Whispering Hearts (26 page)

It was ready. All she had to do was place the bait.

Her.

Chapter Thirty-One

The air grew heavier by the second, charged with energy like the moment before lighting struck. Goose bumps ran over Garrett's skin. With each design Rachel traced on the mirror, he felt it thicken.

And she was smiling.

That unnerved him most of all. The way she smiled into the mirror, like she was daring Michael to come. Daring him to do his worst.

Taunting him didn't seem wise. Almost everyone Garrett cared about was on the line.

What Finn must be going through, having that sick fuck playing around in his head. And Jazz trying to help Finn through it, sounding like her heart was being dragged across razorwire in the process.

Elsa and Dante were somewhere hiding behind a line of salt with Winston and Leo. Damn, even their cat wasn't safe. And it wouldn't end with his circle of friends. For Rachel, it might not end at all.

He could sense she was keeping things from him. Trying to protect him. But that just left him with his wild imaginings.

What if they failed and Michael managed to take them all out? Could he grab her spirit and keep it from moving on? She had mentioned Michael's other victims, that he was already tormenting them on the other side. There was no way Michael would let Rachel go if he had any say in it.

Garrett thought he might be sick, his nerves were so bad. He fought the bile in his throat back down. There was no way he would lift that toilet seat after what Rachel had implied. He imagined a rattler springing out and hitting him in the face, or dozens of scorpions crawling from under the lid.

The thought made him shiver. What Rachel did next made it worse.

Reaching out to the counter beneath the mirror, she drew her finger through the line of salt, breaking it.

Garrett shifted so that he stood behind her, ready to help however he could. Their reflections caught his attention. He outlined her perfectly, framed her smaller form, but didn't dwarf it. The result was harmonious. Balanced. It calmed him to think of how perfectly they fit together.

He had seen pictures of auras in her books. The image was almost the same as what he was seeing. It gave him faith.

He was going to protect her. They were going to get through this. All of them.

He rested his hands on her shoulders and sucked in a breath as their bond blew through him, electrified him. She was radiating power.

Garrett's eyes were tingling and he blinked a few times. The mirror was illuminated—all the symbols she had traced glowing with a faint silver light. He had no idea what they meant, but felt a tug, like he was looking into a pit instead of sideways into a mirror.

But not a mirror. Not anymore.

Their reflections and the room around them blurred and vanished. Instead, the glass was filled with gray fog and dark shadows.

Holy shit…

His disorientation grew worse as a silhouette emerged. The features were fuzzy, but gradually came into focus. Tousled blond hair, three days' stubble around a broad smile, straight nose, large eyes… Finn. But not Finn.

Those eyes were supposed to be gray. The same blue-gray as Rachel's, in fact. Instead, they glowed bright blue. Blue like the gators'. Blue like Michael's.

Garrett sensed Rachel's confusion. He shared it himself. If Michael had appeared, that would have made a sort of sense. Reflecting his soul and all that. But even possessing Finn, why would he appear that way?

Unless Michael was using more than Finn's body.

Shit!
Why hadn't Garrett thought of that before? Finn was psychic too. And from what Garrett knew, Finn's powers made him a prime target for a ghost looking to jack someone's body.

If having some sort of special anchor already gave Michael a boost, what would riding around in Finn do?

Make it easier to get in people's heads. Or animals. Make it easier for him to charm people, to connect. Especially through his hands, one of which was lifted as he reached out toward Rachel, that disarmingly charming smile on his face.

Rachel lifted her arm in return. Garrett could feel some sort of feedback loop, energy rippling out from the mirror and from Rachel as well. There was some sort of connection there, a pull that neither of them understood. But Garrett did understand that she should absolutely not touch the mirror. He grabbed her arm to hold her back.

Finn's gentle smile twisted and another face lurched toward them. Garrett could still see Finn standing in the mirror, his expression pained and his hands reaching for the translucent
thing
coming out of him. Superimposed over Finn in a sick parody of Garrett and Rachel's reflections earlier, Michael's features took shape.

In life, Michael had been handsome by any measure. Death had wiped that out. His cheeks were sunken, dark circles surrounding eyes blazing with that unholy blue light. Straw-like strands of hair floated around his face, and his teeth were serrated like a shark's. His skin was waxy and bloodless.

“Hello, Rachel,” Michael said.

He lunged at them, his face and shoulders coming out of the mirror. On this side, they looked solid. How was that possible? He reached out and locked his grip on Rachel's arms—and pulled.

She screamed, and Garrett tightened his hold on her, keeping her tight against his chest. His feet started to slide on the tile floor.

“What do I do?” Garrett yelled.

“The ball! The witch's ball!”

The…? Right.
That glass ball she'd hung in her room. It was close enough for him to reach. He wrapped his arm around her chest, keeping her pinned to him, and picked it up with his free hand.

Michael let go of one of Rachel's arms. The pull toward the mirror lessened and Garrett gained some ground, bringing Rachel with him. But it gave Michael the opening he needed.

Laughing, he swatted the ball away. It hit the floor and shattered.

“Trinkets and baubles,” he said. “Oh Rachel, I have so much to teach you once you're on the other side with me. Stop fighting it, love. We're all waiting for you.”

Then Garrett saw them—dark forms lurking behind Michael in the mirror. The ghosts of his victims.

Their spirits looked like the portraits Michael had made using their blood. Distorted bodies, faces hidden or turned away. The pain and despair Michael captured on his canvases blew out from the mirror like a cold wind, freezing Garrett down to his soul.

Police had identified a dozen different victims from DNA testing of Michael's portraits. There were more than a dozen spirits in the mirror. So many more.

Rachel began to cry. Her right arm was turning blue where Michael's spectral hand held her.

“Rachel…” Garrett's teeth were chattering. “Rachel, sweetie, I need you to focus. I know you're scared. I am too. But everyone is counting on us. Including those women. We need to help them, remember? That was always the plan.”

“The plan…” She sniffed loudly, then nodded.

Reaching up with her free hand, she dug her nails into one of the deeper cuts on her right arm. Blood welled to the surface.

Shit!
He did not know this part of the plan. His stomach churned. He stopped himself from trying to staunch the blood that ran down her arm and dripped onto the floor.

Michael smiled. “Perhaps I don't have as much to teach you as I thought. But save some fun for me.”

She let Michael pull her closer to the mirror. Garrett's instinct screamed at him to keep her away, to run, but he had to trust her—that she knew what she was doing.

When she was within reach, she slammed her hand onto the mirror, pushing most of Michael back into the glass. His features became translucent again, superimposed over Finn's.

Garrett could see that Finn's eyes were closed, his eyebrows scrunched together. He was fighting Michael's control.

“Using blood…” Michael said. “You surprise me, my love. We're an even better match than I thought.”

Rachel was gulping air. The mirror glowed where her hand touched it.

“Come to me,” Michael said. He still had his grip tight on her arm. “Come to me and I may spare you one of your friends. You may choose. Any but the good doctor. He must die, of course, for tasting your forbidden fruit. But Elsa perhaps? That dear lovable butler of hers? The cat? Your—”

Whatever he was about to say, they didn't hear it. His face contorted in agony, mouth a wide “o” with all those teeth showing. Finally, he let go of Rachel's arm, his image retreating fully into the mirror.

Finn cried out, then his reflection vanished.

Garrett's breath rushed out of him in a sob. What had happened to Finn? Was he okay? Was he…

Rachel made a straight line down the center of the mirror—a streak of red that bisected it—then stepped back, pushing against Garrett hard enough that he staggered. He struggled to keep his hold on her.

She didn't lose her balance. Feet planted, she glared at Michael in the mirror.

Michael glanced around as if he was searching for something—like maybe a way out. From how Rachel was laughing, Garrett didn't think he'd find any.

Garrett kept his hands on her shoulders as she approached the mirror again, matching his stride with hers. When Rachel spoke, her voice was eerily calm and filled with confidence.

“Ladies, find your peace,” she said. “You are free.”

Rachel ran her finger through the blood on her arm and then traced what looked like a large “M” on one side of the mirror's surface and a blocky “R” on the other.

The gray fog in the mirror began to move, forming a whirlpool. Garrett felt it pull at something deep in his gut, like his energy was trying to move toward the mirror. He felt it bump into Rachel, then settle back into him.

What the fuck…

But the dark forms in the mirror didn't have anything to block them. Some seemed to fight the current, while others swam with it. They all flowed into the center of that spiraling vortex, wherever it went.

Michael started to turn, but Rachel snapped, “Not you.”

She smeared the “M” and “R” with the heel of her palm. The swirling stopped. Only Michael and the gray fog remained before them.

The mirror changed again, the room around them coming back into focus as the fog dissipated. Garrett still couldn't see their reflection, though. Only Michael's, as if his spectral form stood in the room instead of them.

Rachel ran her fingertip through the blood on her arm again. Her face angled enough so that Garrett could see that she was smiling. It was not a kind smile.

She traced over the line bisecting the mirror. Michael's pallor intensified and he started to shimmer as if shivering. Mist rose from him, like breath on a freezing day.

“You won't be hurting anyone ever again,” Rachel whispered.

Chapter Thirty-Two

“Garrett, please hand me the trash can.”

She pointed toward the toilet without looking. Her eyes were locked on Michael's in the mirror. If she looked away, she wasn't sure what would happen. She was scared to even blink now that she finally had Michael where she wanted him.

In her periphery, she saw Garrett pick up the heavy metal bin and set it on the counter. He didn't let go of it.

“Is he trapped in the mirror?”

“For now.” For about the next thirty seconds—the last of his existence on any plane.

“Are Finn and Jazz okay?”

“I don't know.”

“Shouldn't we find out before we do anything else?”

She had to blink—she couldn't stop herself. Michael stayed in the mirror. She let out a breath of relief. At least she didn't have that to worry about. But she could feel him trying to slip out of the mirror, trying to get away.

“I don't know how long I can hold him. We can't risk him getting away.”

Garrett's voice was quiet when he said, “What are you going to do?”

She didn't want to say. But she had to.

“I'm going to end him. Eternally.”

“You freed the spirits of his victims. Can't you just—”

“I don't know where those other spirits went. I don't know what's on the other side. What if it's a revolving door and spirits are instantly reincarnated? What if he retains his memories, his personality?”

Michael smirked. “So many
what ifs
deciding my fate. I only have one question. What gives you the right to decide whether I cease to exist?”

That question could plague her for the rest of her days. But it wouldn't.

“When you chained me in your garage, you kept saying that you were God. That you decided when and how I would die.”

“And now, you do the same to me.” He made a clucking noise. “Love, we are so much more alike than I ever guessed. I truly found my match in you.”

“
Met
your match. Not found. I am the one who will end you.”

“You would really utterly destroy me? All I wanted was to immortalize those women.”

“You wanted to control them.”

“So now you control me. Does it feel good to hold my fate in your hands?”

“No.” She shook her head. “It isn't in my hands.”

For the first time, Michael looked uncertain.

“When I opened the gateway, it pulled in the other spirits,” she said. “I felt it. Felt Garrett being affected too. But not you.”

Michael's frown turned to a grimace, his lips pulling up from his teeth.

“I thought so.” Rachel nodded. “You didn't have any trouble staying right where you were. I thought it was the rune at first. Isa—ice—holding you in place. But what I felt was warmth.”

She smiled as she remembered it. Comforting energy. Restfulness and home. She hoped kindness was waiting for the spirits she had sent to the other side—a place where they could heal and rest. Maybe Hiram would be there to greet them—to help them on their journey, like he had helped Rachel.

“I felt it,” she said. Something had guided her, something beyond her intuition.

“Not your hand but the hand of Fate? Is that how you'll absolve yourself of guilt?”

“This is my choice. Whatever that force was, I choose to help it.”

She was finished sitting on the sidelines. She reached for the trash can and rested her hand on its lip. Garrett was right behind her. He hadn't said anything, but she felt the turmoil in him.

Softly she said, “You don't have to stay.”

“No, he doesn't.” Michael sneered. “But he will. He'll stay with you through the long years, thinking of how the woman sharing his bed and bearing his children was capable of destroying
a soul
. The most precious part of our existence. That you felt you had the right to decide not just between my life or death but my very existence.”

Rachel's heart picked up. She knew it was a risk. Garrett was a doctor. Sworn to help people. What she was about to do… Even with what she had sensed from the vortex, the calm encouragement that this was the right thing, she knew she would wonder what Garrett thought of her after it was done.

“The doubt on his face is beautiful,” Michael said. “The anger and the pain. And you are the one putting it there, Rachel. It's your masterpiece.”

She gripped the trash can, but Garrett wouldn't let go.

“Garrett, please trust me. I know what I'm doing.”

“I know,” he whispered.

Michael spat out, “That won't change anything. He'll never truly trust you after this, after seeing what you're capable of. You aren't the one who gets to decide when I'm done!”

“No,” Garrett said. “I am.”

He pulled her tight against his chest as he lifted the trash can out of her grasp, then smashed it into the mirror.

Rachel saw the look of disbelief and fear on Michael's features just before it hit.

Lightning fast, cracks spread over the mirror's entire surface. They seemed suspended in place for a brief second—as Michael's ghostly form exploded into mist, dissipating almost instantly.

Then the pieces of the mirror fell. Her ears rang from the sound of them striking the counter. Garrett tightened his grip on her. She could feel his heart beating against her back.

They stared at the fragments for a few moments before Garrett asked, “Is it over?”

She nodded. “Yes. He's gone.”