“What are you thinking about?” she said.
My face muscles tensed. “Nothing.”
“You must be thinking about something.”
I sighed. The bed felt too small for the three of us, Boris stretched out to claim far more than his share. “I am truly thinking about nothing.”
Zoe made a worried noise. Now, she’d want to know if the sex was all right.
“Was that okay?” she asked.
“It was great,” I said stiffly.
Next, what was wrong.
Worry lines appeared above her dark glasses. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing.”
Boris lifted his head and watched me warily. You seem angry. The words flashed through my head an instant before Zoe spoke them: “You seem angry.”
Dread opened in my stomach. Boris and I stared at one another.
Do you really love me? The question seemed to come from the dog.
“Do you really love me?” Zoe said half a second later.
“Of course,” I said, speaking to Boris now.
Why?
“Why?”
Boris growled softly.
Zoe put a hand on his back. “What is it, Bo?”
“It’s me,” I said. “He’s growling at me.”
The next bit of conversation came to me in a rush.
He’s not growling at you.
Yes, he is.
Why would he growl at you?
Because he knows what I’m thinking.
I thought you weren’t thinking about anything.
Well I fucking lied, didn’t I?
Boris was staring at me intently, his hackles up. “He’s not growling at you,” Zoe said.
“Yes, he is,” I replied, helplessly.
“Why would he—”
With an effort that hurt, I tore myself out of the scene and bolted from the room, hearing Boris’s substantial bulk hit the floor an instant later. His claws raked the hardwood. Naked, I sprinted through the living room and skidded into the kitchen, Boris close on my heels. The butcher’s knife was lying on the stove, where Zoe had left it. I snatched it up and whirled to face Boris as he charged into the room, tongue lolling out the side of his mouth, eyes bright and happy. He wasn’t attacking. He was playing. Either he didn’t see the knife or he didn’t have the sense to fear it. As he launched himself at me, some weird reflex made me tighten my grip on the handle. The blade sank deep into his neck. He reared back, yelping, blood spraying the walls as the knife slid out, still in my hand. Zoe hurried into the kitchen, in her sunglasses and towel. “No!” she yelled, seeing Boris on the floor. “No! No! No!” She threw herself over him. The life was leaving his body with surprising speed. He thrashed in her arms a few seconds before going still. Zoe cradled his head in her lap, looking at me over her sunglasses, her eyes filled with despair. I couldn’t guess what she was going to say next. Nor did I want to find out. Dropping the knife to the floor, I walked past them both and headed for the door. In the hall, I punched the elevator button, stark naked and shivering, wet with Boris’s blood. When the elevator didn’t come, I abandoned it and took the stairs, jogging down flight after flight, until I reached the main level, where I passed several tenants on my way through the lobby. I could see from their faces that I’d transformed into something terrifying, an animal on whom clothing would have looked absurd. A wild shriek tore its way out of my throat, flattening them against the walls. Then, hunched like a troll, genitals swinging, I gripped the handle of the front door and stepped out into the crowded street.
CHAPTER TWELVE
The head psychiatrist listened to my description of the event with an indulgent smile, nodding from time to time, as if I were telling him something entirely expected. Then he turned to the other members of the team—an intern, a psychologist, and a nurse—and talked about me for a few minutes as if I weren’t in the room, using terms like fugue state, paranoia, hallucinations, psychosis. Sticky notes sectioning off different parts of my brain. Returning to me with a fatherly smile, he assured me that with the proper treatment, he could have me back to my old self within a few short weeks. And he had more good news. I hadn’t hurt anyone. I’d been found roaming the streets, bloody and naked, but the blood appeared to be my own, from a gash on my hand which had since been bandaged.
“I don’t understand,” I said, crossing my arms in an attempt to maintain some dignity in my hospital gown and paper slippers. “What about Boris?”
“Who?”
“The dog.”
“Ah,” Dr. Patel said, with a faint smile. “Right. The dog.”
“It was an accident.” I rubbed the side of my face to quiet a spasming muscle. “He jumped at me. I didn’t mean to…”
“No, I’m sure you didn’t. But the thing is, Felix, the officers who brought you in sent someone to check your apartment, and they didn’t find any dog there.”
“Well, then Zoe must have taken him somewhere. Did they ask her?”
The other members of the team exchanged uncomfortable looks, but Dr. Patel’s smile never wavered. “No,” he said. “They didn’t ask Zoe.”
“Why not?”
“Felix.” Dr. Patel leaned forward, hands clasped between his knees. “Your landlord told the police that you’ve been living alone in that apartment since you moved in three months ago.”
“What?” I barked out a laugh. “That’s crazy!”
No one else in the room was smiling. I shook my head. “Why would he say that? My name isn’t even on the lease.”
“Actually…” Dr. Patel picked a sheet of paper up off his desk. “Your name is the only name on the lease. I requested a copy. I thought you might like to see it.”
I took the photocopied lease agreement, my eyes darting down to the signature at the bottom. “I don’t… That’s impossible.”
“Is it?” Dr. Patel asked. “You say you’ve been missing time.”
I rubbed the side of my face harder. “She must have taken her name off the lease. Maybe I did sign it at some point… I mean, I must have. But she was definitely living there, so…”
“After your initial story,” Dr. Patel said, in that same mild tone, “the police interviewed your neighbours. None of them had any recollection of a woman matching Zoe’s description ever living in that unit, or a dog for that matter. In fact, the building doesn’t even allow pets.”
I blinked rapidly, pushing hard at the fluttering muscle in my cheek. “I don’t understand.”
“There’s no easy way to say this, Felix. We believe that Zoe was a mental construction. Something you built in your mind.”
I crossed and uncrossed my legs, fidgeting wildly, touching my forehead, my mouth, the back of my head.
“I don’t…” I said, fighting off tears, “I don’t know what’s happening right now…”
The nurse handed me a tissue, her face creased with pity. “Take a deep breath,” she said. “Everything’s going to be all right.”
“But how can that even be possible?” I asked Dr. Patel. “I saw her every day. She talked to me. I touched her. We…”