Chapter 7: Sleeping With The Devil*
1035 Words
Damien’s bedroom smelled like him.
Woodsmoke. Expensive cologne. And something underneath it, sharp and clean, like rain on steel.
The room was huge. Black sheets. Black walls. One window looking out over the Hudson, now black too. The only light came from a small lamp on the nightstand. It made shadows crawl across the ceiling.
Evelyn stood in the doorway with her arms crossed. “This isn’t in the contract.”
Damien was already by the bed. He didn’t look at her. He was loosening his watch. “The contract doesn’t cover attempted murder.”
“Who said anyone was trying to murder me?”
“The note on the desk. The crying. The candle.” He finally turned. His shirt was half-unbuttoned. “Pick one.”
Evelyn stepped inside anyway. The door clicked shut behind her and the sound was too final.
One bed. King size. But still. One bed.
“I’m not sleeping next to you,” she said.
“You don’t have to sleep,” Damien said. He sat on the edge of the mattress. The springs didn’t even creak. “You just have to stay where I can see you.”
The locket was heavy at her throat. Warm again.
She took the armchair instead. Leather. Cold. It faced the door.
For a while, neither of them spoke. Only the fire from downstairs that she could still smell. Only the rain hitting the glass.
Then, at 2:03 AM, it started.
Not crying this time.
Breathing.
Soft. Ragged. Coming from inside the room.
Evelyn shot upright. “Did you hear that?”
Damien was already awake. He hadn’t been sleeping. His eyes were locked on the closet.
“Don’t move,” he said quietly.
The breathing stopped.
Then: a whisper. Right by her ear. So close she felt it.
_“The key...”_
Evelyn screamed. She didn’t mean to.
Damien was across the room in one second. He yanked the closet open. Empty. Just suits and darkness. He slammed it shut and checked under the bed. Nothing.
He came back and crouched in front of her chair. His hands were on the armrests, boxing her in. He was breathing hard.
“Are you okay?” he asked.
His voice wasn’t cold anymore. It was rough.
“I’m fine,” Evelyn lied. Her heart was in her throat. “It said ‘the key.’”
“I know.” Damien’s eyes dropped to her throat. To the locket. “Take it off.”
“What? You said—”
“Take it off, Evelyn.”
She did. The chain was hot against her fingers. The second it came off, the room got colder. Like someone opened a window.
Damien took the locket. Held it in his palm.
And the breathing started again. Louder. From the walls this time.
“Put it back on,” he said fast.
She did. Instantly warm. Instantly quiet.
Silence.
Damien let out a breath he’d been holding. He sat back on his heels, still close. Too close.
“You can’t take it off,” he said. “Not even for a second.”
“I get it,” she whispered.
His eyes met hers. Gray in the lamplight. Tired.
“You look scared,” he said.
“I am scared.”
“Good,” he said. “Means you’re paying attention.”
That made her laugh. It came out shaky. “You’re a terrible comforter, you know that?”
“I’m not trying to comfort you,” he said. “I’m trying to keep you alive.”
He stood and walked to the bed. Pulled back the covers.
“Come here.”
Evelyn didn’t move. “That’s not—”
“It’s not about that,” Damien cut in. “The bed is the safest place in this room. It’s centered. No windows. No closets. No vents. If something comes through the door, I see it first.”
He held the blanket open. Like an invitation. Like a challenge.
Evelyn stared at it. Then at him. Then at the door.
Her feet moved before her brain did.
She slid into the bed. The sheets were cold at first, then warm. Damien got in on the other side. He didn’t touch her. There was a foot of space between them.
But she could feel his body heat anyway.
For a long time, they just stared at the ceiling.
“You can sleep,” Damien said finally. “I won’t.”
“Why?”
“Because I’ve been waiting twenty years to watch over you,” he said. “I’m not wasting the first night.”
Evelyn turned on her side, facing away from him. The locket rested between her collarbones.
Behind her, Damien’s voice was barely there. “If you have a nightmare, wake me.”
“What if you have one?”
“I don’t,” he said.
He was lying.
At 3:14 AM, Evelyn woke to the sound of his breathing. Fast. Ragged.
She turned over.
Damien was asleep. Finally. But his face was twisted. Sweat on his temple. One hand fisted in the sheet.
“Damien,” she whispered.
He didn’t answer.
She reached out. Hesitated. Then put her hand on his arm.
His eyes flew open. Wild. Lost.
For one second, he looked at her like he didn’t know where he was. Like he didn’t know who she was.
Then he exhaled. “Nightmare,” he said. Voice rough.
“About what?”
“About you dying,” he said. Flat. Honest.
Evelyn didn’t know what to say to that. So she didn’t say anything.
Damien rolled onto his side too. Now there was only inches between them.
“Go back to sleep, Evelyn,” he said.
“You first.”
He closed his eyes.
She watched him until his breathing evened out. Until the tension left his jaw.
And then she slept too.
At dawn, she woke alone.
The bed was cold on his side.
On the pillow next to hers was a note. His handwriting. Sharp. Angry.
_Don’t get used to this._
But under the note, his watch was sitting on the nightstand.
And the door was locked from the inside.
- Writer
