The Fae of Blue Bay

Henry.

Henry.

Henry.

After I heard her voice say my name that night, it had left my thoughts lingering on it for days upon days. I felt listless and curious and I rolled around on the couch as I tried to force myself to get a few hours of sleep but both my mind and my arm burned at her voice.

I woke up covered in sweat, my flannels and undershirt soaked completely through. My shirt sleeve and the bandages once again were singed like I had slept too close to the fireplace.

Dammit, I should have never accepted the card! Since then, I had been nothing but miserable.

The nightmares about Marcie grew more intense night after night, mingled with screams and the sounds of my voice though now, it was the sound of the calm woman and Marcie’s.

I got up from the couch, then dragged myself ragged to the bathroom to peel all my layers off and rip the old bandages away.

Always after the dreamt, I could see and feel something inside of my right arm that glowed faintly like a yellow neon under the scarring. Like an alien force that had inhabited it and wouldn't leave.

Once I uncovered it so that took all the heat out of it, it usually died down but this morning, I could see it’s fiber optic-like threads that pulsed and moved with more vigor.

What had that morning woken up?

The scarring along my arm went up to nearly my shoulder but the thread-like marks traveled along my arms, like plumes of a peacock feather. It stayed mostly from my wrist and trailed to the elbow before it trailed off.

I had learned quickly what it didn’t like. It didn’t like getting wet in the shower and hated the cold. Absolutely hated the cold. I wore as many layers as I could and kept it bandaged to keep it as bundled as possible otherwise I felt instant regret.

Or lost another shirt.

It seemed to let me know when it wasn’t happy and we, the scar and I, kept up this half-existence together for the last three years.

It was the night before the meeting and as much as I had pushed it off to the back of my mind, there were constant reminders of her. As I gripped the shell of another unfortunate lobster, the tip of the knife angled just so, I swore that it was looking at me and the eye glimmered green.

Inwardly, I could hear it tell me that it could see that I was contemplating not going at all.

I dropped it into the pot after the knife delivered the death blow, and felt my chest heave with a sigh as I finished the work and stepped out for a cigarette while another chef took over.

It was miserable out again. Heavy rain pounded against the old buildings in the alleyway between Le Fin and another Mom and Pop tchotchke shop that had carved lobsters and tourist-trap souvenirs. I had to wonder if The Veil and Spindle would become the same desperate hot spot to make money during peak months.

I maybe had one shirt that had not been burnt that read ‘It’s GREAT to stay in BLUE BAY’ with a blob of a lobster boat.

I flicked the lighter as I fought the damp and got angry as it kept failing to ignite it before I felt that painful surge as the lines on my arm flared with heat, made my lighter burst in front of me in a taller flame. It ignited the cigarette, leaving a length of ash but it was my warning that it was too cold and too wet outside.

Fine.

I inhaled what I could, stamped it out in the bucket of wet sand by the door and went back inside.

“Henry.”

One of the waiters was there, wearing the black vest and black pants as part of the uniform. Claire had been there for years and I was surprised she wasn’t a manager already since she knew the restaurant like the back of her hand. As humble and patient as she was with the customers, she craved any new opportunity other than this.

“You’ve got a customer up front who wants to meet you. I told you her you were taking a break but…”She said, her hand reached back into her pocket a moment then gripped something before she took it out, shook it off. “Can you spare a minute?”

I bobbed my head and ran my fingers through my hair until it hit a tangle. “Sure.”I muttered between clattering pans, gestured for her to lead the way.

The restaurant wasn’t big and it catered to a certain class of customer. I didn’t have to guess who the person was when I saw the near white-blonde hair sat at the table while she eyed me from the kitchen.

Ms. Lee.

I came up to the table, eyed the plate in front of her that was one of our more expensive meal options. She didn’t spare a dime on the wine either.

“Henry, good to see you again out in the daylight.”She said, grinned at me again.

“Ms. Lee. Any complaints about your meal with us?”I asked her and tried to fish out the reason she was here. Other than the food of course.

The strange woman set her glass down only for Claire to come by once more to refill it. “Oh no, I just wanted to make sure we were good for our appointment tomorrow. Don’t forget your umbrella.” She said, picking her glass up by the stem again.

“Well, I am a busy man. I don’t think I need alternative 'therapy'." I remarked back, tried not to sound biting in front of other customers. Just a quick glance around, I could see people eyeing us around the restaurant and I felt more like fleeing back to the kitchen to escape it.

It felt like they could see under my chef’s jacket, see the ugly wrinkled scars from the fire. Tiny beads of sweat already felt like they soaked patches of hair on my forehead.

“We’ll see…”The lips pressed to the glass and I took that as my moment to retreat. My arm felt uncomfortable, enough that I was audibly swearing as I went back to the kitchen.

As I passed by the stoves, the kitchen staff panicked behind me and I looked back to see the flames flaring up again underneath their pans. This never usually happened and it seemed to enjoy the kitchen in all the times I had worked before.

Just not to today.

Not after talking to her.

I trudged through the rest of my shift until the dinner shift and I walked through the miserable night. By the time I got back to my apartment, my usual puffer coat was dripping and the curls of my head rebelled with the weight of the water as they tried to coil back into place. Already I felt the patch my arm flare and I fought to get the wet clothes off to satisfy its needs.

I didn’t want it to burn through another shirt or burn down the apartment.

Once it was dry and the apartment warm, I sat on my usual spot on the couch. I stared at the TV and the black reflection of myself in the glass that looked as miserable as it had this morning. I told myself that maybe it was just a delusion. That it was just trauma from the fire. Maybe the way she smiled resembled too much of Marcie.

I had just imagined the flames getting bigger. Imagined it devouring the restaurant, my cigarette and occasionally the gas fire heaters some places had for outdoor seating on the way home.

I just regretted that I didn’t catch it and resented that I always had a reminder emblazoned on my skin.

Could I keep living like this? Could I keep up helplessly as I bargained with glowing burns and scars to keep my home in one piece?

I let the weight of the day sink into me, laid on my side until my eyes couldn’t stay open and fell into lead weights on my cheeks. I resolved that I wouldn’t succumb to the curiosity and Ms. Lee.