood floor of his apartment, I suddenly realize who the tank was for.
It was for him.
I clear my throat. I might be an agoraphobic coward, but I’m not a little bitch. I cross my arms over my chest. “You shouldn’t keep a key outside your door.”
“What?”
“It’s dangerous.”
“How do you know I’m not dangerous?”
“Are you? Are you the same guy I’ve been talking to all these months?”
He shifts his weight from one leg to the other. He’s not even wearing clothes. Except, wait, he is. He’s got on swim trunks. They’re nearly the same color as his scales though. An opalescent pale blue.
I can’t help but notice he’s tall too. Much taller than I am.
“You really aren’t scared of me?”
I shrug. “Answer the question. Is Mack your name? Are you the guy from the forums?”
He nods. “Yes. That’s me.”
