Breathless (12 page)

Seth.

The screen lights up Lucien’s face as he answers. He stares me right in the eyes as he says a whole series of uhs and okays and then, “No, everything is under control here” and “I’d never let Hart take advantage of me.” I make a face at that one to try to make Lucien weirded out. He glares at me. Mission complete.

“Yes, he told me where the book is.”

I stop making stupid faces at him as this becomes all too real.

I’ll kill him.

Wait… did I ever tell him where it was?

“Yeah. It’s at the hotel room. He hid it in the office. I know, right? Moron. Okay. Yeah.” He hangs up the phone and stares at me with a cocky little grin that I’d smack off if my hand wasn’t all kinds of messed up. “What?”

“You told him it was at the hotel.”

“And?”

“What if it was at the hotel?”

“Like you’d be stupid enough to stash it there.”

I say nothing.

“At least you’d better not be.” He pushes past me and uses his phone as a flashlight. He’s smart like that. “If you aren’t smarter than I think you are, Seth will have the book before you can get to it.”

Like that thought hadn’t crossed my mind. “You shouldn’t have told him anything.” I don’t know why I keep bickering. I guess it’s more fun to have a pissing contest with my brother than a hitting one. I know my knuckles appreciate it more.

“What would you rather me tell him? That I let you go? That we were going to find the book ourselves and go after Gracen? Because I’m sure that would have gone over super well, and he wouldn’t have come back here, killed me, and tortured you until you told him exactly where the book was…”

“Well…” I have nothing. “Whatever.”

I’ve always been known for my witty comebacks.

“Where are we going? Do you have a plan?”

Lucien makes it to the back door and fiddles around until he finds the doorknob. He opens the door, and it was not, in fact, the back door. It was the garage door and sitting inside is a very new looking black Charger. Or I think it’s new and black based on the limited glow from Lucien’s phone. I wish I had one of those. The phone… not the car. Course, I like the car too.

I head to the driver’s side to which Lucien, being an idiot, pushes me out of the way and gets in. I call him a jerk. He doesn’t seem to let that bother him. He slides right behind the wheel, takes the keys out of his pocket, and turns the thing on. I’ve never been so happy to see headlights in my life.

“Oldest drives the car. Youngest gets in the passenger seat and shuts the hell up.”

I do it, although not because he tells me to do it. That would be insane. In no world would I ever listen to my brother and actually do what he tells me to do. What kind of little brother would that make me?

No, I slide in the passenger seat and don’t say a word about it because my hand hurts, and I don’t want to drive anyway. I’m letting him drive. I’m nice like that.

He starts to back up when a very real concern crosses my mind. When the car rolls backwards, I clamp my hand on the wheel and hold up my finger to get his attention.

“Um, Lucien. Have you ever actually driven a car before?”

He glares at me. I think it’s a valid question. “I’m over a hundred years old. Of course I’ve driven a car before. How do you think I got from place to place?”

I shrug. “Poof.”

“P… poof? You think I poof everywhere?”

Again I shrug. “How should I know? Not like I hung out with many angels.”

He forcefully, if not gently, takes my fingers off the steering wheel one at a time, and I’m incredibly grateful that it isn’t, in fact, the hand that I’m fairly sure is broken. “I don’t poof everywhere. That might be a tad bit suspicious. I know how to drive.”

He backs up, thankfully the garage door is wide open, slides around, and takes off down the road toward… somewhere. “So, where are we going?” Lucien has his hands on ten and two.

“To get the book.”

“Where’s the book?”

“Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t hear you. Did you say, ‘Hey, Hart, want to drive?’“

“No, I said, ‘Hey, Hart. Quit being a dick and tell me where the book is so I can drive us to it and possibly save the world.’“

I still don’t completely trust him, which leads us to a bit of a problem. My initial idea was to just get out of the basement. That was it. It’s not like I planned much further than that. Get out, find the book, save Gracen… unfortunately, what to do with my brother was never in the plan. How to ditch him was.

Now he’s driving, and I can’t exactly steal the car from him.

So… do I lie, or do I tell him the truth?

“Hart.” He’s getting irritated. I say
getting
like he’s not been this entire time already.

“Crimson Ridge.” It’s a good enough answer.

“Where at in Crimson Ridge?”

I actually decide I’m going to tell him. Why lie? Well, besides the obvious. Then, of all things, his cellphone starts singing.

There’s only one person who has his number. I know that. He knows that. When he reaches for his phone, I do the world an eternal favor by grabbing it from him, with my hurt hand.

Lucien yells at me.

“I’m trusting you, Lucien.” I don’t have any sort of sarcasm in my voice. In my entire life, I don’t think I’ve ever been as serious as I am right then. “Do you understand me? I’m trusting you.” I roll my window down and throw his phone out. It ends up somewhere on the side of the old dirt road to nowhere. “But not that much.”

CHAPTER TWENTY

The Abomination

I
KNOW SHE’S HERE.
T
HE SOUL
formerly known as Gracen. She watched me burn the book. Excellent. Now she knows that nothing can stop me, and she can just watch the world burn like the rest of them.

It’s nothing personal.

Just business.

Just divine business.

A cleansing as it were.

The flood.

The fire.

I’m the fire.

Course, fire isn’t as easy to come back from as a flood.

No Ark this time, folks. Just me. Just the end.

They should be thanking me.

They should…

They…

I don’t want to die.

Please… please stop it.

Why does it hurt so much? Where’s my mommy?

I have to get home… why can’t I get back in my body?

I stop, and I listen. I don’t want to listen, but I have no choice. All these voices invade my head like a swarm of bees. Annoying little bees that have no business inside my head.

It reminds me of when Gracen was in here and Hart would get inside her head. He would make her see things, hear things… I hear things now.

Only now it’s real. Very real.

I can hear them.

All those souls I ejected from their bodies.

They’re all around.

Unable to cross over because I sealed both sides shut.

They are stuck in the Abyss.

Alone and scared, not sure what to do or where to go.

Doesn’t matter where they go now. They won’t last much longer anyway.

But…

They won’t shut up.

They won’t stop screaming and whining and complaining.

I cover my ears to try to make them go away. They get louder and louder until I can’t take it anymore. I don’t feel their pain. I can’t feel their pain, but I can hear it. It nearly knocks me down. The volume of it. The number of people. All of it. Just… I can’t handle it. It needs to stop. I’ll make it stop.

I run through the house until I make it to the street outside. All those dead bodies strewed on the street like they are nothing. A few buzzards are happy. The souls aren’t happy, though. They aren’t… I can’t take it…

It needs to stop.

All the voices.

Just stop.

Just stop.

I shut my eyes and fall to my knees with my hands on my ears.
The souls are annoying and painful, and they need to
stop!
I feel the light coming from inside me before I actually see it. When it comes out, it’s pure white. White and beautiful. It erupts slowly at first. Then, in one big boom, it engulfs the city and keeps going in all directions.

My body shakes as the light shines brighter and brighter.

The light spreads.

Thankfully, the voices shut up.

All but one.

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

Hart

M
Y BROTHER IS DRIVING THE BLACK
Charger down the little stretch of dirt that I’d never classify as a road.

Lucien hasn’t said a word to me since I threw his phone out the window.

And I can kinda get his point. I did throw away his form of communication, our
only
form of communication. And, yeah, maybe it would’ve been a good idea to use the GPS to find our way back to Crimson Ridge since we technically don’t know where we are or how to get back.

Still, all in all, I’m glad I threw it out the window.

At the very least now I don’t have to worry about Seth calling.

About Seth finding us.

Anything about Seth.

If I never had to think about that damn angel for the rest of my days, however long or short they may be, I’d be okay with that. Totally and completely okay with that.

I think Lucien feels the same way.

I sure hope he does.

He should if he has brain one in that melon of his.

I lean back in the seat and try to get comfortable. It isn’t hard since the seat is leather and soft and amazing. My old bones enjoy it. I enjoy it. Hell, I could go to sleep right now if not for the world ending.

Then again, if the world’s ending, wouldn’t it be best to be asleep at the time? That way I’d never have to see it. I’d never have to feel it or worry about it.

I won’t do it, of course.

I’m too good for that.

Too involved.

I have to save the girl and my brother and all that jazz. I’ll have to be the one that sacrifices for them. I don’t know how I know. I just do. It’s my job. My responsibility. I killed the world. I’m the one who made Gracen what she is, and I’m going to be the one to fix it.

I have to fix it and her, even if it means hurting myself. It’s the right thing to do.

“You are being scarily quiet.” Lucien drums his fingers on the wheel. The owner of the car had the oldies station playing, which means Nirvana is feeling their Teen Spirit. Yeah, the oldies station indeed.

I feel old.

“I could say the same thing about you.”

He shrugs, never taking his eyes off the road. “Nothing really to say.”

Now, that doesn’t seem right. There are tons of things we need to talk about. Tons. But I’m like him. I can’t seem to make any small talk about any of it. It all sounds so trivial now. I mean… in the scheme of things. I’ve already told him I’m sorry about Colleen. He has no idea how sorry. I don’t know if he believes me or thinks it was just a ploy to get out of the basement. I hope he believes me. It’s true. I’m sorry.

I’m sorry for so many things.

I can’t make myself tell him that, though.

Two little words mean nothing.
I’m sorry.
Really? I’m sorry… and that’s supposed to make it all better?

And my favorite:
I’ll make it up to you.

How the hell would I ever make this up to Lucien? Gracen? How could I ever make it better for either of them? There’s no way.

He says nothing.

I say nothing.

Savage Garden wants me.

“I’m sorry.” I swear, the words surprise even me. One second I’m staring out the window at big black blobs—trees going by—and the next, it just came out. Had I not just told myself how stupid it was to say I’m sorry. It fixes nothing. The only thing it’ll do is open a huge can of worms that I don’t want to think about.

But the words are out now, and I can’t take them back.

You could cut the tension in the car with a knife, as the kids say. Lucien sits up straighter, and his nose flairs ever so slightly.

My heart feels exactly like it did in the house when we first went in, when I spent the better part of eternity in that closet having a panic attack.

I’m fixing to have another while I wait for my brother to say something, while I wish with everything that I have to be able to throw words back into my mouth.

Gracen told me once while I was pulling out her toenails in dream world that she wished she lived in a world with backspaces. How life, real life—not that life people lead on the Internet where you can be whoever and whatever you want to be without any consequences—would be so much easier with a backspace. You could erase your mistakes, all the stupid things you said, all the apologies that don’t mean anything. I’d use it all the time.

I wish I could use it now.

My heart wishes I could run away.

He clears his throat and cracks his neck. That’s uncomfortable. “I know.”

“You know? You know I’m sorry. Like I’m a sorry person, and you know it?”

He takes a second to glare at me before he focuses on the road and swerves to miss a tree that had fallen in the road. “No, jerk. Like I know you’re sorry.”

“What do you know that I’m sorry for?” It sounds snarky. I mean for it to be snarky. I’ve read that sometimes people use sarcasm as a coping mechanism. I’m using it because I have nothing else to hide behind. This is all very raw and very real, and I’ve run from these feelings for over one hundred years. I can’t run anymore.

I want to run some more.

I’m not ready for this conversation.

Why did I have to tell him that I’m sorry?

Because I am.

“Why don’t you tell me, Hart?”

I’ll kill him. Again.

“Come on. You said you’re sorry. Sorry for what exactly?”

“You know what…”

Apparently, he wasn’t done talking. “What are you sorry for specifically, Hart? Huh? The fact that you killed me? We’ve been over that. You listened to a stupid voice in your stupid head and thought the worst in me. You were looking for a reason to kill me.”

“No.” That’s not right… it’s not.

“No? See from where I’m sitting you were looking for a reason because you have blamed me all this time for what happened with Colleen!”