The last piece.

He woke up with a feeling like a punch to the stomach, and he instantly knew that she was inside the house. Panicked, he reached over to the night stand to grab his glasses. They were not there, and he knew she had taken them. This was one of her games, and now she had made him blind. The world was fuzzy but he must go to her anyway, and so he ran to the stairs and gripped the banister as he descended them. Each step brought him closer to her - to the rattle of breath in her lungs, and to the putrid stench of her. He began to smile, and new that she‘d be smiling as well.

He imagined her old face; that boring, plain face that had always looked disapprovingly at him. Mousy hair, brown eyes, fair skin. So normal. He was glad it was gone now. The new one was much more interesting. Much more colourful. She had a brand-new attitude.

Her visits had become more frequent - she came a few times a week, now. Often she played these little tricks on him - taking his glasses, pushing things off of the shelves so that they smashed on the carpet. Once she had even pressed a pillow over his face as he slept. He had barely escaped that time - but still, he appreciated the humour. That was another thing that had improved. She had never liked jokes before.

He reached the bottom of the stairs and now he could really hear the rattling of her chest, and smell the reeking scent of her. He could taste it, too. He sat on the couch opposite her, and picked his glasses up off the table. She grinned. Her teeth were black with mud, and her lips were blue. She had never looked so beautiful to him before.

“Hello, my darling.” he said, “Can I get you anything? A cup of tea? You’ll have a cup of tea, surely?”

“Not tonight.” she insisted. “We have business.”

“So we do. So we do. Well, you know the rules. Carry on.”

This was the game they played each time. She had three guesses to find it. There was only one piece left to find now, and that was her heart. She had found her tongue rather quickly. He had been impressed, but the heart was the last piece, and the most important.

“Is it in your father’s trunk?” she asked, her eyes swimming with anticipation.

He shook his head, but she always started with a dud-guess. This was another game she played, to find him out. The corners of her mouth turned up, and he began to worry that she really might guess it this time, and what then? Without the game, she would not visit him. She would depart like she had been meant to in the start. He had done his very best to fashion so many pieces that she’d never be able to finish, but now she had stitched herself back together again. He began to be very nervous indeed, and his palms and his forehead started to sweat.

“Did you burn it? Is it ashes in the fireplace?”

He shook his head. No, it was not. His breath began to catch in his throat, and his pulse was so strong and so fast. He could feel it beating all over his skin, and she could see it too. Thump, thump, thump.

It was then that she remembered and then she realised that she had found it. She almost shrieked out when it hit her, but she saved the thought to herself. She walked into the kitchen, and took a knife out of the drawer. It was the same one he had used to cut her with. How perfect, she thought, and she went back into the room, and plunged it into his chest. The blood burst out and covered them both. She reached in and pulled out her own perfect heart. She was so happy then to be whole; to be free of him.

He sat there, gaping at her, tears of pride brimming in his eyes.

“You never did have a heart,” she said, before she faded.

Touché, he thought. Bulls eye. Checkmate. Bingo.