Sanctuary (14 page)

Cole shook his head. “Maybe Brandon was right. About everything.” The comment had the sharp edge of a jab, but to Crystal’s ears, it came out as a half-hearted excuse. She knew from their private conversations that Cole didn’t really believe any of Brandon’s nonsense, so she’d never understood why Cole delegated so many of his personal decisions to such an awful person. Brandon had only ever held control over Cole because he’d convinced Cole that he needed him. All of Brandon’s power in the condo—it had been nothing more than perceived power.

Now, as she looked back on Brandon’s time with her, Crystal couldn’t help but think that his nihilism had been a self-fulfilling prophecy. In the end, his life
had
meant nothing after all. He’d died as a slave to his ideology.

She paced across the bathroom, away from Cole.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “I didn’t mean that. I just—You didn’t even tell me what was going on. I care about you. I would have done something.”

You must have suspected.
Earlier in the evening, Crystal might have been moved by Cole’s remorse. Even now she had to fight the urge to hug him, to run her hands through his shaggy hair, to tell him that she still loved him and that everything would be okay. But tonight’s events had shown her that Cole had never taken their relationship seriously. If they made it through tonight and resumed their life together, Cole’s ridiculous obsession with maintaining the status quo would come back to hurt her again and again.

“Do you still love me?” Cole asked.

Crystal approached him, knelt, and placed his hand on her pained stomach. “This is my child. Not your child.
My
child. And
I
make the decisions about her. Not you.”

The words were hard to say; Crystal had felt so guilty about getting pregnant, about getting raped. But now, seeing Cole for what he really was, she was able to release that guilt—and it felt exhilarating, freeing. She resolved to stop blaming herself so much. Maybe she’d made some bad choices in her life, but not
all
of her problems were her own fault. She’d been a victim, and Cole had let her stay in that vulnerable state.

Still, she did care about Cole. And the idea of being alone—even without a child—scared her senseless.
Besides, maybe he’ll come around now that Brandon’s gone. And even if not, I can be strong and stay with him. Yeah… that would be the strong thing to do. Wouldn’t it?

But before she could reassure him of her affections, he said again, “But do you still love me?” As if her emotional outpouring was just a tiny footnote to Cole’s own need to feel loved.

Part of her hoped that Cole would rise to action, that he’d make a speech about how much he cared for her. But of course, he didn’t care for her. He only cared about how much she could care for him.

“I hope the baby’s okay,” she said, to fill the silence. “It still hurts a lot. I’ll need to see a doctor if we make it through this.”

Cole just stared forward, unmoving except for his breathing. Then: “Hehhhhhhhmblehhh…”

“Cole?”

Due to Cole’s pale blind eyes, the difference was hard to spot, but they did look more vacant than usual now: almost how Heather’s had looked just before she’d drowned herself. Crystal snapped her fingers in front of Cole’s eyes, but he didn’t respond. He kept mouthing gibberish for a few more seconds before he
sort of
started to make sense. His words drizzled out slowly and lazily, like he was drunk, but punctuated by moments of intense clarity.

“Thhhhe guy outside. Is… not Virgil.”

“What?”

Cole’s expressionless eyes widened a little. He strained to see past Crystal, to the floor by the toilet. “Virgil’s ooooover therrrrrre.” He absentmindedly pointed downward, diagonally, toward the floor. “He’s in the elevator on thhhhe parking garage floor. He’s trrrrrapped.”

“You’re not making any sense, Cole.”

“I’mmmmmaking perfect ssssense. I’mmm a Judge you obtusssssse human floozy.”

“Cole, you’re scaring me.”

Cole’s face abruptly changed, snapping back to his normal, semi-alert self. He blinked repeatedly, wiping his eyes. “What was that?”

“Uh, you tell me.”

“I—I don’t—something just grabbed hold of me. Something about… Something about Virgil?”

A gravelly voice, muffled by the oak door, clawed its way into the bathroom. “You call him Virgil. How cute.”

Crystal and Cole turned to the locked door. On the other side, Virgil—or the thing pretending to be Virgil—spoke with eerie calm, in Virgil’s voice, but weirdly accented.

“We are vast. We crave to destroy human life. The ravenous hordes will descend upon you, and everything that matters will perish. It is only a question of time.”

Crystal took Cole’s hand and helped him stand. “The police will be here any minute.”

“We will consume them too.”

“We’re not gonna die here. We’ll fight back.”

The thing outside snickered abrasively. “Fighting is not in your nature, human. Dying, though… All you humans are good for is killing and dying.
That
is your nature.”

Sounds like something Brandon would say.
Could this new Virgil be provoked in the same ways that Brandon could? He scared Crystal, but she’d had enough of fear. Maybe it was because she’d finally stood up to Cole, or maybe she’d simply been victimized one too many times tonight. But whatever the reason, she decided that the time had come to go on the offensive.

“Then why didn’t you wait for me to shoot Brandon?” she said. “You could have just waited, then I would have killed him, and you could have killed us easily. But I think—” She dropped Cole’s hand and stepped toward the door. “I think you didn’t wait for me to shoot Brandon because you were afraid that maybe I
wouldn’t
.”

THUD. Virgil struck the door again, and this time the hinges started to give. Virgil’s voice grew tense. “Crystal. Let me tell you something you don’t know. Virgil, your savior. He is one of us.”

The statement sounded scary, but Crystal wasn’t sure what it meant. She let out a whimper, though, to let the thing outside think it was getting to her. Cole’s hand gently clutched her shoulder, probably trying to console her.
Well, thanks for being brave, mister macho man.

She nudged Cole, led him to the linen closet, and pushed him gently inside. Then she whispered, “Hold it shut. I have a plan.” Not much of one. But if the police didn’t show in the next thirty seconds, the bathroom door was going to give in. Crystal had to make a run for it.

“You’re nothing,” Crystal said to Virgil. “You have to kill weak people like us to make yourself feel like a big man? You’re pathetic. Anybody else in this condo could take you.”

THUD. One of the hinges popped completely off the doorframe. As the thing outside started yelling in its savage voice, Crystal tiptoed up to the door and placed her ear against it.

“Human girl, I am Shazakahn, new Demon King of Bangui! I am the greatest demon to have ever lived!”

Crystal inhaled deeply. She was about to gamble both her life and Cole’s on this next move, but even a gamble beat curling up in defeat. She listened carefully to Virgil’s rhythmic pounding on the door as he ranted.
Cole, I’m sorry if this doesn’t work.

“I am leader of the demonic host outside! As leader, I deserve first blood tonight. I deserve the prestige of killing you humans in this Sanctuary. And when you are dead, I will let the others in and we will slay your hero Thorn together, in vengeance for our slain King. You are all are weak, powerless thralls of the Enemy who will—”

Crystal timed her action carefully. Virgil’s strikes on the door had become rhythmic, predictable. And just as she anticipated the next splintering thud, she unlocked the door and flung it open.

Virgil careened past her, the force of his attempted blow driving him into the bathroom. He hit the ground and Crystal ran for it, bolting out of the room, back down the hallway past the guest bedrooms. A short distance ahead, the living room was already in sight.

A hand grasped her heel. She tumbled to the floor. She tried to squirm away from the viselike grip, but Virgil sprang on top of her. She kicked him hard in the temple, then even harder in the forearm, breaking both the arm and his hold on her. She whirled to her feet and scampered again for the living room.

She ran straight to the elevator and frantically pressed the “down” button multiple times. Gears whirred behind the elevator doors, and the digital counter above began its climb upward. Ground, two, three…

Footsteps rushed down the hallway. Virgil zipped around the corner into the living room. Crystal grabbed an ornamental potted plant and threw it. The pot bounced off Virgil’s head, leaving a visible dent but barely affecting his forward charge.

A set of oak doors eight feet out from the elevator created a small foyer in front of it. Crystal had never seen these doors closed, so she’d almost forgotten they were even there. She quickly yanked one door closed, then the other, but it was no use—Virgil flung them right back open. They crashed into the walls, their handles puncturing the drywall.

Crystal retreated to the elevator doors, but Virgil was instantly upon her. He reached for her head.

DING.

The elevator opened and a furious gust of wind rushed between them. Crystal braced herself against it. The gale whirled around Virgil, who threw out his hands like he was grappling with an invisible assailant. He grunted, all his muscles tense, then retreated toward the oak doors. The wind ripped right past him into the living room, sending plant leaves fluttering and setting lampshades askew.

Virgil’s panicked expression changed to one of triumph as he slammed shut the oak doors and snatched Crystal’s arm. “Thorn was so desperate to save you, and now he is trapped out there!” He laughed, clutched her neck, and drew their bodies together. “I have you all to myself.”

Virgil licked her face, his dry and cracked tongue running from her chin to her forehead. Blood from his lips smeared her skin. His fingernails dug into her neck.

The oak doors behind Virgil opened. Virgil turned in surprise. Crystal gasped.

“Hi there,” Brandon said, the hole in his eye still oozing fresh blood. He raised a fist and clocked Virgil sideways with an audible
crack
, which might have been his knuckles or Virgil’s skull, or both.

Virgil appeared to pass out. But as his body crumpled to the floor, a rush of air fluttered outward from
inside
his torn clothing.
Whoa.

Brandon backed into the living room. The wind rushed toward him. He fell to his knees and howled an agonizing scream, his body writhing around, contorting in that same strange brace against an unseen enemy. Then he stood and appeared to push his invisible adversary toward the sliding glass doors on the far side of the room. Crystal cautiously left the foyer area to see the action.

Brandon opened the doors to the balcony just a sliver. He thrashed one last time, yelled out, then forced his opponent outside. He shut the sliding doors and locked them.

“We’re safe now,” Brandon said. “Just don’t open the doors. You can tell Cole he can come out.”

Brandon approached Crystal. She immediately scurried back toward the elevator doors, but they had shut during the fight. “No, don’t worry,” Brandon said. “It’s me, Thorn.” Suddenly, Brandon’s body collapsed to the ground. Wind rushed from his corpse to Virgil’s in the foyer. Virgil woke up.

Crystal’s fear was outdone only by her utter confusion.

“I’m sorry. Is this body better?” Virgil asked. He gazed sorrowfully at her, and must have read her anxious expression, because he nodded and said, “Yes. Yes, I’ll keep this one.”

Crystal examined the balcony, which looked vacant except for the wind rippling against the screens… and the one screen that was missing. Virgil stepped over to Brandon’s body, then crouched next to it, gazing mournfully.

Crystal kept her eyes on him as she yelled down the hallway. “Cole! It’s safe… I think. You can come out now.”

She watched as Virgil removed a decorative quilt from the wall near Cole’s bedroom. It must have cost thousands of dollars, but Virgil used it as a shroud, laying it over Brandon’s corpse. Silence enveloped the room for a few moments, as if even the walls were recognizing Brandon’s passing.

“Who are you?” Crystal asked Virgil. “Where are you from?”

Virgil’s attention remained fixed on Brandon. He laid his fingers softly on Brandon’s face, then closed his one remaining eye. “No place you’ve ever been.”

“I’m serious. Tell me who you are or I’m walking downstairs and taking Cole’s car across town.”

Virgil frowned. He lowered the makeshift shroud over Brandon’s face. “Crystal, do you believe in God?”

“No.”

“Then I guess you don’t believe in angels, either.”

“Nope.”

Virgil made brief eye contact with her as he evened out the quilt over Brandon. “Then surely you don’t believe in demons.”

Crystal cradled her aching hand. “I guess not.”

The bloody security guard stood and gazed down at Brandon, looking more distraught over the psychopath’s death than he had any reason to be. Definitely much more than Crystal was.

“I’m sorry I broke your arm,” she said.

Virgil chuckled. “It’s not my arm. And it’s fine. I can still move it well enough. If you—”

“Crystal!” Cole called. “Did I hear Virgil? Is he still out here?”

Crystal’s gaze turned to the hallway behind her, where Cole was feeling his way toward the living room. He looked lost, helpless. “It’s okay. Virgil’s good now. Probably.” She didn’t want to even start explaining to Cole that Brandon had just come back to life somehow. It had really freaked her out, so she left Virgil and embraced Cole. “Are you okay?”

“Okay as I can be. Virgil’s… what?”

Crystal broke from the hug. It had been an instinctive gesture, but felt awkward in the wake of her confronting him in the bathroom. She wondered if Cole thought she—
Stupid! This is a serious situation. I shouldn’t be worried about our relationship right now.
But she was.

Faint red and blue lights shined onto the windows behind Cole, casting shadows on the ceiling from ten floors below. “The cops are finally here,” Crystal said.