It’s past midnight when Erin finally lets herself into her apartment. There’s still a smile hanging at the corners of her mouth from the hours spent watching Beetlejuice and an out and out battle with Holtz for the last of the prawn crackers. It felt like too long since she’d done that, just spending time with her friends, relaxed and happy and not worrying if she should be somewhere else. The noise in her head had finally been quiet.
As soon as she opens the door, though, she knows something is off. She hasn’t been in her apartment since very early in the morning, there should be a pile of mail on her welcome mat, but it opens smoothly. There’s nothing at her feet. The smile falls from her face and she grips the door handle tightly enough to make her hand ache, peering into the darkness.
A shadow the shape of a man. Erin gasps, a scream getting stuck in her throat and falling out broken and strangled. In the dark she grapples for her gun, but it’s not going to be much use against an intruder. Holtz designed them on purpose so it wouldn’t hurt if one of them accidentally got hit. But it might buy her a few moments to run, or at least something to scare him with.
Then the room is flooded with light and she stands for a moment before the gun falls to her side, a mixture of crippling relief and annoyance flooding her at once. “Aaron, god!”
He’s standing by the antique lamp her mother had thrust on her, smiling in a way that isn’t quite real. Erin glares at him. “What the hell are you doing?”
Aaron shrugs. “Thought I’d surprise you,” he says slowly with the same not-quite smile.
He got that part down.
“Nice thought, but it’s the middle of the night.” She waits, still hoping for something to explain the weird atmosphere that hasn’t quite shifted, despite there not being a serial killer hiding under the coffee table.
“You’re late.”
Erin pulls off her jacket, folding it neatly over the arm of the couch. She notices Aaron has made himself a coffee, the dregs still in the bottom of the mug he used without bothering with a coaster. It doesn’t matter, she tells herself. But it does, a bit, because he knows it makes her skin itch. Still, she goes for a smile. “It’s a bit late for dinner, but I am going to bed now.”
His face only gets more stony.
“That...that was an invitation. For you to join me,” Erin stammers, wondering if she’s said something wrong. In high school, she would sometimes make hopeless attempts to talk to people she liked, even just to make friends. Sometimes they played along for a while before dumping her and laughing. Old anxieties begin to flutter in her chest. Maybe he’s about to throw a lunch tray over her head too.
“How about you tell me where you’ve been first.” It isn’t a question.
Erin frowns, her heart starting to hammer slightly against her ribcage. “At work. Not at work, technically. At work, but not working. The fire station. I’ve been at the fire station with Abby and Holtz and Patty.” She’s rambling, she always rambles when she’s nervous and he’s looking at her like the big bad wolf looked at Red Riding Hood.
His eyebrows arch, his mouth tightening into a razor thin line. He steps towards her, slowly and deliberately. When his arms reach out, she thinks he’s going to hold her, and at first he does, his hands curled just beneath her shoulders. When he throws her, she doesn’t register that it’s happened until she hits the floor, bouncing from the wall, her head springing from it with a crack.
She doesn’t say anything at all. She doesn’t look at him. She doesn’t move, doesn’t breathe, and then he’s on her again, his hand closed around her throat that time. He yanks her roughly to her feet and slams her into the wall again, pinning her there by her neck.
Erin claws at his hands, kicking her legs out, but he throws himself against her, pressing his entire body against hers. She smells whiskey.
“Do you want to know how long I’ve been here? Five fucking hours. I thought I’d surprise my wonderful girlfriend with a home cooked meal after a long hard day at work. How was I to know she was busy screwing someone else?”
She wants to deny it, but she can only gasp. Even that sticks in her throat. There’s no oxygen left.
“Was it that faggy receptionist of yours?”
Even Erin recognises that this would be a bad time to point out the contradictions of that accusation, even if she could. Terror is driving her heart so hard into her ribs she wonders if they might break. Aaron is all she can see, but he’s starting to go fuzzy, blurring like she’s had too much to drink. There’s something in his eyes she recognises, but not on anything living. It’s the same wild rage in the gaze of the most malevolent ghosts. It’s the same stare she looked at every night for a year.
Aaron kisses her roughly, biting into her lip, drawing blood. Then he lets her go.
She crumples instantly, coughing and retching. She can’t stand up, she can barely even sit. He’s still there, but she can feel the thick, dark fog from seconds before inching out of the room. He doesn’t say anything and neither does she; she can’t. Erin claws at her throat, her chest, yanking away the neck of her top like it’s the reason the floor is spinning. She only starts to sob when she hears the door slam.
~*~
The cabbie looks at her with instant concern, a frown marring her pixie features. “Honey, do you need me to drive you to the hospital?”
Erin shakes her head and rasps out the address of the fire station. At first she thinks the woman is going to refuse, but then she shakes her head and pulls away from the curb.
Although it’s irrational, Erin looks into the passenger wing mirror for any sign of Aaron. She’d kept her useless gun clutched so tightly in her hand that her knuckles had almost burst through her skin, looking every way, but he was nowhere to be seen. He had ran, obviously, and she wasn’t going to sit in her apartment wondering if he was going to come back. Obviously he had a key.
It feels like a dream, Erin would believe it was if it wasn’t for the details. Like the rough edges of the torn leather and the smell of the mint leaf air freshener that hangs from the roof. Then there’s the rush of traffic, even in the small hours of the morning, the glances of the cabbie that come at regular intervals and the woman’s constant stream of trivial chatter.
But it still doesn’t feel real.
Aaron. She hadn’t exactly been planning their wedding, but if he had asked her to move in, she would have said yes. They were past ‘I love you’, just. What the hell had she done to set off something like that?
Angrily, she wipes the tears from her cheeks. They’re pulling up to the fire station now and she needs to stop crying. It’s in darkness, though, when they reach it. Not even the flicker of Holtz’s bunsen burner. She must be asleep. Or dead.
The cabbie asks her one last time if she’s all right and Erin assures her that she’s fine before handing over the fare and climbing out of the car without waiting for her change. Let the woman have a good tip.
The fire station door creaks when it opens, greeting Erin to total darkness. The noise sends prickles of fear spider-crawling up her neck and she has to remind herself that she hunts ghosts for a living. It’s strange to see the station so still. Normally there are bodies rushing in every direction, trying to find some weapon or a lost sock. Holtz is always somewhere throwing things together that will no doubt cause a fire or an explosion.
It’s only then that Erin realises she was really hoping Holtz would be there. She and the others have noticed she sleeps there more often than not, either having given up on paying the rent on her own apartment or just working so late she’s too tired to go home. It’s not like any of them are getting much from the $2,000 per month they’re paying for their places. Now the emptiness of the statio feels almost worse than her parents’ house.
The stairs don’t creak. They’re solid stone, the kind in schools and hospitals. Erin climbs them without making a sound; she’s not even wearing shoes. The stairs feel cold on the soles of her feet, but in a way that’s kind against the blistering heat that’s surrounded the city for the past few days. She can’t hide under thick sweaters and scarves.
The second floor isn’t as quiet as the first. There’s not noise, exactly, but more a stirring in the air, the kind she feels when there’s a ghost closeby. When her eyes fall on Holtz’s bed, Erin has her answer. There’s a figure sprawled, fully clothed, on top of the duvet. A window is cracked open to, letting in the murmur of the city.
Before Erin can think about what to do, Holtz opens her eyes and screams.
“Hey! Holtz, Jillian, it’s me!” Erin hisses it into the darkness, like talking any louder might disturb the already shattered peace.
“Shit, Erin.”
Is it her imagination, or is there annoyance in her voice? Erin has woken her up in the middle of the night, but Jillian doesn’t do anger. It’s one of the reasons they can get on so well. Maybe it comes from a lifetime of having almost no one, and parents who were constantly turning their backs on her, but she hates it when anyone’s angry with her. Even just the slightly flicker of irritation is enough to make her eyes sting. “Sorry,” she mumbles to her feet.
“What are you doing here?” She sounds softer that time, more like the woman who teases her about sticking her pinky out when she drinks beer, and maybe a little concerned.
Erin shrugs, then remembers Holtz can’t see her in the dark, not enough to notice. “I locked myself out.” She’s never been a great liar, and it’s not a genius level story, but she doesn’t get any more questions. Just a groan and Holtz flopping back down on her bed. “Are you gonna join me?”
Erin seems to choke on her own breath, the air in the room suddenly crushing. “I-what?”
“In bed, sugar. Are you going to sleep or creep there all night?”
Sleep. Right. But still, something doesn’t feel quite right enough. Maybe it’s the throwaway comment, the kind of flirting she grew used to only for it to come to a grinding halt a few months ago. Things haven’t exactly been bitter between them, or even cold, just sort of...different. Not as easy. Like they slept together and regretted it or something. Wait, no, no, definitely not like that. Just or something. But the invitation to join Holtz in that huge bed full of soft cushions and a sea of blankets is too alluring to ignore.
So she scrunches right at the edge, practically hanging off the side and Holtz grabs the cuff of her shirt and pulls her further on without comment.
At first it's uncomfortable. What if she rolls into her, or takes up too much space? What if she talks in her sleep? But that worry is a long shot. She can't see herself ever sleeping again. Her throat aches. There's a throbbing between her shoulder blades and on the back of her skull where she smashed into the wall.
“Why didn't you go to Muscle Man’s place?” Holtz’s question comes through the darkness.
Erin flinches, jerking away. A tension falls thickly over the room. “Um, we're not...we're not really...we haven't been getting along. I guess.”
“Oh.” Silence. Then: “So are you guys still like... together?”
Are they? After tonight she should say no. She should want to say no. Abby would. She’d have punched him in the throat, and Patty would probably have thrown him out of the window. And her, she's still thinking about a weekend trip to California. “I don't know,” she says to Holtz at last.
There's silence between them, the same one that seems to have stretched between their friendship in the last few months. In the darkness, it feels like she can stretch out her hand and close it, so she tries it. Her fingers brush Holtz’s palm and she starts before resting her thumb over them. It’s the barest contact, but it’s so much better than hands around her throat.
~*~
She doesn’t think about the morning until it’s there, glaring sunlight pushing between her eyelids and the sound of slamming, heavy footsteps on the stairs, voices without faces and then a very pointed Hello. Erin opens her eyes to see Patty standing six feet away, her eyebrows raised. “If you two are gonna start doing it, stay away from all the bubbling shit. The last thing we need is anyone’s lady parts on fire.”
Abby’s behind her, looking almost amused.
“It’s not-we’re not...I have a boyfriend,” Erin blurts, hardly thinking about if that’s true or not, and oh God, oh no, there’s a dark ring around her neck and nothing to hide it with. Her heart goes wild in her chest, but they’re all still looking between her and Jillian and no one’s looking there.
The woman in question turns to her, grinning. “C’mon honey pie, it’s time we came clean.”
There isn’t any time to respond. Holtz’s expression freezes. She reaches and Erin recoils, but it can’t hide the vivid marks scarred into her skin. It can’t hide them from Abby and Patty’s eyes either. For a moment it’s like stepping inside a picture. Everything is so still it doesn’t feel real. Even her mind is blank. But then the horror dawns in Holtz’s face and the stillness shatters. “What the hell? Is that your ‘not getting along’?”
Erin doesn’t answer. She closes her eyes, tuning out her friends, letting Patty’s outrage wash over her (“What, Mr Plastic Fantastic did this to you? Oh, I am gonna rip off his eyelids and staple them to his-!”) How did she not see this coming? Just laying down beside Holtzmann with nothing to cover her, letting the sun rise without moving. It feels pathetic to admit it was because she just didn’t want to be alone.
“Erin, sweetie, did Aaron do this?”
It’s Abby, sounding a lot closer than Erin remembers her being. She opens her eyes and her friend is standing right in front of her. So she nods, because there’s nothing else to do. Who else could it be? But she can feel her heart clenching in her chest, like there’s an iron vice being twisted tighter and tighter.
“Sit down.” Hands on her shoulders, forceful but kind. She’s back on the mattress and someone draps one of the blankets over her, but she shakes it off again at almost the exact moment Abby pulls it away. Erin’s had panic attacks in front of her before, she knows how this works.
When she finds her breath again, it hurts. The inside of her chest is ripped open and ragged, like long witch's’ claws are being drawn through her heart and lungs with each gulp of air she takes. It takes a long time for it to come easily again. Patty pushes a glass of lemonade into her shaking hand, saying something about the sugar. Normally she has a glass of water, but she goes with it, the bubbles soothing on her still aching throat.
To their credit, none of her friends look freaked out. Abby, she knows, is used to this, even if she hasn’t seen it in a long time, and Patty probably got her fair share of freakouts working on the subway. Holtz is always this chill, it’s barely a surprise to see her half smile at Erin, although she doesn’t go for a quip.
“Okay?” says Abby.
A nod. She’s as okay as she’s going to be, even if she does want to curl on the mattress, sleep and block out even her best friend. None of them are going to let her though. Holtz is back on the mattress beside her, Abby’s still watching and Patty’s coming up with more and more threats.
Not one of them is asking the obvious questions. What happened? Why would be do something like that? What did you do? She hates herself for even thinking that last one, it’s not her fault, she knows that, but it’s the same as the kids at school who taped over her mouth and shoved her in garbage cans, even sitting on the lid so she couldn’t get out. The same as her parents who called her crazy, attention seeking, pathetic and pushed her into another therapist’s office. Her dad who once put his fist through the wall after hearing one too many mentions of ghosts.
“Is there any more?” To Erin’s surprise, it’s Holtz that asks. She’d thought she would make her exit as soon as possible, hating the seriousness of the situation that couldn’t even be joked about. But she’s looking at her with a concern that’s so completely sincere that Erin feels her eyes sting with tears.
Maybe she should lie, tell them it’s just her neck, but she can still feel the ache between her shoulders, the faint thumping in her head. She remembers the way he pressed his mouth so hard against hers that her teeth burrowed into her lips. But there’s something about saying the words aloud, he pushed me into a wall. It sounds so pathetic, even in her head. Why didn’t she even try to stop him? “Nothing serious,” she says at last.
“Nothing serious?” repeats Abby, incredulous.
“Maybe we should save the lecturing for another day? Or, y’know, skip it altogether?” says Holtz in her usual, casual tone but one that leaves no room for arguing. She reaches for Erin’s hand. For someone so reckless, she makes Erin feel remarkably safe.
“Is this why you came here last night?”
“Yes. He left after…” She bites her lip, swallows. “But I didn’t want to be there. I was hoping…” That time she lets the sentence trail away without finishing it. I was hoping you would be here, sounds even worse than admitting Aaron pushed her.
Only Jillian seems to get it without being told; she bumps her shoulder up against Erin’s. “This is where all the cool kids hang out.”
“I don’t wanna interrupt whatever it is that’s going on here, but what are we gonna do about the fuck boy?” Patty interrupts.
“Nothing,” says Erin, firmly. “We’re going to do nothing.”
“No way am I letting you have all the fun, you have the fists of a middle schooler.”
“All I want to do is get my stuff out of his place and never see him again.” Of course that’s really what she wants. She’ll delete his number, every trace of him from her life. She’ll thrown her phone in the Hudson if she has to.
“We can do that,” Abby volunteers. “We’ll take the proton guns. He doesn’t have to know they can’t hurt living people.”
“They hurt like hell if you poke ‘em in the eyes,” Patty offers.
“There will be no poking.” What part about this do they not understand? She doesn’t want a fight or a fuss. She just wants it to be done with. She wants to be in her apartment, or at the fire house like they were last night. Watching some dumb movie and throwing wontons at each other. She doesn’t want them to look at her like they are not, like she’s a tiny bird’s egg that’s fallen from a nest.
Holtz nudges her again. “No poking, got it.” She smiles.
Even Patty nods, even as she scowls. “Fine, but I won’t promise not to post jello through his letterbox.”
It’s Abby who glares at her. Abby who takes a step forwards even though she’s already towering over where Erin’s sitting almost on the floor. “He choked you.”
She flinches, feels Holtz flinch beside her too.
“God, Erin, I can see the bruises from here. And you just want to sneak in, pick up your things and walk away? Are you planning to go back to him?” She opens her mouth to deny it, because there’s no way she could now even if she wanted to, but Abby doesn’t give her the chance. “Why do you always do this? Even at school you just let them-”
Pain prickles in her chest, like tiny thorns stabbing through her heart. But she won’t cry, not here, not now. Especially not now. “Let them what?” Her voice is barely above a whisper, but at least it doesn’t waver.
Abby deflates, her shoulders falling. “Nothing, I’m sorry. Don’t listen to me.”
There’s silence from the others, but the air is so thick that Erin can barely breathe.
Back then, she’d catch glances of Abby’s face every now and again, and she’d know what her friend was thinking. Why the hell does she just sit back and take it? But she’d already learnt by then that asking for help didn’t get her anywhere. They took one look at her record, at her tendency to lie for attention and dismissed anything she had to say. Later it would be even worse. She still sometimes wakes at night with no air in her lungs, still feeling the tennis ball they’d rammed down there scratching the back of her throat. ‘Nark’ they’d written on it.
“Erin, really. None of this is your fault, I’m sorry.” The mattress sinks slightly when Abby sits in the empty space on her other side. “I just love you, okay? I want to strangle him with his own intestines.”
There’s silence again. Somewhere in her, Erin knows Abby cares about her. She knows the only reason she’s so desperate for her to stand up for herself is because she hates to watch anyone hurt her. Abby’s her oldest friend. For a long time, she was the only one she ever had. But Erin had no doubt that she did mean what she said. Someone like her could never understand letting people hurt you, because she had parents who told her she was worth more. Erin had parents who whispered to teachers that she was troubled.
“Hey, so I can make this really cool jello that stains everything it touches, including skin. Non toxic though. I think.” Holtz grins.
Patty throws up her arms. “What the hell has that got to do with anything?”
“To mail to the fucking dildo,” she explains. “Or we could slit his knee caps and ship him to Alaska.”
~*~
Erin hesitates, the key in the lock. Empty chip packets brush her ankles, but even in the breeze the summer heat presses in from every angle. It feels like it’s reaching down her throat, suffocating her. She closes her eyes and feels a hand on her arm, gently moving down her arm to her hand on the key. It gives beneath both of their hands but Holtz doesn’t move away.
“We can stand out here as long as you like. It’s a warm day. I even have some Pringles in my bag, think there’s some dip in there too if you’re into that.”
Erin rolls her eyes and pushes open the door. It’s just an apartment, after all. He’s not going to be hiding in the walls. It’s strangely reassuring to see the mail on the mat, even if it is her water bill and a bunch of junk mail.
Holtz swoops down and picks it up, ripping open the envelope on top without asking. “Look, you’ve been offered a free appointment to discuss your penis enlargement. Quick! It’s only valid for three days.” She screws the letter into a ball and throws it at Erin’s head. It bounces off and rolls along the carpet.
Her bedroom is as she left it. Somehow she was expecting it to have changed. Like the mail that wasn’t on the mat. It’s a relief to see it undisturbed, even though she’s about to throw her worldly possessions into a case. She’s going to live at the fire station. It makes sense, giving how much time she spends there and she’s pretty sure Holtz has been staying there for months. They’ll be roommates. Then maybe they can persuade Patty and Abby to join the party.
Holtz strolls in after her, walks right up to her dresser and pulls open the top draw, which just happens to contain her underwear. Her friend scoops it up in one armful and flings it onto the bed. Then she moves onto her sock drawer.
“Do you mind?” Erin tries to be annoyed, but her energy is spent on not staring at the front door, waiting for him to came bursting through.
“I thought you wanted my help,” Holtz protests.
“Yeah, I was thinking you could box up my books.”
“Funsucker.” She pouts mockingly as she walks past Erin. From the other room she calls: “Are we taking them all?”
“Just the ones on the shelf,” Erin yells back.
She yanks open draws, grabbing the top layers of clothes, the ones she still wears and tossing them into her case. For once she doesn’t care about precision or neatness. She just wants to be out of there before he decides to let himself in again. She tries to tell herself that Holtz is in the other room, that she won’t be in any danger, but if anything her colleague is part of the worry. She won’t just walk past him like Erin would, used to bullies and abuse. She’ll pounce and that’ll make it so much worse. It always makes it worse.
When she was fourteen, she finally told her parents about the bullying, the name calling, the garbage they’d toss at her, shove down her throat, pour into her bag and locker, the thick silver tape they’d plaster over her mouth, the signs they’d stick to her back and the dog shit she’d once found smeared all over her homework. They’d looked at her for the longest time before shaking their heads and turning away. More lies. She’d heard the silent exchange between them. Even if she was telling the truth it was her own fault. If she was going to carry on with the ghost nonsense.
Done with the clothes she goes to the bathroom where she sweeps everything around her sink and in the cabinet into a wash bag and tosses that in too making sure she has her medication, SSRIs and beta blockers. The others don’t know about them and she doesn’t want to tell them. What if they don’t believe her, think she’s making a fuss over nothing? What if they think she’s weak, pathetic?
Holtz appears behind her. “Hey, do you have a favourite mug?”
“Um, yeah. The one with the eye and ‘The world is quiet here’.”
“Gotcha.” She makes finger guns and backs out.
Erin resists the urge to call her back.
~*~
It’s almost 2am and her eyes are heavy and filled with grit. Beside her, Patty is snoring. On her other side, Abby has her arms thrown above her head. Despite her exhaustion, her mind is buzzing too loudly to sleep. There’s still a lingering ache in her head, and between her shoulders. Her arms burn where he grabbed her. She closes her eyes and sees lights sparkling behind them, sees his face so close to hers that she can taste his breath on her tongue and his anger his sharp against her skin.
Erin untangles herself from the blanket, sliding from between Patty and Abby. She needs coffee, or tea, or something. Maybe a book. She could brush up on astrophysics. Her knowledge is sketchy. Not that it has anything to do with her job, but it might silence the noise. Make it quiet. She’ll drink the tea from her mug, the one Holtz packed for her. Holtz, who has her eyes open and is watching Erin from Abby’s other side. She gasps and it sounds shattering in the dead of night.
Holtz wriggles out from her part of the makeshift bed. Erin scoots around Abby’s head and without a word, Holtz plucks a blanket from the pile and they shuffle to the couch against the wall by the window.
It seems quieter, somehow, tucked under the blanket. Outside the city is still alive with lights soaring over the invisible stars and shouts of laughter are drowned by the hum of the traffic. In here, they are alone. Just her and Jillian, their friends sleeping a few feet away. It’s so much kinder than being alone.
“You okay?” Holtz’s whisper is soft, much more so than Erin thought she was capable of.
She’s not, but it’s been too long since she’s admitted that to anyone.
“When I was in 8th grade,” she says instead, “some girls cornered me after school. Three of them pinned me down while another took out some kitchen scissors and cut my shirt. She cut the straps of my bra, too, tore it off. Then she pulled out a disposable camera and took a photo. It was grainy and part of her finger was in it, but everyone knew it was me. It was posted around the school the next day.” She had never told her parents that part. She’s not sure why she’s telling Holtz now. Maybe she wants her to understand that this is nothing new to her. Bruises, she can take.
“People are such assholes.” It’s still a whisper, but harsher, harder. “But look at you now, you got a whole team of ghost girls.” She nudges her, gently. “Like it or not, forever and ever.”
Forever and ever with her best friends. With Jillian. It sounds a thousand times better than anything Aaron could ever have offered her. Erin lets her head drop onto her shoulder. She hears Holtz catch her breath in her throat. It feels near to something she’s not quite ready to reach for. She can do this though. Sit beneath a blanket with the city circled around them, warm and safe and okay.
Until Holtz’s simmering experiment explodes, sending a jet of hell-knows-what into the air that crackles and fizzes and brings a little of the ceiling back down with it. Erin screams and Abby and Patty wake with flailing limbs and Patty screeching “Why in hell is the sky falling down while I’m tryna sleep?”
Holtz takes Erin’s hand in the darkness and leans back on the couch. “Whoops. My bad.”