Revelations (25 page)

After a few moments, Jonas returned to the car. He took the offered water, took a drink and spat the water out onto the ground. He did this a couple times before downing the rest of the water. He handed me the empty bottle and ran the back of his hand over his mouth. He ran the same hand over his forehead to wipe away a sheen of sweat.

“Sorry,” he said.

“Don’t apologize,” I said, taking his hand. My free hand went to his face. “How long have you been sick?”

“A few days,” he said. “Maybe two? Three? Time doesn’t exactly make sense down there.”

“I know,” I said, thinking of my own missing days–or weeks, still wasn’t sure–from New Mexico to South Pasadena. “You okay?”

He nodded after a moment. I opened his door, made sure he was as comfortable as possible then got back into the driver’s side. He asked me twice more to pull over before we reached the Los Angeles county line. The last time, he shook so badly he could barely stand. I had to help him back to the car.

When we were on our way again, I said, “You know your knee is shattered, right?”

He nodded, his eyes closed. “They broke it yesterday,” he said. “With a bat.”

“Jonas,” I whispered, feeling the hatred for myself deepening.

“Chris,” he said. “I know what you’re doing.”

I glanced at him and caught his amber eyes before turning mine back to the road.

“You’re blaming yourself,” he said.

“Maybe,” I said.

“You are,” he told me firmly. “But you can’t do that.”

“Why not?”

“Because it’s not your fault,” he said. “It never was.”

I glanced at him again, but he was staring out the window.

“I met your creator,” he said.

Holt’s image flashed into my mind. The man with the cane, the man who let us go, waving goodbye as we made our escape.

“He was there while they tortured me, but he wouldn’t watch.” Jonas shook his head then continued. “They did it for fun, by the way. He had control of Hermione. He killed Christian’s son. I don’t know why they didn’t kill me. But he’s waiting for you. He wants you to come back to him willingly, like you used to.”

I held up a hand. “Jonas, Holt is dangerous. I’m not going back to him. Let’s not talk about him right now, okay? You’re sick. I need to get you someplace where I can heal you.”

He laughed a high, nervous laughter. “You aren’t going to heal me,” he said.

“Why do you say that?” I asked.

“Because of what it does to you,” he said.

I looked at him long and hard.

“I can’t be the cause of that,” he said. “I won’t let you. It drains you. I won’t do that to you.”

“Jonas,” I whispered, trying to concentrate on the road ahead. Have I mentioned that I’m a shitty driver?

“I’m done talking, Chris,” he said. “Talking is making me sick.”

“Later then,” I said. I then headed with determination to Philip’s home in Pasadena.

* * * *

We were quiet for the rest of the drive. Jonas sat with his eyes closed, but I knew he wasn’t sleeping. Me, I kept my eyes on the road with only the occasional glance his way every few seconds. When we entered the city limits of South Pasadena, Jonas turned and looked at me.

“You might want to get rid of those bruises on your neck,” he said.

Startled, both by his voice and by his statement, I put my hand to my throat.

“Sorry again about that,” he said.

With my hand still lingering on my neck, I healed the bruising there. “It’s okay,” I said. “No harm done.”

“No permanent harm anyway,” he added.

I gave him my best smile, the one reserved only for him. “Starch is going to be pissed at me,” I said after a moment.

“What for?”

“Because I ran off without him,” I said. “I promised I wouldn’t, but I did.”

“Why?”

“Because I’d put him in enough danger,” I told him. “I couldn’t risk his life.”

Jonas glared at me, and I felt his eyes boring into me.

“What?” I asked.

“Nothing,” he said after staring at me for a moment longer.

“I could find out, you know,” I said.

“I know,” he said back. “I also know that you won’t.”

I found myself smiling again. I couldn’t tell you how long I’d taken in walking from New Mexico to California, how long I’d been without him. It might have been days or it might have been weeks. Time didn’t matter. Not when it came to him. I had him back. That mattered. I’d made up for my cowardice, when I ran from Cannon. When I left him there to die. I made up for this by going to S-4 and bringing Jonas out. If only I could figure out how to bring Christian back then I could make up for another mistake.

Anyway, I found myself pounding my fist on Philip’s front door not ten minutes later. When Starch answered I could easily see how upset he was, but one look at the car behind me changed his expression completely.

“How did—”

“Just help me,” I said, cutting him off.

Between Starch and I, we got Jonas into the house without forcing him to put weight on his bad leg. I left for another ten minutes to ditch the car, leaving it in the grocery store lot, unlocked and with the keys inside, where I found it, or stole it, actually… borrowed, maybe…. Then I hightailed it back to the house and let myself inside.

Philip wasn’t home, but Starch called him and the vampire was on his way. So was the good Doctor, Michael Daniels. Jonas was now stretched out on the couch and Starch sat on the coffee table with his hands clasped between his knees.

“Hey,” Starch said when he saw me enter the room. He got up and, forgetting all his anger, which was a lot actually, wrapped me in his arms. “Don’t ever do that again,” he added as he let me go. He quickly and tenderly kissed my cheek then we both went to Jonas.

“I know what you want to do,” Jonas said, opening his amazing eyes and looking up at my plain old green ones. “I’m not going to let you do it.”

I shook my head. “Then you’ll have to let Doc Daniels operate on your knee because that is not going to heal itself.”

“It’s fine,” he said. “Just hurts.”

I snorted at him. “Jonas.”

“Chris,” he growled.

“You know she won’t let up,” Starch said from his coffee table perch. “You might as well just let her do it.”

Jonas reached out and socked Starch’s thigh with his good right hand. Had he been able to reach any higher, he might have decked Starch on the cheek. Not hard enough to really hurt, but hard enough to get his point across. Starch rubbed his leg, sticking out his lip in something of a pout. I felt a wave of relief flow through me. One I’d thought eternally lost in the destruction of the Commune, and the other lost in an ambush in New Mexico. Both of them were with me again. My heart just soared, but there were more pressing matters.

“Jonas,” I said, “I won’t do anything else. It’s just, even with surgery I don’t know if it’ll ever be the same. Your knee cap is shattered into little pieces.” I held my forefinger and thumb a bare centimeter apart for emphasis before continuing, and I suddenly thought about what I’d done to Holt all those years ago. Jonas’s knee was in much the same condition as my creator’s when I busted it to bits. I chewed on my lower lip then said, “I can’t even think about how much pain you must be in, especially when we were escaping the compound.”

Starch touched my arm to get my attention. “Did you find him out there? At S-4?”

I nodded.

“Did you find anything else?”

I shook my head and lied again. “Nothing.”

Jonas groaned and our attention was back on him again.

I had an idea. “I could knock you out,” I said.

“What?” he asked.

“I could put you to sleep so you couldn’t protest,” I told him.

“You can do that?”

Again I nodded. “And while you sleep I’d do more than just your knee.”

“Chris,” Jonas once again growled.

“Jonas,” I said back.

“Damnit, Christiana.”

I had to smile. He’d never once in his life said my full first name, and never been so angry with me before. Oh, he’d been angry at me but never with me; this was a different situation. I knew I had him. He couldn’t say no.

Jonas thought about it for a moment. He knew I’d do what I said, that I’d have my own way, one way or the other. So he relented. “Okay,” he said. “But only the damn knee. Nothing else. Okay?”

“Okay,” I said, suddenly eager.

“Promise me,” he said.

“Like you once promised not to wake me or a real promise?”

He managed a smile. “A real promise.”

“I promise,” I said. “A real promise.”

He nodded.

With as much care as I could muster— which is a lot to say for a cold-blooded killer like myself— I rolled up the leg of his pants to get a better look at the damage done to his knee and have immediate contact with his skin. His knee was a mass of inflamed flesh and purple to black bruising. The whole damn thing was off kilter and sent a chill up my spine.

“Geez,” I muttered.

“That’s disgusting,” Starch said, moving in for a closer look.

I raised an eyebrow at the firestarter, but he only lifted his empty palms in a shrug. Jonas grimaced when I put my hands on his leg, above the mess that used to be a knee. With one last look at his beloved face, I closed my eyes and went to work. I’ll tell ya, it was a lot of work. How he was able to walk at all on a shattered bunch of bone was beyond me, but Jonas has a lot of strength, both mental and physical. I couldn’t put anything past him.

Bit by bit, piece by piece, I placed the bones of his knee back into place. It was a short process, time wise, but in my head it felt like hours. I can’t describe everything in detail, I only can say it was like putting together a many pieced puzzle. It was hard to keep myself above dark waters. I did it. I managed. When the knee healed and the bruised and swollen flesh returned to its normal state—along with the state of his left arm which actually was an accident, I swear—I took my hands off his scaled skin. I got one good look at Jonas’s concerned face before I felt Starch’s arms around me, and I retreated into the usual darkness.

Chapter Fifty-One

When I woke, I was on the couch, my head pillowed on my arm. I rubbed my eyes with my free hand and sat up. Aside from a heavy head and a slight headache, I was pretty much okay. Starch came into the room carrying a beer and Philip trailed behind him.

“Hey, you’re back,” Starch said to me. “Want a beer?”

I shook my head.

“Are you all right?” Philip asked.

I nodded. “Where’s Jonas?”

“Bathtub,” Starch said.

I once again nodded. Days–or was it weeks? I was still unsure—locked in a filthy cell would make anyone want to be clean. “Is he okay?”

“As okay as can be expected, considering,” Starch said. “He’s been beat pretty bad.”

“I know,” I said. I swallowed the inevitable lump in my throat. I’d seen him in that cell. I knew what had been done to him.

Philip seemed to read my mind, and probably did to the degree he was able. “You should go check up on him,” he said.

I gave him a knowing and thankful smile and went down the hall to the bathroom.

I opened the door, not bothering to knock, and let myself in, closing it behind me. Jonas was in the tub with the shower curtain open. He sat with his knees drawn up to his chest. His cheek rested on his knees. His eyes were closed, but he didn’t need to see me to know I was in the room. Jonas would always know when I was near, even if he went completely deaf and blind.

“Just wanted to get rid of the prison dirt,” he said without lifting his head. “You know?”

“I know,” I said, sitting myself down on the closed toilet seat— as if I would have sat on an open toilet seat…. I touched his cheek with the back of my hand.

“Yeah, I know,” he said. “I don’t think I felt this sick even after that bitch, Hermione poisoned me.”

“Sorry, love,” I whispered.

“Don’t be sorry,” he said. “Especially when it concerns her.” Then he slowly opened his amber eyes. “Are you always sorry?”

I nodded, sad.

“You shouldn’t be,” he told me. “You saved my life, love. You saved Starch. The Commune wasn’t your fault.” Then he paused. A moment later he said, “Nothing I say will ever change the way you feel, will it?”

I shook my head. We sat in silence for a moment, his amber eyes on my face and my green ones on the floor. After the moment passed, I rose and sat on the edge of the tub. Using a soft body sponge probably belonging to Tracy, Philip’s estranged wife, I began cleaning his wounds as best I could. I dunked the sponge in the lukewarm water and ran it as gently as possible over the gouges in his back left by a knotted whip. I went over the bruises, the cuts and the swollen flesh. I got a much better look at his injuries as I did this and my hands got a better sense of what had been done to him.

It broke my heart, knowing my cowardice led to the damage.