My own hands had betrayed me countless times over the years. I dropped things, spilled drinks and often had trouble keeping them steady. Mort and Megan had both said it was from the drinking but that was not the real reason they shook lately.

It was the memory of the weight of the pistol in my hand that August night that kept them trembling long after the last drop of alcohol. Coupled with the blackout nights where Megan warned me I had nearly hit her, these same hands that loved to create seemed destined to destroy just as easily.

Sometimes, too easily.

I hated to admit that. With each betrayal and wavering instance the need to write would take hold, as if I was trying to compensate for my lack of control. The Olivetti would stare at me with her cold sky-blue indifference until the words would bleed unto the page. Some nights you bled more than others, while occasionally you just tapped the vein, until bruised and sore.

Last night had been different. 

I tried recalling the details fully again. My hands had not been my own. My thoughts seemed alien to me and the words I tried to speak irrelevant each time I had tried. My desires for the strange woman seemed not my own, as well. The only thing I knew for sure was this gripping pull, this need that invaded me as she teased, and the allure of her scent and voice leading me along. Her flesh seemed foreign and earthy against mine, natural and unnatural in equal measure. A fluid betrayal of my own mind. None of it seemed real, but the letter and flower petals calmed my skepticism and the empty liquor bottle pointed plainly to the obvious answer. The more I pondered these thoughts I felt another need beckon more realistically.

Whether Lily would actually be back or she had smartened up and ran off into obscurity, out of shame, I couldn't be sure. I gave Mina one last touch of her keys as I stood again. I felt a pang of remorse at the thought of not spending more time writing. That pain was soon replaced with a nauseous feeling brought on by Lily's lingering scent and the lack of food lately.

"I'll be back, old girl. You and I still have unfinished business. I need some fresh air." 

I turned back after a few steps, crumpling the note she had left and tossing it into the wastebasket. I stared at the typewriter again, then smiled. 

"Don't look at me like that. She's a lovely girl if a bit on the dark side- 'twas the drink and nothing more."

I heard Megan laughing in the back of my head at my horrible puns. I felt Lily's black eyes watching me with wild precision. I saw another drink in my future very soon. My hands finally began to settle down some as I reassured myself of that. I got dressed and walked out the door towards the Jeep and found myself avoiding eye contact with the pond instinctively. It gave me chills even in the daylight. I shuddered as I climbed inside and shut the door.

On the hood of the car were three dead birds. I bit my tongue in shock. Their eyes stared into mine, before I revved the engine and reversed abruptly. I could hear their feathered skin slide off the front of the car and into the grass. I felt my hands tremor as I gripped the wheel and pulled away. I pressed the gas pedal down harder. I felt my heartbeat flutter in my dry chest. Catching my breath, I pressed the gas to the floor again with a grimace.

My hands were shaking and my chest was tight. I laughed to ease the nerves but that was followed by even more trembling. I could still see the lifeless black eyes pleading with me before I had reversed in a panic. That had been startling enough. What made my heart jump the most was that hanging from the chipped beak of one of the crows  was a withered petal of white speckled with blood.

I drummed my fingers nervously along the steering wheel as I drove, steadying my breathing the closer I got to town. The dust from the secluded dirt road flew in the open window stinging my eyes. I blinked and squinted the specks away as I pressed on. Each time I did, Lily's eyes were staring back into mine. The passionate pleading and all-knowing stare of an enthralled woman and that wicked smile of hers taunted me even in her absence. I could feel her hands roaming, that breathy whisper on my neck. My hands were shaking furiously and my heart raced, but my breathing remained steady despite the visceral visions haunting me.

I could see the diner and bookstore just ahead as I maneuvered into a parking space with a sudden slam of the brakes. I lurched forward and the last thing I saw as I shifted into park was Megan's dead eyes this time. The same eyes that I never could forget, no matter how much I drank. The pupils were blown and the reflections in them scattered before I envisioned them rolling upwards behind her soft, heavy lids. The last glimpse reflected in her eyes before closing was my grieving face. I nearly sobbed into my quaking hands at the sight of me caught within her dying eyes. I brought my head close to them instead and the scent of lilies on them reminded me that there may be hope, no matter how mysterious and confusing it may seem. I heard Lily's enchanting voice distantly chiming reassurance, echoing, before being chased away by the sound of another feminine voice in my ear.

"You look like you could use some company, Mr. King." Her soft southern drawl startled me out of my own head in an immediate panic. My eyes must've been wild because when I glanced she backed away slightly before leaning in close. "Perhaps a drink?"

It was the blonde-haired waitress from the diner the other day. It was as if I had never even actually noticed her until this moment. Her curls were piled atop her head in a loose manner, wavy tendrils falling about her cheeks in a delicate frame of sorts. Her blue eyes were staring slightly but I think it was more because of her favorite writer's rattled appearance than in a judgmental way. She smiled faintly, her full lips spreading into a mischievous smirk as her hand slightly grabbed my arm in a precocious manner.

"Lucky for you I know a gal that could use one as well. Not to mention, a trip to the bookstore." She winked. "Don't give me that look. I'm not going to ask you to sign anything. Although, I can't promise that I won't hound you with questions. Or other things." She laughed nervously and waited for me to answer. I opened my mouth to speak , my voice dry and strained as she tapped her foot anxiously.

"You're boldness is quite charming. What man could say no to a drink?" I smiled. "Kind of caught me in a moment." I glanced down at my hands still trembling notably and reached for hers as I exited the vehicle. She blushed slightly as I did.

Her blue eyes shined with excitement and surprise but her voice was confident. "You write horror but speak romance. You'll love the bookstore, I'm sure of it." She gave a knowing look towards my hands. "The drink, first."

Getting out of the Jeep I ran my hands through my dust blown hair and sighed. I caught myself intrigued by her just a bit and her natural way of putting me at ease with just a toss of her hair and a smile. This seemed normal and normalcy was definitely a change of pace, especially over the last few days. She was a few inches taller than me and she was still wearing her work uniform with just a few of the top buttons undone. She must have caught me looking as I climbed out of the seat because her fingers lingered playfully there a moment before sliding down and removing her name tag and stuffing it into her small black purse. Her hips were framed in her skirt perfectly. How I had not noticed how striking she was in the diner seemed to prove my dissociation as of late.

"Tina, in case you've already forgotten, Mr. King."

"Byron, in case you have."

"As many nights as I've spent curled up in bed reading with you, that would be hard to do."

"Lead the way," I said, with a laugh.

I shoved my hands into my pockets as we walked on past the vendors on the street. The smell of pomegranate and hibiscus began drawing me in and the revelry of the brass horns in chorus with the jazz beat drums were weaving their magic almost immediately. Looking around I realized we may have been very near to Jackson Square or maybe even Royal Street as we walked further into the crowd.

We had missed the bookstore a few blocks ago but Tina assured me we would stop there on the way back. Down a side alley we found a solitary man leaned up against the wall, muttering to himself with a smile. We asked him directions to the closest street merchant selling liquor. He held out his hand and pointed to the far street on the left just past the dancing ladies waving their sashes and colonial-style skirts seductively in time to the tribal beats of the passing parade of musicians. The French Quarter's influence distracted me from my tremors and I found myself caught in it's glory just as countless writers before me.

I ordered for myself and Tina. She smiled and touched my arm. We both took a sip, before throwing our heads back in unison.

"Feel better?" she asked.

"Getting there." I shouted above the rhythmic pulse of the band. I ordered two more apiece and found myself actually relaxing for the first time since arriving. She leaned in and kissed my cheek. I closed my eyes. The pang of guilt I felt was a cold shuddering wave that hit me even harder than the alcohol.

I forced a smile and kissed her cheek as well. The parade pressed forward through the streets, pumping its majestic musings of life and celebration. I caught a glimpse of what I was sure was Lily standing in the crowd across the street. Her obsidian stare was not one of hurt or shock but instead an unnerving disapproval that caused me to stumble back in surprise. Her white flowing dress then disappeared into the crowd and weaved out of sight as fast as she had appeared. I swallowed hard then anxiously ordered one last drink for the trip back to the bookstore. Tina leaned drunkenly into me as we walked, her hands about my waist occasionally. To be honest, I doubted she even noticed my panicked awareness as we continued on, glancing over my shoulder or across the street randomly.

One word echoed in my head with each alley we passed, a beckoning warning from the shadows or beyond.

MINE.