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Even when I’m gone, I won’t forget you, Grasshopper.
The letter crinkled and began to tear between Leigh’s claws as her vision blurred in red. “...why'd he have to be so STUPID! All I wanted was an apology! That's it! That's what the whole thing was about!”
Martin’s face flashed in her mind before it became the Grasshopper’s half-eaten corpse, now rotting outside of Leigh’s apartment. It tasted terrible—just like him.
Martin will never know what she went through, how long she had been waiting for his messages and an apology, how many quiet nights she spent sobbing by herself, hating herself, wishing she could be interested in something—anything that genuinely excites her, anything that would make her good enough for someone like Martin, wishing she was like her sisters one way or another, wishing he had stayed, wishing something terrible happened to her, wondering if this life as ‘Leigh’ was worth living.
Leigh crumpled the letter and ring together and wound her arm back, ready to throw both items into the deep abyss of her apartment.
“Wait.” Sam’s hand caught her arm. Leigh, for whatever reason, let him lower it as if to offer something. Maybe it was because of how gentle and warm Sam felt against her cold, bloodstained arm? Or how quiet Sam whispered? Less than a mouse, similar to breathless air. She could rip off his other arm. Throw it all into the darkness. Easy.
Sure it would leave Sam without both of his arms but Leigh just was so tired. She wants to have closure on her own terms. Ready to forget, to let go, to move on, to be free, to be the Beast and never look back, she remembered that night and how much she bled and had wailed to an empty apartment, it was too—
“You can be both.” Sam whispered, and Leigh noted how small and fragile he sounded. “Leigh and the Beast.”
Both? That’s—Leigh harshly bit her lower lip as more tears threatened to spill, she tasted blood immediately. Her hands shaking as she stared at the ring…then at Sam…then at the abyss.
All she had to do was throw the items. Ignore Sam, or tell him off—whichever came first—because what does he know? What did…any of their weird friends know?
…
And yet…all Leigh could do was open her mouth before closing it, and rapidly blink her tears away.
“Yeah, okay…” Leigh said, her voice rough. She took in a deep breath before letting out a exasperated sigh and her face crumbled. The ring’s sharp edges still pressed against the palm of her hand, almost cutting the soft surface. Reminding her of what could have been as she pocketed the ring and the letter. The sound of crumpled paper pitifully filled the silence.
∞∞∞
Hellen stood silently, her many eyes tracking Leigh. Papineau shifted his weight next to her, probably wanting to say something…but no words came out of the ‘honorable’ janitor as he readjusted his grip on his mop.
What could any of them say?
“We should head back.” Sam said. Oh right…that could be said.
Leigh sharply nodded once, not looking at any of them. The three of them slowly piled out. When Hellen turned to see if Leigh was behind her, she saw the short woman still standing, staring, by the abyss, seemingly entranced by the darkness. Eyes glazed over, face despondent, and her posture hopeless.
Hellen’s many eyes blinked, Leigh’s hand was on her lower abdomen. Her hand stayed there for a few seconds before Leigh hugged herself and walked away from the edge.
Hellen’s eyes stopped swirling. She understood.
But didn’t say anything. Not yet.
∞∞∞
The walk back home through the warped and disfigured hallways was silent, heavy. No monsters or individuals who had lost their minds attacked them—thank goodness. When they got home, Hellen still couldn’t believe how fast she and the others had called Sam’s Apartment their home, everyone present in the living room-slash-kitchen room released exhausted sighs of relief.
They came back in one piece.
Papineau kept himself busy checking the perimeters, then as first watch by the door, as Sam sat on the couch. He winced lightly as the phantom pains began again, like a persistent sore. Next to him, Sophie had her slingshot, fiddling with it but didn’t say anything or even acknowledge Sam. Her eyes not focused.
During dinner, the group ate in silence. Joel tried asking about the mission, took one look at their faces, and retreated. One by one, people found places to sleep. By midnight, the apartment had settled into uneasy quiet.
∞∞∞
Night came, Leigh sat on the edge of Sam’s couch, staring at the wall—never blinking once. Rapid thoughts swirled endlessly as she processed nothing. Everything was oddly quiet, only broken by the occasional drip of the faucet, Papineau’s quiet movements at the front door, and combined soft and rocky snores of the misfits sleeping in the cramped living room.
After dinner, Sam told Leigh that he’d sleep on the floor that night. Leigh didn’t even say anything in response as she blankly watched the pipsqueak with the bleeding heart make a makeshift mattress on the floor. Joel, Sophie, and Ratty all curled up around him, sleeping in dreamland. It was cute actually, and if Leigh hadn’t seen Martin or his letter, well she would be genuinely smiling right now.
Sam looked so dorky…like a Dad…
Leigh moved her hand into her sweatpants’ pockets and felt around for the contents until she felt it: a photo. She took it out and straightened it. Despite all the creases it had experienced in the supply runs and protected in her Beast’s flesh, it was still clear. Grainy and it was in black and white but very clear for Leigh.
A small bean-shaped angel resting in her mother’s womb.
Leigh gripped the photo like it might disintegrate, thumb tracing the bean-shaped outline. Her daughter. Three months along when—
…
She couldn’t finish the thought.
“What is that?” Leigh jumped at Hellen’s voice and snapped her head towards the bigger woman behind the couch.
Leigh’s fingers tightened on the photo. “Nothing.”
“It’s something.”
Leigh didn’t say anything as Hellen’s eyes swirled patiently and relentlessly.
And for a moment, the silence continued. Until Leigh’s jaw clenched. “It’s nothing, okay? Just drop it.”
“I can’t.”
Leigh bared her fangs, pissed off and exhausted. “Why not?”
Hellen tilted her head. “I recognize that hunger for blood. For violence. I have it too.”
Leigh went very rigid.
“I know what it feels like.” Hellen continued, her voice flat and factual. “To want to destroy everything because everything took something from you.”
Leigh’s breathing quickened as she clutched the photo even tighter to her chest.
Hellen came around the couch and gently took a seat next to Leigh, the couch lifted slightly from her weight. She leaned forward, elbows on her knees, hands clasped together tightly.
“My husband died the first day.” Hellen said. No preamble. No softening. “A monster came at us. He pushed me and my son behind him. Bought us time. I heard him scream. I didn’t look back.”
Leigh’s eyes lifted to Hellen’s mask, her hands shaking.
“My son was four. I carried him. Told him to look at Mommy. Look at Mommy. Don’t look away.” Hellen’s voice remained evenly controlled. “We were outside. He looked past my eyes. Into the Visitor’s.”
A pause. Only the apartment’s ambiance, inside and out in the halls: creaking wood, occasional groans of grief, snoring, the leaking faucet, distant roaring, the faucet dripping.
“He transformed. Panicked. Scratched my face during the panic.” Hellen gestured to her mask. “The scratches became this. Then the Cursed found us. Several of them. He was small. Confused. They attacked him.”
Leigh’s face had gone pale.
“I tried.” Hellen said. “I couldn’t stop them all.”
She stopped talking. No more elaboration, no tears, just facts delivered like inventory.
Leigh’s hands shook harder, the image nearly slipped from her fingers.
“How…” Leigh’s voice cracked. “How were they? What were they like? Your husband and son?”
Hellen’s mask tilted slightly as if surprised by the question.
“Marcus liked people.” Hellen said slowly. “And even though he told me why he loved me, I still don’t know what he saw in me. I preferred solitude. Still do. He’d talk to strangers. Make friends in grocery stores. I never understood it.”
Hellen paused, longer than her usual preference.
“Our son—” Hellen stopped, then started again. “Our son was independent. He helped me with the plants. We had a garden. He’d water the tomatoes, pull weeds. He was gentle with them. Sometimes he’d push my hand away when I tried to help. ‘I can do it, Mama.’ He’d say it so seriously.”
There was the smallest, slightest crack in her voice that was so small, someone else might have missed it. Leigh made a sound, almost sounding like a sob.
Hellen’s many eyes fixed on her. “Was it a boy or a girl?”
Leigh’s breath hitched in her chest. “Girl.”
“Did you get to hold her?”
“No. I didn’t—I didn’t get the chance.”
Hellen leaned back slightly. “Tell me.”
Leigh shook her head, unable to speak. She didn’t want to—she couldn’t, how could she—?
“Tell me.” Hellen repeated. Insistent, not cruel.
“I found out I was pregnant.” Leigh whispered. “Three months. I was so—” She swallowed. “Martin had a job offer in another state. He told me the day I was going to tell him about the baby. He said we needed to talk about our future. I thought—”
Leigh’s voice broke.
“I thought he was going to propose. I-I had the test in my purse. But he told me about the job instead. He was leaving.” Leigh’s hands trembled. “He said it was only temporary. That he’d come back in three months and we’d figure everything out. I didn’t tell him—I couldn’t. I though I could tell him when he came back.”
Her voice dropped to barely a whisper. “But he never did. He stopped answering my texts. Just…vanished.”
Leigh pressed her hand to her abdomen again, harder this time. The ultrasound photo still clutched in the other. “And then the stress, the finances, everything—I miscarried two weeks later.”
The silence that followed was heavy enough to suffocate and cut with a knife.
Then Hellen spoke with a dark tone. “Were you excited for your daughter because being a mother would cure your boredom?”
Leigh’s head snapped up, genuine shock on her face as her pupils shrunk. “What?”
“You were bored before.” Hellen flatly said. “You’ve said as much. The shop was boring. Your life was boring. Was the baby just something new?”
Leigh’s face twisted as she vigorously shook her head. “No! No, that’s not—”
“Then what?”
“I was excited!” Leigh’s voice rose, raw and desperate. “I was genuinely excited for her! I…I wanted—”
Leigh couldn’t finish. Her words choked and her face crumpled as the ultrasound photo slipped from her fingers.
“I wanted her.” Leigh whispered. She bit her quivering lip before she began sobbing, doubling over the couch with one hand on her mouth, the other still pressed to her empty abdomen.
Hellen moved. Not fast—nothing about Hellen was fast—but deliberately. She reached out and pulled Leigh against her side.
Leigh collapsed. No resistance, no Beast, just a woman folding into grief. Her sobs tore out of her, raw and ugly, face buried in Hellen’s denim overalls.
Hellen held her. Solid. Unmoving. And then, so quietly, tears began slipping down the exposed parts of her mutated face, wetting the edges of her mask.
The ring slid out of Leigh’s pocket, alone, unattended, forgotten.
In that moment, it was just the two women, who held each other in a ruined world. Both grieving their children who would never grow up or feel the sun again.
∞∞∞
Sam sighed deeply, doing his best not to disturb the children resting on him.
Joel was curled up against his left side, where the stump is now, as if protecting the absence. Sophie lay on his right side, one small hand fisted in his sweater—seemingly afraid to let go. And Ratty had curled up like a ball on his chest, tiny claws digging into his sweater and skin, breathing softly.
Joel, Sophie, and Ratty had come by earlier asking if they could sleep with Sam on the floor.
“She had a nightmare.” Joel explained. Sophie immediately protested, but Sam had seen it in her eyes: she was wide-eyed, too afraid. What did seven-year-olds dream about now? Probably not monsters under the bed anymore. Now the monsters were real, and some of them used to be their mothers.
The kiddos piled around him, and Sam had let them. He couldn’t say no, his bleeding heart wouldn’t allow it. And besides, what else could he do?
Sam had heard Leigh and Hellen’s exchange but had said nothing out of respect. His heart clutched and his stomach sinking the more he listened. But in cold truth, he couldn’t say anything…
How could he?
Sam didn’t get married or have children of his own. He didn’t experience that part of his life—he was almost sure he was too old to find someone. The apocalypse had given him a relief from thinking about all the ‘normal life’ stuff he was supposed to do as a human being.
And yet…listening to Leigh’s muffled sobbing and Hellen’s silence, everything made sense now. Sam’s heart cracked the more he recollected the women’s gentleness with the children.
Leigh feeding Ratty her blood, the way Hellen gently handled and accepted Ratty’s mask for her, Leigh showing Sophie how to stab, Hellen kneeling down to the children’s level to not scare them, Hellen telling Joel to stand up for himself, the way Leigh held Sophie after Sam and the others were forced to kill Harriet when she turned up Cursed at his door, Sophie screaming for her mom as Leigh gently scooped her up and held her until Sophie’s screams turned into hiccups then shaky mumbles.
Sam remembered the crib. He’d glimpsed it in the ruins of Leigh’s apartment—splintered wood, pink paint peeling from the rails, a mobile with faded stars hanging crooked. He’d looked at it for three seconds. Then looked away and never mentioned it.
Sam hadn’t understood what it meant until now.
Sam’s chest ached.
Sophie began whimpering and Sam carefully adjusted his arm to pull her closer. She gripped Sam’s sweater even tighter and dug her head into Sam’s shoulder. Joel’s teeth clattered lightly as he snored. Ratty shifted his claws before relaxing again.
Three. Three children right here, using him as a large comfort cushion. Sleeping, dreaming, breathing.
Alive.
…
It wasn’t fair. Sam was here, the adults in the living room and his bedroom were here. What about the other children?
Rosie, Joel’s baby sister, the source of Joel’s and his family’s teeth infection, lost somewhere in the walls. Benjamin, who was now a statue of flesh and teeth. The special needs children from David’s class: Alice, Coralie, Florence, Oliver, Thomas, Tristan, Victor, Zachary. Darryl, whose cold body lay in the parking garage after playing hide-and-seek one last time with Sam. The other children still in the apartment building, the ones who'd looked outside by accident, the ones whose parents had sacrificed themselves or had been transformed or simply vanished.
Little strangers…Sam thought. All of them.
Kids who’d never get to be teenagers. Who’d never learn to drive, never go to prom, never figure out who they were supposed to become.
His nieces and nephews were out there somewhere. Were they still alive? Still human?
Sam’s heart ached once again for the women crying quietly in his living room. For the children sleeping on his chest and arms. For every small person the Visitor had stolen bright futures from.
Leigh’s sobs were quieting, Hellen’s grip never loosened, Sam closed his eyes and held the children tighter.
Outside, past the curtains, the Visitor’s light pulsed for all to see. Beautiful, chaotic, unfair, luminous, colorful, terrible, and utterly indifferent. Offering a multitude of horrid choices for those who have looked or have been exposed a new life. But inside Apartment 33, everyone was still human—transformed or not. They all grieved, all ate food together, all survived.
In Sam’s bedroom, ‘morning’ light filtered through. Everyone inside Apartment 33 made it through another day. It wasn’t much…
…But it was something. Something less strange.