Marcus Delacôte

The Chapter You Were Not Waiting For If Your Name Is Not Nora

The realisation that something supernatural is after us, isn't exactly a comforting thought.
Since we cannot really do anything else, we decide to go home. We travel in silence, jumping at unforeseen movements of bypassing strangers and not breathing a word in fear of being overheard. Liam nervously scratches his neck several times, fumbles uselessly with his shirt and bites his lip almost continuously, as if he's forcing himself to keep a word vomit inside. That's what I feel like, at least, and I wonder if I look just as nervous as we walk to the flat, and if people notice the tension around is like a big dark cloud of fear. The sound of our hearts certainly will suffice as thunder.

Inside of the flat I finally dare to speak.
"Let's go to my place and... talk," I opt, slightly out of breath. He nods, jaw tight, and together we take the elevator.
"Do you think we are safe here?" he mutters halfway. He sounds so insecure. I can't use that, I need someone strong now! Guess I'll have to be the strong one now.
"I don't know," I reply, "but I think we're safer here than out on the street." I don't know why I think it, it's just a feeling, but it feels like a truth. "This Delacôte guy dared to send letters to our addresses here, so he must've thought it to be safe," I reason, seeking justification for my feeling.

I stick my key in the door of my apartment and push it open, quickly running an eye over the room to see if it's not too much of a mess.
"Come on in."

I take off my coat and he mirrors my movement, curiously looking around the room. "It's nothing special," I mutter, even though I know he must live in an apartment the same size as mine. He shrugs. "It looks better than mine."

I lead the way to my bedroom and gesture him to sit down on my bed. I open up a drawer and dig deeply in it, finally finding the 20 year old letter. He eyes it wearily when I hand it to him. Liam unfolds it and his eyes glide over the paper. I carefully watch his expression. His lips are slightly opened and his eyebrows raise.
He lays his eyes on me. "My letter did not say anything about the 'foundations of a relationship'," he says evenly, but his eyes twinkle.
My face turns red and I'm suddenly a little angry at Mr. Delacôte for putting this in.
"I didn't-" I swallow. "I didn't pay much attention to it. I've been busier figuring out the clues and all."
I continue telling him all about the first clue and how this had ultimately lead to today's flight from the girl.
"No new clues yet?"
"Nope." I shrug. "But I'm so scared I'll miss something, though..."
He stares out of my window, not really looking. "Should we stay together? I mean, what if you get a clue and you're not there to warn me?"
I think that this is impossible (my mom would never be okay with him sleeping here, for instance, life threatening situations or not) so I shake my head. "I'll text you."

We chat a little then, and eventually his eye falls on my fiction which lays printed on my desk, written notes scribbled all over them.
"You're a writer?"
I nod, taking the pile on my lap. I flip through it disdainfully. "But it's not that good. I've been feeling so uninspired lately, it's not working anymore."
"Can I read it?"
Truth is, I publish many stories on the Internet, but this one... It's been special to me, so very few people have read what I have now.
But his eyes are beautiful when I look at him and he seems to express admiration that I wrote so much, so I say: "Yeah, sure, I suppose."
"Awesome, Marlène," he says with a smile.

He leaves for his own apartment not much later, because my mother is coming home soon. We stand by the door a bit hesitantly, as if waiting for something. But in the end, he says, grasping the stack of papers that is my fiction: "So. Take care."
I raise my eyebrows. "Hey, you're the one who should take care, according to a 20 year old letter sent by some senile non-existing man!"
His face breaks into a smile and suddenly we're laughing, laughing until we can't stop anymore and it takes us minutes to pull ourselves together because this situation is just insane, and Liam leaves with the smile still on his face.