My phone chimes from my bedroom. I ignore Evan’s frustrated rambles about people knocking on doors at seven in the morning and how now he doesn’t have enough cash to top up his stash. I let my brain go numb and my feet lead me to where my phone is left lying in the center of the bed.
My brows knit together at the unknown number staring back at me. I unlock my phone to read the message. Chills rain over my body and I throw it back onto the bed.
No.
He communicates in letters, not texts. It can’t be him. When did the Faceless Man adopt modern technology? This could be the proof that I need, a message on my phone showing that he’s been watching me this whole time. That I didn’t make this all up.
I take another fortifying breath and pick up my phone. Squeezing my eyes shut, I count to three and tell myself that I’m not imagining things before opening them again. The text is still there, sitting in a grey bubble in my inbox.
Unknown Sender: Death comes in shadows in the light; it does not need to wait for the dark. For him, I will come as a hurricane.
No matter how many times I read the message, I can’t make sense of it. Why must it be so cryptic? Without really thinking it through, I send a response:
Me: Who are you?
I stare at the message thread, waiting for a response, but nothing comes. It was a stupid idea anyway. This whole situation is entirely one-sided, he talks to me and taunts me but doesn’t want to hear what I say.
I nearly jump out of my skin when the phone chimes again. Honestly, I didn’t expect him to respond. Mustering all my emotional energy, I read the message.
Unknown Sender: You know me as well as I know you.
What on earth does he mean? My fingers fly across the keyboard, stringing together words to let him know just how sick I am of his games while in the back of my mind, I am hoping he doesn’t take me seriously and continues with said games.
“Who are you texting?” Evan questions sharply, watching me from the threshold of the room.
I almost drop the phone like I’m trying to hide incriminating evidence. I’ve done nothing wrong, and I have proof in my hands that I haven’t been imagining him. The Faceless Man is the only one that hasn’t been treating me like I’ve lost my mind. But I can’t bring myself to show the messages to Evan, be it for fear that this may just be a trick my mind is playing on me and I’m as crazy as everyone says, or that there really is a man that comes into my room at night and touches me.
I’m not convinced either way.
I try to plaster on an innocent smile, then realize that I wouldn’t normally smile at such a question. At least the Lili after the accident wouldn’t. The Lili before would have joked and asked if he was jealous. This Lili speaks as little as possible outside of Dr. Mallory’s office. “Work.”
He eyes me suspiciously but just grunts. “I’m going. You’re out of bread.”
I don’t respond, staying glued to my spot long after my wooden floor creaks beneath his departing steps, and my front door clicks shut.
We used to kiss before he left. We used to say exactly when we would see each other next, like we had to know for certain that the sun would rise the following day. He didn’t fill my heart completely, but after this past year and a half, I realize what he did fill was my time and the void of meaningless wandering through life.
My attention focuses on the slight tear in the wallpaper, just above the space Evan had occupied, and all thoughts filter out of my mind until there is nothing but white noise.
You’re dissociating, Dr. Mallory told me once. Your mind is going into a state of refuge.
I should be over mourning what Evan and I once had. I should be done with grieving my old life. But truthfully, I barely remember it anymore. You can’t grieve something you lost, when you don’t remember ever having it.
My seemingly perfect boyfriend that isn’t so perfect now, the dream job and the sister that I no longer have. The latter I will never forget but the former, I barely remember.
My phone’s alarm pulls me from my safe space, the place where no one can hurt me and I can’t hurt myself. I start moving on autopilot, grabbing my bag and my keys, then drive across town to get to work just as rush hour starts.
I’ve made a rule not to check my locker as soon as I start because I never know what I might find in there.
The morning goes by in a flurry of orders, and like Evan suggested, I try harder. I plaster a charming smile on my face even though I know it doesn’t meet my eyes, and I ask ungrateful customers about their morning. As Evan said, I’m out of bread and he’s not working as much, meaning that I can’t steal packets of instant noodles and granola bars from his house without him noticing. Unless I asked… No, I promised myself never to ask him. So I have to earn some money.
It’s just a coffee shop. No one tips well when they’re just trying to get their dose of caffeine on the way to a job they likely hate after probably needing to wrestle getting their kids into a car and then sit in traffic for the next hour. If I were in their position, I’d be in no mood for small talk and forking out extra cash for the barista that’s making me face my terrible life.
The rush dies down, and the tip jar remains as pathetically empty as it was yesterday. A lone glass of water atop the counter summons me closer, left discarded by one of the customers. As I pick it up, I become deaf to my surroundings, suddenly transfixed on the reflection of the water: a dark cloud hidden beneath a hood.
Awareness prickles my skin and I narrow my eyes at the reflection.
A soft breath fans the side of my face before whispering, “Soon, my night monster.”
The glass drops from my hand as I spin around, even though I know that I won’t find him there. Instead, I swear I see Dahlia standing on the other side of the window outside. But she isn’t there either.
My heart thunders against my chest, and everything crashes back to me, bombarding every one of my senses. The black t-shirt sticking to my back, my black jeans digging into the rolls of my stomach and my scars, the smell of coffee, the crying child, the abstract paintings.
Too much. It’s all too much. I want to scream at him to leave me alone. Beg him to show me his face. Was losing them not enough of a punishment for living? Now he has to haunt me, hunt me, taunt me. What does he think he’ll get? Does he want to break me? Well, I’m already broken. Hurt me? Fine, I know what pain is. But this? Whatever twisted game this is, it needs to end. Even if I’ve sometimes enjoyed it.
I’m not entirely sure the Faceless Man is real but I know for certain that I’m imagining Dahlia. She’s dead. She’s never coming back. I just need to face her. One day. Not today, I tell myself.
I stumble back when soft hands touch my skin, thinking that they’re his. And for a split second, the one word that crosses my mind at the touch is finally.
“Sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you. Are you alright, Lili? You’re looking a little pale.” Brit is younger than me, but she’s more put together than I will ever be. Ever the duty manager, she starts cleaning up the mess before I respond, but she glances up at me with her concerned hazel eyes.
I nod, then shake my head. “I’m going for a break, just a dizzy spell.”
“Well, you can take the rest of the day off—”
“No,” I blurt. I can’t afford to miss any work. “I just haven’t eaten, that’s all.”
I try to hide my trembling hands in my apron, and force myself not to look around to see if I can catch him staring at me. Or worse, to imagine Dahlia again.