Rise at Twilight

by Kayla Krantz

  “Ch-Chance?” she questioned, drawing her eyebrows together as she tried to make sense of her current situation.

  She had never expected to see him again…to see anyone again and now here she was, back in the literal place of her nightmares. Her stomach sloshed, and she gagged, body ready to throw up except there was nothing to throw up. Her guts turned to a rock in her lower abdomen at the thought of being trapped here with him, and she wondered if this was Hell, a customized experience for every individual because this would certainly fit her understanding of it.

  Chance glanced at her, saw her staring, and smiled, one full and warm instead of arrogant and cocky. It was obvious he didn’t share in her discomfort as he threw his rag to the floor and approached the bed, sitting on the edge of the mattress beside her.

  Luna swallowed once, watching him through careful eyes to monitor his every move. It was hard to tell the difference between the moments when he wanted to hurt her and when he wanted to protect her. They sat like that in complete silence, just sizing each other up.

  He set his hand to her knee, and she studied his fingers, how delicate and manly they looked at the same time. In her head, she remembered back to when she had been a teenager, the first time he had attempted the move he did now, and the way she had smacked his hand away.

  Chance asked, “What do you remember?”

  “I-I died,” she said, breathing out slowly as she remembered the peaceful blackness that had engulfed her after she bled out in Chance’s arms.

  He nodded, his lips pushed into a pencil-straight, grim line that assured Luna she hadn’t imagined it.

  Luna frowned and glanced around, reaching up to swipe a lock of raven hair from her face before her gaze came back to rest on Chance. His eyebrows shot up as they gazed into one another’s eyes, and she could see the thoughts flying in his head.

  “Am I in Hell?” she asked.

  Chance cocked an eyebrow, amusement drawing on his features. “You assume it must be Hell because I’m here?”

  She shook her head and dropped her chin, suddenly finding the effort of eye contact to be too much. “No, because I’m here.”

  If this was her own Hell, Luna had earned it—an eternity of being tortured by the person she had despised the most in the world. Even though she hadn’t been in her right mind when she had done it, there was no redemption for her for killing her mother, Rose, and her friend, Amy. Sitting beside him, Chance’s hand on her knee, her mind ran through the details of their murders, the images full and colorful in her brain like she was playing back a recording.

  When she closed her eyes, she could almost feel their blood still on her hands and smell the iron tang of it in her nose. I’ll never feel clean again, she thought, and it was painful how true it was—her mind was a macabre museum of crime scene photos, all created by her own hand. The more she tried to ignore them, the more persistent they became.

  Chance recognized the glazed look in her eyes and squeezed her knee. “It’s not Hell,” he reassured her, tipping his head to the side just to make sure he caught her eyes as he said it. His tone was soothing, but for some reason, that only made her feel worse.

  Luna stared down at the bed, too many thoughts running through her mind to count. Her brain couldn’t pick a spot to even begin coping with her current situation. When she dropped her gaze, she noticed she was dressed in only her bra and a pair of shorts, and her eyes stretched wide before she looked up at Chance accusingly. Before she could say a word, Chance stood up to grab his shirt from the place he had discarded it on the floor and handed it to her.

  “I had to clean up the blood…after, well—you know,” he murmured, tilting his head to the side as Luna pulled his shirt over her head.

  She knew exactly what he meant—after he had killed her. Why can’t he say the words? she snarled inside her head as his shirt fell into place on her. It was large and the scent of his cologne made her unnaturally dizzy. She wanted to take it off and throw it across the room but convinced herself that some cover was better than the none she had had.

  “Is this DreamWorld?” she questioned, pulling her knees to her chest with another uncomfortable look around.

  Chance shrugged as he watched her. “Your guess is as good as mine. As far as I can tell, everyone with unfinished business makes a stop here at one point or other.”

  “This is where you’ve been since…you know,” she said, embarrassed that she couldn’t say the words she had chastised him for holding onto.

  He bobbed his head.

  “It’s Purgatory then,” Luna muttered, resting her chin on her knee as she looked up at him.

  “That’s what I thought too,” he said, running a finger along his jaw. “Everyone I’ve seen here, albeit that hasn’t been very many people, are all ones I know are dead. This is a world between worlds, if that makes sense.”

  Luna sighed. It didn’t make sense but neither had the last few years of her life. It made sense that her death would follow the same nonsensical pattern. It was just the natural way. Her eyes stung, and for the smallest moment, she worried she would cry, bawl her eyes out in front of Chance.

  “It’ll be tough to digest,” he murmured with an understanding bob of his head, and Luna realized she had said her thoughts out loud. “I went through the same thing for a bit. After a while, it almost seems not to matter. Sometimes, I forget I’m dead.”

  Luna sat in silence, Chance’s anxious eyes burning holes into the top of her head. If that was his idea of comfort, she wasn’t for it. She didn’t know what to say, didn’t know what to do, and most importantly, she didn’t know how to feel or if she should even be able to. Of all the things she had expected of the afterlife, this would’ve never made the list. Though she had to admit Chance’s cabin was the best representation of Hell she could’ve possibly conjured in her mind.

  “Are you going to be okay?” he asked.

  Luna wondered just how long she had gone without talking before she forced herself to say, “I-it’s a lot to take in. Being here. With you,” she said, and continued to dodge his gaze, unsure if she’d want to see the emotion there.

  He sounded kind enough for the moment, but that could change. He was good at swooping from one emotion to the next at the drop of a hat. She would never forget how he had tucked her into his bed thirty minutes after stabbing her. That kind of unpredictability was dangerous, but enough for her to know his kindness would disappear in a heartbeat if she made it clear she wanted to leave. A nagging voice in the back of her mind pulled her to thoughts she’d rather ignore. Even if he did let her go with little to no fight, that wouldn’t be the end of her troubles. She didn’t know what lie outside the cabin. Where would she go?

  Where could she go when she still wasn’t even sure of what this place was?

  Did she have her own designated place inside of it, or was the cabin all there was for her? The uncertainty made her dizzy and sick all over again. Chance watched her through wide sapphire eyes, golden eyebrows lifted in an expectant expression. Was it possible he anticipated the thoughts running through her mind? Did he suspect she would try to leave?

  He’d be a fool to think otherwise, she mused.

  Luna finally allowed herself to glance up, to let her eyes meet his, and a trembling sigh passed her lips. To say she was ‘lost’ wouldn’t even begin to explain the rift of emotions in her mind and heart. For some odd reason, the look on Chance’s face made her believe that he understood what she was going through. Possibly because she knew he had gone through it himself—his mesh of scars was proof of that.

  Chance offered her a small smile, for once free of his cocky arrogance, before he reached out to clutch her hand. “Regardless of what this place is or isn’t, I’m glad you made it,” he admitted. “It’s lonely here.”

  Luna was silent, unsure of how to respond to that. Chance had something to do with her location in the cabin, and she couldn’t help but wonder where else she could’ve ended up if he hadn’t interfered
. Would she have had her own place, crafted specifically to help her cope with her new situation? Would she have been reunited with her dead relatives? Or with Max, the man she had loved, whom Chance had slain in cold blood?

  Luna’s eyes glazed over again at the thought.

  Chance misread the expression. “But now that you’re here, you need to rest. It’s going to be a rough couple of days.”

  How long is a day when you’re dead? she thought, tempted to ask but frightened of the answer she would receive at the same time. Before she could decide whether or not to ask the question, he pulled her into a hug. His arms were strong as he pinned her tiny body against him, and she didn’t bother trying to fight her way free.

  Enemy or not, he was a body to hold, and that was enough to ease some of Luna’s loneliness—even if it was just for the second. Luna went limp in his grasp, breathing in the familiar scent of cologne with tears in her eyes as he reached up, running his hand down the length of her long raven hair. The moment had wildly different perspectives to each of them, that much she knew. He was happy, and she was sad—the way it always was when he showed physical affection for her.

  She hardly noticed his soothing words as her mind filled with everything she wanted to forget: memories both sharp and hazy. It was easy to think of the pain, the grief, and the devastation Chance had caused her over the years—the two were interlocked in her brain—yet, she couldn’t forget the way he had comforted her and stood by her side through things no one else could understand.

  When everyone else had turned their backs on her, he had still been there. That was the game, wasn’t it? Turn everyone away so she had no choice but him.

  He had twisted her. At one time in the past, he had promised to warp her mind, and he had done exactly that. For a long time, she had considered him to be her enemy then he became the only person she could rely on. When she had begun to think maybe he had a hope of redemption after all, he had killed her.

  And she had been glad he had done so.

  Life was the last thing Luna wanted anymore—she had come to that conclusion when her son, Asher, died, but now, it seemed as if even death couldn’t spare her from it. As if in a trance, she reached up to hug him back, movements slow and hesitant as if she had never moved her body before. Now that she was dead, she had no idea what his role in her life could possibly be, but the years she had endured were enough for her to know that he would always have one, even when the people she loved faded into the background.

  Chapter Four

  “ARE YOU HUNGRY?” Chance asked as he pulled away.

  The concern in his voice sent chills down Luna’s spine; she wasn’t used to it. The majority of the times she had heard his sweet voice, the one not filled with evil, was when he was committing evil—as ironic as that sounds. She frowned and nervously folded her hands in her lap. “We’re dead, we don’t need to eat.”

  He shrugged and stood up. “True, but sometimes it’s nice to go through your routine like nothing’s changed. It helps you adjust, trust me. When you’re dead, eating is more like a relaxing hobby than a necessity.”

  “Oh,” was all Luna could say.

  “You being here is short notice, so I don’t have much, but I’ll get you something anyway,” Chance said, touching Luna’s chin affectionately before he turned to leave the room.

  Luna watched him go, feeling oddly cold for the loss of his presence as she sat alone on his bed. She sniffled once, like a child with a scraped knee, and pulled her legs back up to her chest before she buried her face in her hands, trying to get a hold of her situation. Her world was spinning. She was dead, but here she was with her worst enemy, and he was getting her a snack. Even basic knowledge failed her along with her shattered belief system.

  Luna tried to distract herself by focusing on the most primary of her emotions—besides confusion, of course—but came back with nothing. She felt nothing, and for everything that had happened in this same room, she never would’ve thought that possible.

  The last time she had been here, she had been stabbed, clinging to consciousness, and Chance was the monster who had caused it all. Now that she was dead, it brought her comfort to be in a place familiar to her—anywhere familiar—even though it meant being back in her nightmares. What made it worse was that she actually wanted Chance by her side, to hold her and tell her everything would be okay.

  Despite it all, he was the one who truly understood her because he had not only taken the time to scour through her good traits, he had done the same to her bad, cherishing each half of her in the same manner simply because they were parts of her. He cared about her so much that he wouldn’t frown on her for her demons, but instead, helped her learn how to manipulate them.

  Luna buried the heels of her hands into her forehead, trying to cause herself physical pain to push out the thoughts of Chance. What’s wrong with me? She paused her thought to bite her lip, almost feeling the old scar on her stomach burn with memories. I’m dead. That’s what.

  In her life, she assumed death would be like turning off a light switch—everything would end in a flash of darkness and she would never be any the wiser—but that wasn’t the case. Chance had known that though, didn’t he? Since he had died almost a full year before her, he knew exactly what would happen to her when he decided to take her life.

  Yet, he hadn’t said a word about it.

  Was it all a trick? Luna wondered.

  If there was one thing she could say about Chance, it was that he knew how to charm people. He was a master manipulator, great at using a person’s weaknesses against them in order to control them to do his bidding. The people he couldn’t control, he killed. Luna had been the exception to that, and she had held out for as long as she could, but he crippled her with the one weakness she couldn’t fight—the death of her son.

  He had used her temporary insanity to turn her into a bloodthirsty monster and then killed her as an act of mercy. In the moment, it had seemed to be for her own good, but now, Luna wasn’t so sure. It was very possible that it had all been an elaborate plan to get her here with him, in a place where she couldn’t leave.

  “I’ve missed the way we used to be, before there were jobs and roommates. We should run away together. Away from all of it,” he had told her one time.

  Her heart twinged violently as she surveyed her surroundings. The cabin wasn’t a place designed for someone to come and go as they pleased; Chance had created it as a prison. For her. There were literal shackles in the front room and dogs designed to rip living beings apart living outside the door.

  Her gaze traveled to the door of the bedroom, which had been heavily locked during the last time she was here, but now sat open on its hinges, showing the wall of the hallway beyond. It didn’t seem as if she was a prisoner this time, but she couldn’t imagine Chance letting her simply walk out the front door either.

  Especially not if her suspicions were true. He had gone through a lot to get her here.

  Another thought crossed her mind. If she was in DreamWorld, did that mean all of her fallen friends and family were here too? Could she see Max again? Violet? Asher? What about her parents? Or had they all simply passed through this Realm and onto their next stop in the afterlife chain?

  How does it work? Luna wondered. If this is only Purgatory, is there a way to bypass it?

  She rolled her lip between her teeth, running through a list of things she would say if she ever got to see any of her lost loved ones again. She wanted to believe that death would wipe the slate and that everything from before would be forgotten. As she moved from person to person in her mind, she froze when she reached the imaginary conversation she would have with her mother.

  After what she had done, would Rose even want to see her? Luna’s nose twitched, and an internal dilemma blossomed, making her wonder just how awful of a person she really was. If her parents never forgave her, she could be fine with that—they were the last people she ever wanted to see again. When they had all been al
ive, Rose and David had never made much of an effort to be involved in Luna’s life, to make her feel as if they cared about her, and she could imagine things wouldn’t change now, even after everything.

  I’m better without them, she thought, and for as sad as that thought was, it was also true. Living under her father’s roof in high school, she had wondered many times if her life would’ve been better as an emancipated teen or simply living out on the streets away from his oppression. She had always taken more care of herself than her father did.

  That brought her to another idea, one she didn’t want to consider but had to just the same. If her dead loves ones were here, were all the people she had killed—Kylie, Amy, and Michelle—somewhere in this place as well?

  That’s the most feasible option, she thought to herself glumly. People with unfinished business were the most likely to be trapped in Purgatory. Lives ended under violent circumstances certainly fit that guideline. It was where poltergeists came from, wasn’t it?

  “It’s not much, but here’s what I could round up,” Chance’s voice filled the room, and Luna jumped as she realized he was already beside her.

  Luna looked up from her hands and saw he clutched a plate with a sandwich and a cup of tea. She relaxed her legs, letting her feet swing over the edge of the mattress as she gratefully took the tea and chugged the cold liquid as Chance sat beside her. Her parched throat felt slightly better as he set the plate on her lap, raising an eyebrow as she passed him back the empty cup.

  “W-why are you being so nice to me?” she asked, staring at the green plate instead of him.

  “It’s the least I can do,” he replied.

  Luna pursed her lips, her earlier accusations still buzzing in her head. She wanted to scream them at him, to throw the plate against the wall, and revel in the fury of a moment of pure chaos. She was catatonic instead, her violent mind completely hidden by the lifeless expression on her face.

  “Because you killed me,” she said finally. His words had been so guilty that her speculation vanished—she knew she had been played for a fool.