The weight of Tina's questions seemed to linger in the room as I sat there beside her. The accusatory and suspicious tones in her voice were almost as shocking as the actual words. My skin crawled and for a moment, I felt a single twitch in one of my legs as I turned away. My mind was reeling. I had expected to be asked about the bloody bed sheets eventually. The second question made no sense at all and worried me.

"What do you mean? I told you about the crows and her eye in the hospital. You acted like you didn't believe me and thought I was crazy," I said. I tried to keep my voice calm without sounding dismissive. It was harder to do than I had thought it would be, mainly because I felt cornered and confused.

"Well, that's because I had already found it in the bathroom! I was cleaning and trying to get everything prepared for your release. You hadn't even showed any sign of movement from the coma at that point. I started getting the laundry together and reached up to pull the shower curtain a little. It's so damn dark in that room. When I did I saw her eye- just staring at me- on the window sill inside the shower. At first I thought it was just a piece of jewelry or something. I nearly screamed. I went down to the hospital that day, hoping you'd come to. I needed to ask you. I was scared to ask you. But fuck it. I'm asking you now!"

Her eyes were wild. Her lips quivered as she spoke and her voice strained. I reached to touch her leg but she backed away into her corner of the couch, distancing immediately. She seemed more frightened of me than even Megan had been during my worst drinking binges. That helplessness I felt all those years ago came rushing back. My left hand trembled in my lap, the right one erratically began smoothing the armrest, tapping my fingers as I forced myself to try and calm her down.

"Okay. Okay. Let's say it was there. Hell, I guess it could be. Was the window open in the bathroom? Did the bird leave it there. I guess that could've happened."

"Yeah, it was open but only partially."

"Well, there you go. It probably tried to fly in the place. When it couldn't get in, it dropped it," I said, convincing myself almost as much as I needed to reassure her. She continued to stare at me and glanced away after a moment.

"I don't know. It seems too convenient," she said with a shake of her head, her blonde hair falling into her scared and confused blue eyes. She didn't want to look at me and I felt my stomach knotting at the reason why.

"Tina, what the hell are you thinking? Why else would the damned thing be in there? You think I just run around collecting gruesome oddities from old ladies?" My voice began to raise as I asked, hoping to dilute her worry with belligerence and sarcasm.

She turned to face me, her eyes filled with tears. She opened her mouth to speak but choked. She tried again and this time, the look on her face made me look away. She was visibly shaking as she screamed.

"A dead woman! No, Byron! I don't think that. I don't know what to think! I just know that my favorite author is sitting here and I'm freaking scared of him. I lost my one person I could relate to in this city, someone dear. Until the other day, I thought we had really connected. Sure, I put on a brave face in the hospital. I was happy you'd recovered. But the more I sat there, the worse it got! Florica's missing her eye, which just so happened to be in your house, was resting one room away from a bloody bed. There's blood in your dirty laundry, in your sink. I don't know what I think! But I know something is going on. Something weird. And you're too much of a drunk to even see it- or maybe you do, and just don't care! I'd like to think that you're telling me the truth but let's face it... You've not been very good at that. Hell, I don't even think you hardly ever honest with yourself anymore!"

If I could have stood up and stormed off, I would have. Instead, I positioned myself and shifted my weight. I slid off the cushion and into my wheelchair. I wheeled a good distance from her as she began to cry harder. I glared at her. I was tired but I did not like anything she was implying.

"The blood is mine, okay. Mine! Yes. I fucking get plastered almost every night and then some nights, shit gets weird." My voice seemed to echo in the small room and the floorboards underneath groaned. I nearly blurted out Lily's name but my throat closed as I tried. I slammed my fist against the arm of the wheelchair. I couldn't even begin to try to explain everything. Explain her. I instead focused on what I could. The only truth that mattered in that very moment.

"Thank you for that small bit of honesty, I guess," Tina said. "I still don't know what you get up to get blood everywhere. Cutting yourself? Please, don't tell me that's what you're doing at night. I know you're troubled or depressed-"

"You know what doesn't help? Implying that perhaps I had something to do with her-"

"Don't," she sobbed. "I don't know what to think, but I know what I want to believe. Today's been hell. Just please don't do anything stupid." Her tears had calmed and her eyes reflected more concern than fear as she spoke. Considering how heated the conversation had become tonight, I decided it was good enough. Some progress, at least.

We sat there in silence for ten more minutes before Tina gathered her things and stood. She leaned down to hug me and kissed my cheek. "I may still be scared of you and confused by everything, but I'm more scared for you. You know that, right?"

"Yeah, I do," I said with a sigh. "I'm sorry for your loss and I'm sorry that I had treated the lady so poorly that night. But no matter what it seemed like, I would never do anything like what you were thinking. Ever."

"A wise man once wrote something that I'm trying to keep in mind," she said, reaching the door. " Find the strength. Face your fears."

The memory of a blonde girl in New York suddenly lit up in my head. The girl's face was bruised and despite her excitability, I could see that her heart was partially broken. It had been August and only a few hours before my own heart would know a similar ache.

"Horror is for reading, not living," I whispered. I tried to say more but couldn't. She had been on my last book tour. The shock of that realization and Megan's last hours with me made it difficult to.

"Remember the bruise? He was a brutish asshole and more than you know," she continued. "Byron- that man- the man that broke into your hotel room? That was my boyfriend. He deserved what you did to him. I'm sorry for your loss as well. That's at least one reason why I feel so drawn to you and want to do what I can. I'm still you're number one fan. Rest. We both need it. I'll be by in a day or two. Let's just try to get past this."

With that, she walked down to her truck and left. I watched in the doorway as she waved slowly and drove away. My eyes felt heavy and decided that a good night's sleep would indeed be ideal. The path to the pond seemed inviting. I glanced down at my legs and flinched my muscles best that I could. Perhaps I would go down there in the morning. I could bring a pencil and a notepad down there and write. If my legs had been healed, I may have even considered a swim.

Whether I would be visited by those familiar fragrances in the middle of the night remained to be seen. Hopes and fears are suspicious things, sometimes.