The Hunter In Me

23 - Tear

The next three days passed at a crawl. Owen didn't venture from his house, and I didn't leave the solitude of my head. He struggled to start conversations, but the most involvement I could muster was a grunt to acknowledge that I'd heard him.

I tried to resist the gray room in my mind. It was too comfortable there; the sense of peace was too inviting and the realization that I might never want to come out scared me.

So instead, I watched Owen do everything he could to remain busy while Lilla built him a body. Re-reading books from his shelves downstairs and exercising took up much of his time as he tried to avoid obsessing over how far she'd gotten.

Lilla never left her spot at the counter. Owen would pop in to note her progress and slip out, usually unnoticed. At first, it wasn't too bad; just a vaguely human-shaped heap of soil, but by the next morning, it was getting strange. The pile had muscle tone similar to Owen's.

By the end of the second day, the deep-red clay had Owen's face. Lilla trailed her palms above the figure, and without touching it, sculpted the shape of him. A slight scar formed on his jaw, right before stubble sprouted and scruff covered it.

My mouth dropped open at the sight. I couldn't pinpoint the emotions twisting in Owen, but my pulse raced, and he seemed too focused on the dirt man to remember to sneak away back to the books and free weights.

Lilla stretched and examined her work before shifting toward him with a tired smile. "What do you think?"

Owen studied her for the first time since she'd started this. Darkness circled her eyes, and her skin was pale. The usually stiff set of her posture slumped with exhaustion.

"You're wearing yourself out. Have you slept?" Owen asked.

She groaned. "No, but I'm fine. I can't stop for more than a quick break until it's done, or it might crumble."

"You have to do this for days? How did whoever came up with this spell expect someone to do that?"

"It's meant for a minimum of two witches, but we only have me." She paused to pull her hair up in a ponytail. "The interior is complete, and the shaping should be finished soon. Then it's on to color and texture; those are easier. Besides, I'm the only one who remembers what you looked like well enough to sculpt you." She wiggled her eyebrows.

Owen ignored the gesture. "Right. So you're almost done?"

"This will be a real enough body by morning."

"What do you mean?"

"The process won't be complete without your spirit. Until then, it'll be something akin to an anatomically correct mannequin."

Owen's apprehension rose, and I didn't blame him. I had to put my baggage away and be the supportive friend he needed.

I sighed. "Well, that should be creepy as hell. Does he have to be naked, or can you at least cover his junk?"

Owen laughed as he grabbed a kitchen towel and threw it over the dirt guy's lower half. "Man, I'm glad to hear you. I wasn't sure you were paying any attention," he said as he strode from the room.

"I didn't check out completely. Things are coming along pretty quickly."

"I'm a weird-ass dirt guy, but it won't be long, and you'll have your body back. You must be happy about that." Owen sat on the porch with my legs stretched out in front of him.

The sense of dread his words caused surprised me. "I should be, but I'm not. It feels like I'm about to lose someone else I care about. I guess that's stupid."