Tortured: Book Three of the Jason and Azazel Trilogy (2 page)

* * *

My roommate Palomino was crying in the bathroom when I
got back to my dorm. Palomino was the daughter of an American senator. She was
also my brother Chance's girlfriend. As was the plight of the children of the
incredibly rich, she'd been stuck with a totally weird first name. She was
cool, though, despite the fact that she was actually dating my dork of a baby brother.
Chance was fifteen and so was Palomino. They'd met when Chance lived with my
grandmother in
New Jersey
.
Chance and Palomino had claimed they were "just friends" for months
before finally admitting they were girlfriend and boyfriend.
 
When Jason and I had first realized that the information we were looking for
about the Sons and the Rising Sun prophecies were all housed in the
Sol
Solis
School
, we didn't have
any idea how we were going to get in. The monks we were staying with—the Order
of Reddimus—didn't have any connection with the Sons. The Sons themselves had
broken off from the Order of Reddimus back in the Renaissance, but that was
hundreds of years ago. The organizations no longer had any ties.
Chance and Palomino had really helped us out. Since they both attended the
school, they knew the ins and outs of it. They told us which of the people who
worked in admissions were total space cadets and would let two seniors into the
school two months before graduation. They told us how to make sure we got
assigned to room with them. Chance and Jason shared a dorm across campus. I
roomed with Palomino.
 
The only thing the Order of Reddimus really had been helpful with was money.
The Catholic Church was willing to throw tons of money at us, considering we were
working to overthrow the Sons. The Church hated the Sons. They were their
biggest enemy on earth.
Our tuition was paid for, and we didn't have to live with strangers. Plus, this
was a good school. I was ridiculously behind on my studies, considering this
was the third high school I'd attended during my senior year. Jason was a
freaking genius, so he wasn't having any trouble. Palomino and Jason were both
helping me study, so I was glad of the assistance.
 
I knocked tentatively on the door of the bathroom, which was a heavy, old door,
made of dark oak, and engraved with ornate decorations. "Palomino," I
called. "Are you okay?"
Only the muffled sound of sobs came through the door. I looked around at our
dorm room. For a high school dorm, it was a pretty nice room.
Quite big.
Unlike most dorm rooms, rooms in our
building—Bianchi Hall—didn't have rooms that looked like cookie cutter images
of each other. Each room had a little bit of character. Our room had two large
windows on the far wall and a small sort of L-shaped alcove where our closet
was. Like all dorms in Bianchi, our bathroom was off our dorm room.
 
Some students' parents paid enough for private rooms, but Palomino's apparently
wanted her to learn what it was like to live with another person. They said it
was a social skill. As for me—the Catholic Church was being generous, but not
that generous.
 
I tried the door handle. It was unlocked. "Can I come in?" I asked.
Palomino didn't answer.
 
When I entered the bathroom, I saw her sitting on the green tile floor, her
head between her knees. Her shoulders were shaking from the force of her sobs.
I knelt down next to her, concerned. "What's wrong?" I asked.
She still didn't answer. I put my hand on her back and patted it gently.
"Mina," I said softly, using her nickname. "Talk to me. Is it
Chance?
Was my brother a total dickhead to you?"
"
I broke up with Chance," she said, hiccupping and raising her
face to look at me. Her eyes were puffy and red, but she was still a really
pretty girl. Her long white-blonde hair cascaded over her shoulders. My brother
was a lucky guy. Well. He had been, anyway.
"What?" I said. "Why'd you break up?"
"I just don't want to see him anymore," she said, rubbing her eyes
with the heels of hands.
"What did he do?" I asked.
"Nothing," said Palomino.
 
Really?
"Okay," I said. "So why'd you
break up with him?"
"It's not him, it's me," she said, standing up and going to the sink.
"Um," I said, getting up behind her, "that line might work when
you're dumping your boyfriend, but it doesn't work when you're explaining it to
your friends."
Palomino surveyed herself in the mirror, making a face at her reflection.
"I'm fine," she said. "I don't want to talk about it."
"Come on," I said. "You're upset. Anyone can see that."
She shrugged and splashed water on her face.
I came closer, leaning on one side of the sink. "Look," I said,
"I know my brother is not always the politest or even nicest guy ever. I
grew up with him, remember? But I know he likes you. He really, really likes
you—"
"He won't, though,"
said
Palomino. "He
won't when he finds out. This way, it's a clean break. I did it first."
She swept out of the bathroom, collapsing on her bed in the bedroom.
I followed her. "Finds out what?" I asked, sitting down on my bed,
which was opposite hers.
Palomino pulled a pillow over her head.
I sat back. "I can't imagine that anything you did would make him like you
less," I said. "You're a really awesome girlfriend."
She pulled her head out from underneath the pillow. "I'm an idiot."
"No," I said, "you're not."
"It was my idea," she said. "I told him it would be okay. In
health class at my old high school, they said it would be okay. You're not
supposed to be able to when you're on your period."
I furrowed my brow, a niggling suspicion running through me.
"Palomino," I said, "did you and Chance have sex?"
She looked at me like I was an idiot. "We've been having sex," she
told me. "Since before I came to this school."
Really?
"But Chance said you weren't his
girlfriend," I said. "Back when you were hanging out in
New Jersey
. He said you
guys weren't dating. You were having sex then?" This was kind of blowing
my mind. Chance was my younger brother after all.
"I knew I was coming here for spring semester," she said. "I
didn't want to get attached."
"So you were just randomly hooking up with my brother?" I demanded.
Palomino rolled her eyes. "Azazel, you're such a prude. You wouldn't
understand.
Never mind."
She buried her face in
her pillow.
The furrow in my brow deepened. I lay back on my bed, staring at the ceiling.
"I'm not a prude," I said. Of course, I had just skipped out on my
chance to have sex with my boyfriend.
My first chance in
months.
Was I a prude?
 
"You've only had sex with Jason, right?" said Palomino.
"How many people have you had sex with?" I asked.
"Three," she said.
 
"Really?"
I said. Palomino was fifteen. How
did you fit three boyfriends into fifteen years? When had she started having
sex? When she was twelve? "It doesn't make me a prude, because I've only
had sex with one guy."
"Whatever," said Palomino, "and I'm sure you guys are always
super careful. You probably make him wear two condoms."
"Just one," I said. "And I don't
 
make
 
him do it. We've just always . .
." Truthfully, Jason and I never talked about the condoms. He always had
them. I sat back up and fixed Palomino with my gaze. "What are you saying?
Are you saying you haven't been careful?"
Palomino didn't look up from her pillow. Her voice was muffled. "I'm
pregnant, Azazel."

* * *

Jason was scrubbing at the blood on his hands. He
stood over the sink, the water rushing over them from the faucet. I stood in
the doorway, watching him.
 
"Where did the blood come from?" I asked him.
He turned off the faucet, flinging his wet hands once, so that water spattered
against the sink. It was pink with blood.
 
He came to me, holding his hands out to touch me.
 
I backed away. "Where did the blood come from, Jason?" I asked.
Jason advanced on me.
 
I backed into the closed door behind me. I fumbled for the doorknob behind my
back.
Jason was coming for me, blood dripping from his hands and fingers, dripping
onto the floor, red like roses. The blood was all over his hands.
All over his arms.
Smeared on his white
t-shirt.
"I don't like it when you come home covered in all this blood," I
whispered, still trying to turn the doorknob behind me.
It was locked.
Jason stopped in front of me. He put his hands on my cheeks.
I pushed him away. "I don't want the blood on me," I said.
"But it's your blood," said Jason.
"No, it's not," I said.
"It is," said Jason. "Come here and see our beautiful
baby."
"What?" I said. "What are you talking about?"
I looked down at myself. I was naked from the waist down. My thighs were
covered in smears of deep red blood. And now, suddenly, I could feel it. It
felt like something had clawed its way out of my uterus. There was nothing
between my legs but tatters of skin. I collapsed onto the bathroom floor, cold
green tile against my skin.
Behind the shower curtain, something screamed.
Jason smiled at me. He pulled aside the curtain of the shower with a
presentational flair, like he was a showman at a circus. "Isn't he
beautiful?" he said.
Behind the shower curtain, a long black worm-like shape slithered over the lip
of the bathtub. Its sharp teeth glinted in the lights. Pieces of my flesh still
clung to it. Wherever it slid, it left a trail of blood.
I backed away, backed into the door again, shaking my head, muttering,
"No. No."
 
"He's our baby," said Jason.
"No," I said.
"Yes," said Jason.
"No," I said. I stumbled to my feet. "It has to die," I
said, lunging for the worm-shaped thing, ready to strangle it.
"Stop!" cried Jason.

* * *

And I woke up.
It was dark in the dorm room and quiet. Quiet the way it is in the morning
before the sun comes up. Still.
Peaceful.
But my heart was beating out of my chest.
 
Goddamn dreams.
I'd been having bad dreams—nightmares—ever since Jason and I escaped my crazy
Satanist family in
Bramford
,
WV
last fall. Recently, however,
they'd started to get much, much worse. I had one nearly every night.
Sometimes more than one.
They never made much sense.
Sometimes they had a basis in things that had happened. For instance, this one
was clearly an amalgamation of Palomino's news and the time Jason had come home
in
Bradenton
covered in blood. And maybe it had something to do with the fact that I wasn't
quite sure if Jason and I weren't . . . evil.
Jason's own mother had tried to get me to kill him. She'd had visions.
Visions in which Jason did horrible things.
What if my dreams were like visions? What if . . .
 
I tried to calm
down.
Monitor my breathing so that my
heart would slow down. It wouldn't help anything to think like that. People
didn't have visions of the future.
 
At least I didn't think so.
Sometimes, though, Jason was so violent. I tried not to think about it, because
nothing had happened in quite some time. But I'd watched Jason shoot his own
mother in the head.
He'd been protecting me.
He'd never talked about it.
The things that I thought about when I woke up from the dreams were sometimes
worse than the dreams themselves. I didn't like the dreams, and I didn't like
thinking about whether or not Jason was too violent. I didn't like thinking
about it at all.
There was only one thing that worked to keep it all at bay, and I'd been so
caught up in listening to Palomino
tell
me about being
pregnant that I hadn't bothered with it before bed. Not like I usually did.
 
It was dark. It was quiet. And my bed was warm. I didn't particularly want to
get up.
 
But I wanted to turn my brain off, and I only knew one way to do that. I
climbed out of bed and knelt beside it. Feeling under my mattress, my fingers
brushed the cold metal of my gun. It was good to know it was there, but it
wasn't what I was looking for.
Instead, I slid out a glass bottle of vodka.
 
It was easy to buy liquor in
Italy
,
even though I wasn't technically quite old enough to purchase it. The drinking
age was lower in
Europe
. I never had problems.
And it wasn't like I was buying it to party. It was like medicine.
I gulped the burning liquid down my throat, feeling the oblivion rush into my
temples.

* * *

I had a headache. I always had a headache. Drinking as
much liquor as I did every night before bed (or in last night's case, in the
middle of the night) tended to make me pretty much constantly hung over. I sat
in my morning class, bleary-eyed, barely listening to Professor Moretti's
lecture on Post-Colonialism. I'd been through various approaches to education
my senior year of high school. The first had been honors classes in the
West Virginia
public
school system.
Then general classes in the
Florida
public school system.
Finally, here I was, finishing out my high school career in a posh,
English-language private school in
Europe
. The
approaches all had some things in common, but here at the
Sol
Solis
School
, the emphasis was on lecture. I
came to class. Professors talked at me. I took notes. Later there was a test.
It was the most challenging program I'd ever taken part in.
 
In
my pocket, my phone vibrated.
 
Looking around to make sure Professor Moretti wasn't looking, I eased the phone
out of my pocket and eyed the text message Jason had sent me.
"
whats
up w/c and p?" it said.
Careful not to look down at the phone too much, I quickly texted back:
"what did chance say to u?"
I made a show of scribbling down something on my notebook paper, waiting until
my phone vibrated again before looking at it.
"
p
broke up w/ him?
she
say why?"
I chewed on my lip, considering. Jason and I had made a pact not to keep
secrets from each other, but this wasn't my secret. Last night, Palomino had
made it clear to me that she didn't want Chance to know. She was convinced that
Chance would leave her if he found out. Apparently, she'd been sort of seeing a
guy before Chance had transferred in the early spring. She hadn't had sex with
the guy, but Chance didn't believe that. Palomino was sure that Chance would
blame the baby on someone else. I told her my brother wasn't like that.
 
At any rate, I didn't think Palomino wanted her business blabbed to anyone, not
even Jason. I trusted Jason, but since he was living with Chance, it would be
really hard for him not to want to tell his own roommate. Still, I didn't think
Palomino should keep this to herself for too long.
 
Conflicted, my fingers hovered over the keys of my phone.
"Ms. Smith," said Professor Moretti.
I didn't look up at first. My name was Jones. But we were undercover at the
Sol
Solis
School
and we weren't
using our real names. I was going by Amy Smith. My head snapped up.
Professor Moretti was standing right next to my desk. He could see that I was
texting.
I blushed and shoved the phone back into my pocket. "Sorry," I
mumbled.
Professor Moretti looked concerned. "Ms. Smith," he said kindly,
"you really need to heed your studies. Your grades can't afford
distractions like this." He was referring to the D I'd gotten on my last
test. I couldn't help that I wasn't studying so much. What with nightmares,
hangovers, and trying to figure out a way into the library, I was distracted.
School didn't seem so important anymore.
 
I looked down at my desk, ashamed.
 
Professor Moretti moved on. "The next chapter of
 
Things
Fall Apart
 
for
tomorrow, then," he addressed the class.
Around me, students began to gather their belongings. Shove their notebooks
into book bags. Stand up. A low buzz of chatter started to fill the classroom.
The class was over. I didn't move for a few seconds. The noise was making my
head pound.
 
Slowly, I stood up and began picking up my own stuff.
 
Jason appeared beside my desk, his book bag already slung over his shoulder.
"Sorry," he said.
 
I shook my head. "I should have kept my eye out for Moretti."
"No," said Jason, "it was my fault. And I shouldn't distract you
in class, anyway."
Way to rub it in. Jason had, of course, gotten an A on the test.
"Right," I said. "Your stupid girlfriend needs to concentrate,
or she'll flunk out of school."
He kissed my forehead. "Don't be silly," he said, taking my hand as
we left the classroom and spilled into the hallway with the other students.
"I just already know this stuff. When people think you're the messiah,
they cram your head full of all kinds of useless knowledge."
I elbowed him. "Shh. Don't
say
that stuff so
loud. Someone might hear."
He tickled my ribs. "Paranoid Azazel," he teased.
"Don't say my name either," I hissed.
"You're in a bad mood," he said. "Did you drink last night
again?"
"No," I said. "I forgot. I had a dream that we had a monster for
a baby, and it ate its way out of my body."
Jason made a face. "Eew," he said.
I shrugged. "So then I downed half a bottle of vodka at like four in the
morning."
We made our way out of Rossi Hall and into the bright, spring day. Outside,
other students like us walked in groups of two or three across the sprawling
campus. They wound through old brick buildings that had been standing for
hundreds of years. Jason and I were heading towards the dining hall for lunch.
We usually met up with Palomino and Chance. I wondered how that was going to
work out today.
 
Jason shook his head. "I don't think it's good for you to drink so
much."
"
And the nightmares?
Are they good for me?"
"I just worry about you. You know that."
I did know. I squeezed his hand. "I'm okay."
We walked without speaking for a few moments.
"You don't ever have bad dreams?" I asked him. "After everything
you've seen?"
He shrugged. "Used to," he said.
"A long time
ago.
After the sorority house.
But not so much anymore."
The Sons had assigned Jason and a man named Hallam, who we used to live with in
Florida
, to
kill a house full of sorority girls. They'd told them the girls were running a
brothel, but that had probably been a lie. No one really knew, because they
were dead. Jason hadn't done any of the actual
killing
,
but the night had scarred him deeply.
 
"So, you think it'll get better?" I asked.
 
"Maybe we should take you to a doctor. Like a psychiatrist or
something."
I snorted.
"I didn't mean that you were crazy or anything," he added hastily.
"We both need loads of therapy," I told him. "And we won't be
getting it any time soon. Let's just find a way into this library and figure
out what we need to know."
Jason stopped walking, looking thoughtful. I stopped too.
 
"Then what?" he said.
 
"What do you mean?"
"What if we find out that I actually am the Rising Sun? What if we find
out that collectively we're going to bring about the end of the world? What do
we do then?"
I didn't say anything. After a few seconds, I started walking again. I didn't
look back to see if Jason was catching up.
 
I spotted Palomino standing in front of the dining hall, hugging
herself
. Chance was nowhere to be seen. I half-waved at her,
and she waved back. As I walked over to her, Jason fell into my stride next to
me. Out of habit, I reached for his hand, and he took mine.
 
"Hey Mina," I said.
"Hey," she said.
"Why'd you break up with Chance?" said Jason.
I elbowed him. Did he have no tact?
Palomino swung around to face Jason, her eyes welling up with tears.
 
I dropped Jason's hand and touched her shoulder. "You okay?"
She shook her head. "I couldn't make it through my last class. I started
crying, and I had to leave. Everyone saw."
"Wait," said Jason. "Are you upset about breaking up with
Chance? Because he's out of his mind, okay? He was freaked out when I got back
to the dorm last night. What's going on with you two?"
"Jason," I said.
"No," he said. "Look, if you both still like each other, and
you're both sad that you aren't together, you should get back together."
"Chance is a jealous dick," said Palomino. She turned on her heel and
stalked into the dining hall.
Jason went after her, and I followed Jason. "Is this about that guy you
were seeing? What was his name, Skylar or something?"
Skylar.
Another rich kid doomed to a weird name.
"Because," Jason continued, "Chance is really sorry he said
anything. And he totally trusts you."
Palomino whirled. "I don't want to talk about it, okay?" She thrust
the door open to the dining hall.
 
Jason stopped and looked at me. "You should back me up here," he
said. "He's your brother."
"It's complicated," I said.
Jason rolled his eyes. "Whatever," he said. "It's always
complicated with girls."
A line to the serving area had already formed. Jason and I got in line behind
Palomino. We got through the line quickly and sat down at our regular table.
Jason and I looked at Chance's usual seat. It was empty.
"Where's Chance?" I asked Jason. It didn't seem fair that he had to
find another seat.
Jason shrugged. "Don't know." He turned to Palomino. "You
know," he said, "Azazel and I had some issues with jealousy. She
thought I was sleeping with her best friend."
I glared at him. "And you thought I was sleeping with a gay guy."
"He wasn't actually gay," Jason pointed out. To Palomino, "He
was actually my brother, and he tried to kill me."
He
 
did
 
kill
Jason. At least, he put a bullet in Jason's skull. Jason stopped breathing His
heart stopped beating.
Until I kissed him.
 
My life was too weird.
"Anyway," said Jason, "the point is that we worked through that.
We talked about how we felt. And we're still together."
Palomino sighed. "I don't want to talk about this, okay?"
"Why not?" said Jason. "What did Chance do?"
She glared at him. "Did Chance put you up to this?"
"No," said Jason, but he didn't meet her eyes.
"I don't want to talk to him," she said. "It's over. Just tell
him it's over."
"Mina," I said, "are you sure you shouldn't just talk to Chance
about—"
She shot me a murderous look. I shut my mouth. I'd promised not to say
anything. But this was huge. My younger brother had fathered a
 
child
.
And his girlfriend wouldn't tell him. How was I supposed to keep this to
myself?
To distract myself, I looked around the dining hall. It was a big, open room
with high ceilings. Long tables lined the room. I spotted the Weem twins,
Faruza and Fairie (more hapless victims of rich people's wacky ideas of names),
sauntering across the dining hall. I didn't feel sorry for the Weem twins,
despite their names, however. They were awful gossips who were always rude to
me. They picked on pretty much everyone except people who had the right last
names.
People who were related to members of the Council of
the Sons.
 
Since their uncle, Edgar Weem, had stepped down from his post at the Council,
the Weem twins had gotten even meaner. They seemed to resent the fact that
their uncle had been demoted, as if it threatened their social status. They
walked by our table, casting withering glances in our direction. I seethed,
imagining how satisfying it would be to let them know that Jason was actually
their cousin, since Edgar Weem was his father.
 
Faruza stopped next to our table, holding her tray and looking down at us.
"So, Mina," she said. "I heard about the nervous breakdown in
class today. I'm so sorry." She sounded about as sorry as Hitler was for
killing Jews.
Palomina glowered at her. "Thanks, Faruza," she said. "You're
always so concerned and kind."
Faruza smirked. "So is it true that you found out your skuzzy adopted
boyfriend gave you herpes? Because I hear that's what you get when you date
Jersey
trash."
"Chance isn't even from
New
Jersey
," I said. I couldn't help it. The Weem
twins just pissed me off so much.
Faruza turned to me as if she'd noticed me for the first time. "Was I talking
to you?" she asked.
"I don't know," I said. "I think you were leaving, actually,
weren't you?"
"
Because God knows where you and your boyfriend came
from.
You're probably charity cases. At least, he's definitely
performing some kind of charity by dating something that looks like you."
Jason's jaw twitched. "Don't talk to her like that," he said.
"Ooh," said Faruza, "I guess I struck a nerve."
Faruza's boyfriend, George Churchill (victim of being named
after his super rich grandfather), slid in behind her, one arm snaking around
her waist.
"Hey babe," he said. "You gonna waste your
whole lunch here?"
She smiled up at him. "Just catching up," she said.
"Actually," said Jason, "she was insulting my girlfriend."