Soul Corrupted (7 page)

 I struggle to my feet, but his palm catches the
side of my face and I go down again, smarting.

“You’ve gone too far,” he says above me, his face
glowing scarlet in the flickering light. He kicks out and catches me in the
stomach. I grasp my middle with one hand and half drag, half crawl my way away
from him. He steps easily behind me, hovering over me like a storm cloud ready
to release its lightning.

I scramble at the foot of the bed, dragging myself
upright again. He waits behind me, breath on my neck, then spins me around so
that his face is in mine, hot breath making me gag. “You are a pathetic excuse
for a woman. You run around like a whore. Now I see why your parents were so
desperate to get rid of you.”

“You’re a disgusting old man who couldn’t attract a
bee to sting you without giving it your money.”

“You’re a lovely vase, Keira. Pretty to look at with
nothing inside.” He spits in my face and I long to wipe away his words and
saliva, but he’s holding me too tight, shaking me. “I’m going to have to
replace you.”

I scream and kick as he forces me backward until I
knock into the table, rocking the washbasin and splashing water over the sides.
It’s happening again, just like before. I no longer have control over my own
body. I feel myself writhe like an animal—just as I did back then—snarling
and trying to bite at his face. But he pinches my cheeks between his fingers,
pushing right into the bone and forcing my head away from him.

“I should’ve bought you from your parents instead of
marrying you,” he says in his rage. “I could’ve chained you to the bed and cut
out your evil tongue.”

“I’m not for sale! I never was!” I scream, my body
still struggling, trying desperately to hurt him in some way. Any way. “My
mother is a free woman.”

“Free to prey on men, just like you? Look at yourself,
Keira.
Look
.” He whips me around and forces my head up so I’m staring in
the mirror, beaten and more frazzled than when I came in. And he’s there behind
me, his sallow, wrinkled face leering at mine.

“See what you are?” he hisses. “A harlot. Nothing
more. Now say good-bye to the only face you ever cared about.”

I stop fighting. The only thing that moves is my chest
as the air presses in and out of my lungs, desperate for some reprieve that I
know isn’t coming. I’m about to die. Again.

“See you in Hell,” I say before he forces my face into
the basin.

Josh

Grace is gone. I made her run
from the room, run from me. And now my heart is in tiny pieces lodged in my
throat. Either that, or I’ve swallowed a bunch of broken glass.

I sink into the leather sofa I insisted on adding to our
room. I guess I’ll be moving to my own room now. What have I done?

But if Grace knew about Noah—if I hadn’t made
the counter deal—they’d both be in danger. I despise Lucifer, but I can’t
argue his point—if she knew, she would have gone to him and made her own counter
deal, and he all but admitted he’d make her fall again. But Grace deserves to
be in Heaven, and I’m going to help keep her there.

It takes a minute for the rest of the world to come back
into focus as I fight the very manly tears threatening to break free. The
screen in front of me is focused on an image. Grace was working when I walked
in.

I’m about to turn it off when the creepy girl from
yesterday stands up, snapping her book shut and sending the porch swing into a
frenzied wobble. The gray eye travels over me and lands somewhere to my right,
where it focuses on something that makes her tense up. A short, roundish woman
walks into the scene, beaming, and I freeze.

I know who it is. I remember seeing her argue with
Grace before Mr. Griffith threw her from Heaven.

“You’re dead,” I tell the screen. “You’re supposed to
be in Hell.” So what is Ms. Alvarez doing there? But I know what happened:
Lucifer. Of course he’d want her working with him. She murdered both Grace and
me in her determination to find the Antichrist. So if she’s with this girl…

“Hi, Lucinda,” Ms. Alvarez says. I wonder how Grace could
stand that annoying, high-pitched voice for so long.

“Lucy,” says the girl. She sounds hoarse, like she
hasn’t spoken recently. “I told you the other day.”

“Of course, dear. But let’s get right to business,
shall we?” She offers a pudgy hand, which Lucy stares at with her good eye, the
other one trained on Ms. Alvarez’s face.

“I don’t like to touch people,” Lucy says. “But you
can come in.”

“Lovely. Oh, and I see you’re reading. I adore
literature. May I?” She grabs for the book, but Lucy’s faster and snatches it
away. I remember talking my way into Cam’s room and complimenting his torture
device designs.

I can’t let Ms. Alvarez play that role for Lucy.
Instinctively I reach for the comfort of Grace’s hand, and find only empty air.
Because I just broke up with her.

I broke up with Grace.

I lean back into the couch, rubbing both hands over my
face. “Screen off.” It comes out muffled from my hiding spot, but I can no
longer hear Ms. Alvarez’s awful voice, so I guess it worked.

My phone alarm goes off and I slowly drag my hands
down. I completely forgot I was supposed to meet with Mr. Griffith to update
him on our progress. Crap. I can’t go over there now. How am I supposed to keep
my deal a secret from him? Lie and tell him I’m dating a human girl? I’m pretty
sure he won’t approve like I told Grace he did.

I’m still sitting, trying to figure out how to handle
this, when there’s a knock on the door. Mr. Griffith pops his head in a minute
later.

“Josh? You okay, buddy?” He’s concerned, judging by
his narrowed eyes and the wrinkle in his normally smooth brow.

“Come in,” I say, even though he already is.

He sits next to me on the couch with a sigh.
“Something’s up,” he says. “You’re never late.”

I slowly turn to face him, in no hurry to explain
myself. “I’m just tired.”

His brow wrinkles deeper and I’m filled with an
immediate sense of guilt for lying—and guilt is not something I’m used
to.

“You know I have a lot of souls to work with, Josh.
It’s tough to fit everyone in. I wish it weren’t like that—it shouldn’t
be. It’s Heaven, after all. Everyone should get what they need when they need
it.”

“I know, and I’m sorry I missed our appointment, Mr. G.”

“Josh, I’m not angry. Things happen. But I know you,
and you’ve never been more than ten seconds late for a game or a chat. So I
know something else is wrong.” He lays a hand on my shoulder, tilting his body
toward me to give me his undivided attention.

I lick my lips, wanting to confide in him. But I can
still see my dad’s face when I told him I accidentally broke his most expensive
whiskey bottle. I flex my hands, remembering the way the glass cut into my
palms when he made me clean it up, standing over me, screaming and cussing the
whole time.

“You don’t have to be afraid of me, Josh.” Mr.
Griffith brings me back to the present.

“I’m not afraid of you. I feel bad for forgetting our
appointment.” I lay on the old charm. I haven’t used those muscles in awhile,
but it’s like riding a bike. “Grace and I are having some trouble and I guess I
got a little distracted with the job.”

“You and Grace? Having trouble in literal paradise?”

“Yeah.” And then I know what to do. It’s what I’ve
always been good at: twisting the truth. “I told her I think we should focus on
researching the souls and lay off the romance for awhile and she didn’t take it
so well. But you know, with her family and all, I thought it just complicated
stuff.”

“That’s very…insightful of you.” Mr. Griffith
straightens. “But don’t you think Grace needs you right now?”

“What Grace needs is to accept that other people make
their own choices, and if they screw up, to not take it personally.” As the
words come out, I realize they’re exactly how I feel. I
am
angry at
Grace. Angry that she feels responsible for everyone else. Angry that I have to
worry that what I do or say is up to the standards she expects of me.

Mr. Griffith nods and pats my knee. “Maybe you need to
tell her how you feel. But try to remember that Grace is a Guardian Angel now,
and trying to help others is her job.”

“She needs to let Noah make his own choices, no matter
where he ends up. She can still love him. She still loved me.” The words pour
out of my mouth and I wonder if Mr. Griffith cast some sort of Angel voodoo on
me to make me spill my guts.

“I see,” he says, and strokes his chin. “Have you
considered that perhaps Grace’s caring so much is exactly what saved you from
Hell?”

I straighten up. “Maybe she shouldn’t have saved me.”

The words settle around the room, working their way
into the corners as we sit in silence. I swallow hard, then lean back into the
cushions and hide my face behind my hands again.

“Maybe this isn’t only about Grace,” Mr. Griffith says
a minute later. “Maybe it’s about you. I can tell you one thing, if it helps,
Josh. You wouldn’t be here if The Man Himself didn’t know you belonged. He’s
the only one capable of stepping in when an Angel or Demon dies. And that
dagger pierced your heart.”

Mr. Griffith leans in, pressing a hand over my chest
where my heart thumps wildly like I’ve just run a mile. He waits for me to make
eye contact before standing.

“Take your time,” he says on the way to the door. “It
can be hard to cope with the afterlife, but that’s why there’s no hurry. If you
want, I can give the research job to someone else—”

“No.” Of this much I’m sure. I can’t take this from
Grace. If she didn’t have a job to focus on, she’d be completely obsessed with
her family, with no other outlet. “It’ll make me feel like I’m earning my
wings.”

Mr. Griffith smiles and slips out the door, leaving me
alone with too many thoughts.

Grace

My mother copes by sewing.
She’s had her own business since I was two:
Sue Sews
. She’s really
amazing at designing dresses for little girls. I was her model for years and
business practically fell into her lap. I had so much fun helping her pick out
fabric and colors and even when none of my choices matched, she’d humor me and
make them into something amazing. I used to come down here and sit in the big,
blue armchair in the corner on the rug, curled up with a notebook in my lap,
writing poems or short stories. Sometimes she’d have me read them to her while
she pinned trim on an outfit, tugging it down over the mannequin and laughing
at my jokes or gasping at scary parts.

When our first dog, Tommy, died, Mom never cried—at
least not that I saw. But she spent so much time in her basement workshop that I
had a new outfit every day for the next month and so did Noah. I wonder what
she did with all the outfits she must’ve made after I died. Maybe business is
so good she sold them all.

She’s still working, locked in her sewing room down in
the basement, humming as she goes. Her fingers guide the material through the
whirring machine, twisting and turning the fabric as she stares intently at the
needle. I stand over her shoulder, watching, inhaling her familiar, lavender
scent. I adore it—to me, it smells like love.

This time I’m so much more worried than I was with
Tommy. This time it was me she lost.

Mom releases the dress she’s working on from the
machine and slides away, forcing me to back up while she stands to examine her
work. If we touched, she wouldn’t feel it—but it makes me feel like a
ghost and even further away from my parents.

The dress she holds is blue corduroy with ruffles at
the bottom and the neck. I remember wearing something a lot like it when I was
four. It was my favorite jumper. It’s weird to see an outfit that looks so
familiar, because everything Mom makes is one of a kind.

She holds it against her body and turns toward the
blue chair, worn, but inviting in the corner. One of my notebooks is still
tucked in the side of the cushion, a pen sticking out. Mom rubs her nose on her
arm and lets out a punctured sigh before sitting back down hard on her chair.

“Oh, Mom.” I rush to her and throw my arms around her,
but as always, I stay invisible, and she can’t feel me.

“I’m okay,” I tell her, stroking her hair. But it’s a
lie. I’m empty inside. I’ve lost everything that matters. Her, Dad, Noah, and
now Josh.

I want to say more, but I can’t—I’m pretty sure
I have no more tears to shed, but I don’t want to find out if I’m wrong.
Instead I sit with my mother as she goes back to work, laying the dress out on
the long table next to her and picking up some yellow cotton with tiny, white
flowers. Another familiar fabric.

“This can’t be right,” I say, settling into the blue
chair. “Why do I have to let you suffer? I could reveal myself just for a
moment and let you all know that I’m safe, and you could go on living.”

I sit, curled in the blue chair, observing my broken
mother as she sews. Her fingers are raw, but she doesn’t slow down.

Unable to watch anymore, I decide to check on Noah.
He’s the one coping by lashing out at everyone else. So I will myself to him,
and end up in his room.

What I find makes me scream.

Keira. The Demon responsible for corrupting Josh and
who knows how many others. In Noah’s bed, next to him.

My vision turns red. “Get away from him!” I run at her,
becoming visible only to her, and she turns, shock written all over her face.

I rip the covers away and yank her off the mattress
with more strength than I ever knew I had. Noah moans and turns on his side,
flipping the blanket back over himself.

“Get out!” I scream. “Get out of my house. Get away
from my brother. And if you ever touch him again, I’ll—”

“You’ll what?” she asks, in a hushed voice. She stands
up, completely naked, and my stomach turns. What has she done to him? No wonder
he’s been acting so awful lately. This explains everything! I knew Josh was
wrong about Noah making his own choices. Keira is the cause. She’s the one
manipulating him, convincing him to do horrible things.

“I’ll rip you apart,” I say evenly.

She grins. “Such an un-Angel-like thing to say.”

My face burns and I start to shake. I clench my fist
so tight, my nails pierce my flesh, but I don’t care. I’ve never felt so much
rage in my life and it feels good to let it out. Everything is spiraling out of
control, and I finally have someone to blame.

“I hate you,” I say. “Stay away from my brother,
bitch!” I reach out for her smug face and slap her hard. My palm burns, but I
know it hurt her worse because a fiery handprint appears on her cheek and she
presses her own hand over it.

“I’m proud of you, Gracie,” she says, though her eyes
water. “Embrace the hate. You’ll be with us in no time.”

I recoil, disgusted. “I mean it, Keira.” I point at her
and she flinches. “He’s only a kid. Get. Out.”

She snatches her clothes from the floor. Knowing her,
they’re so slutty she may as well stay nude. I wait as she storms by me to the
door. She could just disappear, but I guess she wants to be as dramatic as
possible. Fine with me, as long as she leaves.

“For the record, I’ve never used glamour on him,” Keira
says suddenly. “He wanted me to stay. If Noah calls me again, I won’t say no. It’s
not up to you.”

Before I can respond, she slams the door and Noah
groans again, flipping over in the bed. His sunshine hair is all messed up and
his face is covered in stubble, but I still see my baby brother as he wakes up,
running a hand down over his face.

He sits up in bed, reaching first for the empty
mattress beside him. A wave of nausea hits me when I see the disappointment on
his face at not finding Keira there. Better he get over her now, though.

Noah rubs a hand down his face and this time reaches
for his nightstand drawer. First he pulls out his phone and checks the time and
few texts. Then he digs farther and pulls out a baggie and a lighter. I watch,
sickened further, as he rolls a joint and lights up like it’s his second nature.

I nearly gag as I sit on the bed with him and examine
his face. His eyes are bloodshot and his breath is awful, or maybe it’s just
the joint, which smells horrible, too. Tears swim in my eyes, blurring his
face. Tears I didn’t think I had left.

“This is Keira’s doing, right?” I ask. “You have to
stop this, Noah. This isn’t you. I know it isn’t.”

I reach for the joint as he swings his legs over the
edge of the bed and knock it out of his hand. He examines his fingers for a
minute, confused, then fishes it off the floor before it ignites his dirty
clothes. He takes one more puff, letting it hang out of the corner of his mouth
as he pulls on a pair of ripped jeans.

When did my baby brother grow up? He’s got the muscles
of a man, which shouldn’t make me sad, but for some reason it does. I follow
him out into the hall and then to the bathroom. I can’t believe he’d walk
through the halls of this house with a lit joint, but he doesn’t even seem to
think about it. I guess he knows Mom won’t be coming out of the basement
anytime soon, and Dad won’t be home ‘til late.

The anger I felt toward Keira flares again, but this
time it’s focused on my parents. They need to wake up and pay attention before
they lose
both
their kids. And if they don’t do it soon, I’m afraid Noah
won’t end up with me.

Noah pulls a comb through his tangled head once and
fluffs his hair. Ironically, it looks good messy. He gargles some mouthwash and
rubs some deodorant under his pits. Then it’s back to his room, where he puts
out the joint, tosses it in the drawer, and removes some more bags filled with
either powder or pills, followed by a gun.

My heart races as I sit hard on the corner of the bed.
I thought the joint was bad. What did Keira do to him? She can’t force him to
do something, but she can guide him. She must have tricked him somehow.

He yanks on a T-shirt and tucks the gun in his
waistband. The shiny, black metal frightens me even more than the drugs. What
if it goes off accidentally? Worse, what if he uses it on purpose? I wish Josh
were here. He’d know what to do.

No. If Josh were here, he would tell me what a
terrible person Noah is. But Noah hasn’t lied about what he’s doing. Noah hasn’t
told someone he’s in love with her only to turn around and throw her out like
yesterday’s trash.

“Noah, don’t.” I beg, reaching out a hand as he throws
open the door again.

He pauses, and turns to look back at the room. His
eyes are still young and maybe a little frightened as he searches from wall to
wall. But a moment later the hesitation is gone and he bounds down the steps and
out the front door.