Into the Light

by Patti, Caroline T.

  Since I’m the one who hid the spare key when they moved in, I find it quickly. The door sticks when I try to open it, so I have to nudge it with my shoulder. Nathaniel complained about the door when he and Gage first moved in. I explained quirks like a sticky door are part of the house’s charm. He responded by rolling his eyes at me.

  The house is quiet and empty. I don’t bother flipping on any lights as I wander aimlessly from room to room. Gage and Nathaniel haven’t lived here long, but in that short time, they’ve managed to make it a home. A messy home, but still. The living room is comfortable and cozy. Shoes are under the coffee table; a blanket is tossed over the back of the couch. There’s a plate with a half-eaten sandwich, a half-empty glass of water—so many signs of life.

  Down the hall, I pass Nathaniel’s room. My heart aches to go inside, but knowing he’s not there, knowing if I go in there I’ll be consumed with regret and loneliness, makes me keep walking. Gage’s room feels less threatening, so I settle there. The bed is unmade, and it sags a bit when I sit on the corner. Gage’s room is neatly arranged: bed, dresser, nightstand, big slouchy chair in the corner. His leather jacket is strewn across it.

  I miss him. I miss them both. And I feel like I’m going to cry again, which makes me want to scream, so I scoot farther onto the bed, nestle into the pillows, and try to fall asleep before the tears start.

  “Finding you on Gage’s bed isn’t exactly a dream of mine.” Nathaniel is standing in the doorway, propped up against the frame, hands in the pockets, one foot crossed over the other.

  “Nathaniel!” I fly off the bed and fling myself at him.

  “Mercy.” He breath is hot on my neck.

  “How?” I ask, still wrapped tightly around him.

  “I don’t know,” he says.

  His hands work their way from my back to the sides of my face. I lean into his touch and close my eyes. My hands drop to his hips. I know exactly where this leading, and that I should slam hard on the breaks, but I can’t make myself.

  Opening my eyes to take him in, I say softly, “I’m sorry.”

  Confusion alters his expression. “For what?”

  “For saying that you should’ve let yourself die. I never wanted … I didn’t mean …” I can’t finish my thought.

  His lips brush against mine, and I know he forgives me.

  “I thought you’d hate me forever,” I say.

  “I could never hate you.”

  “There’s so much I need to tell you,” I say as his fingers brush through my hair.

  “We have all the time in the world.”

  “We don’t. Nathaniel—”

  His lips engulf my words. I stand on my tiptoes to reach him fully. He helps me along by picking me up and pressing me to him. Kissing leads to an explosion of light and color behind my eyes, and I forget all about the important things I wanted to say.

  I’m not quite sure how we make it to Nathaniel’s room. The windows are open, and the smell of rain wafts through the air. The persistent patter makes for the perfect background noise as we curl into each other on the bed. I’ve never been in such a compromising position before, and suddenly I’m very aware of myself. I want to be touching him the right way and responding to him correctly and I worry that I’m not enough until I hear him moan.

  That one sound is like a green light. Once I hear it, engines rev, and the race is on. We fumble around buttons and buckles until we’re skin to skin. His kisses against my bare shoulder curl my toes. But there’s nothing more intoxicating than the swirl of his tongue in my mouth.

  Nathaniel is beautiful. His collarbone, chest, abs—all of it is flawless. Despite this, he feels completely human beneath my touch. It makes my heart knock against my ribs every time he reacts to my touch. Nathaniel’s breath is as labored as mine as we continue to consume one other.

  Of course every girl imagines her first time, but other than knowing I’d have one, I’ve never given it much thought. I didn’t think about the where or the who, only how embarrassing it would be to let someone see me naked. And though I’m sure Nathaniel is taking in every inch of me, I don’t feel a hint of shame. In this moment I know that I am his and he is mine and we are everything to each other.

  Sometime after, still tangled together, we drift off to sleep. And for the first time in a long time, I forget that my whole world is a disaster, and I simply live in this one, wonderful moment.

  “Mercy.”

  I hear my name being called softly.

  “Mercy.”

  My shoulder shakes.

  Languidly, I open my eyes. Gage is standing over me. Startled, I sit up and grab sheets to cover myself, and that’s when I see I’m fully clothed. I’m in Gage’s bed, in Gage’s room, and nothing makes sense.

  “Gage?”

  “Are you okay?” he asks me. “Have you been here all night?”

  Daylight streams through the window.

  “I guess.” I swing my legs over the side of the bed. “Where’s Nathaniel?”

  Gage exhales. “Still in Toby’s body. I stopped by the hospital on my way here. There’s been no change.”

  “No.” I shake my head. “I saw him.”

  “Nathaniel? When?”

  “Last night.” I try to swim through the confusion. “He was here.” I gather myself together and race down the hall.

  The door to Nathaniel’s room is closed.

  “No,” I whisper. I open the door and step inside. The bed is neatly made, curtains drawn, windows closed. “No,” I say again.

  “Mercy? What’s going on?”

  “I don’t know,” I say frantically. “It felt so real. It had to be real.”

  But it wasn’t.

  I sink down onto Nathaniel’s bed. Gage stands in front of me. I bury my face in my hands.

  “Gage, do you take cream in your coffee?”

  My head snaps up, and I see Justice standing in the doorway, two to-go cups of coffee in her hands.

  “Oh. Hey, Mercy. I didn’t know you were here.”

  If I was confused before, I’m downright befuddled now. Slowly, I stand. I look back and forth between them, and my head spins. “What’s going on?” I ask Gage.

  “We—,” Justice starts.

  “We?”

  “Let me explain,” Gage tries. “It’s not what it looks like.”

  “It’s exactly what it looks like,” Justice mumbles.

  My eyes nearly pop from my head. “What?”

  Gage charges to the door, a slight limp to his gait, and ushers Justice out of my line of vision. I can hear their voices, but I don’t know what they’re saying. A few moments later, I hear what I assume are Justice’s annoyed footsteps followed by the door slamming.

  When Gage returns, he is wearing a sheepish look. I didn’t notice before that his jeans are ripped and he’s not wearing a shirt under his leather jacket.

  Folding my arms across my chest, I say, “You two seem quite cozy together. Are you friends now or something?”

  “She saved my life.”

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Gage

  “What happened?” Mercy asks. She’s pissed. Her shoulders are rigid and her posture unyielding.

  “I lost you at the warehouse,” I start. “And then I got shot.”

  Mercy sucks in a breath, and her expression changes to concern. She may be angry, but at least she still feels compassion for me, and that’s something.

  “I’m fine. Now.” I swallow and brace myself for the difficult part. “I mean, I’ll heal, thanks to Justice. She got me out of there. And she’s the one who made sure Toby got help.”

  “Why would she do that?” Mercy asks snidely.

  “She’s trying to make up for getting off to a rocky start with us.”

  “Rocky start?” Mercy laughs. The sound is unkind. “Is that what we’re calling it?”

  “She wants to make things right.”

  “Isadora made her from a rib she tore out of my body!” Mercy is liv
id, seething. “Or have you forgotten that already?”

  “I haven’t, actually. I was made the same way.”

  “That’s different,” Mercy says adamantly, but I can tell she doesn’t really believe it. Her mouth is scrunched and her eyebrows are stitched together like she’s trying to make an argument she knows she can’t win.

  “There’s something I have to tell you,” I say, knowing that I’m treading on thin ice. If seeing Justice set her off, what I’m about to say will send her over the edge. I clear my throat. “Justice took me to Isadora. Your mother was there.”

  Mercy looks ready to do battle. “Isadora has my mother?”

  “It’s not like that,” I saying, trying to diffuse her anger. “They’re working together.” A strange look flashes across Mercy’s face, one I can’t quite read. “What is it?” I ask.

  “Nothing,” she says, but I don’t believe her. “Just tell me what’s going on.”

  “They told me about Lucas Church, how he’s really the one behind all this, and how they’ve been running from him their whole lives.”

  Mercy leans forward and lowers her head.

  I keep going. “They told me how he manipulated them, hunted them.”

  “Lucas Church didn’t have me thrown in jail and practically tortured,” Mercy says hatefully. “Isadora did.”

  “Only because she couldn’t let him know that she wasn’t on his side. Isadora has been Lucas’s right hand this whole time, but she’s tired of it. She’s finally broken free.”

  “Gage.” Mercy exhales deeply and shakes her head. “I already know all of this. I talked to Lucas.”

  “What? When?”

  “He pulled me from the warehouse.”

  I know from her slumped shoulders and sad expression that whatever happened isn’t good.

  “It’s such a long story,” Mercy starts. “But here are the highlights. He wants me to kill all of you. He actually used the same argument I did to try and convince me, that Breachers shouldn’t exist, that no one should have this much power. He said we have to reset the balance of things, that in order to make everything right, in order to make sure no more innocent people die, I have to be the one to end it all.” Mercy runs her hands along her thighs. “Oh,” she says like she’s just remembering, “I didn’t get the water to save Nathaniel, so he’s stuck in Toby, apparently.”

  “If he wants us all dead, why doesn’t he just do it himself?”

  “I get the feeling he doesn’t exactly like to get his hands dirty, so it won’t be him that comes for us.”

  “Wait,” I say, her words registering. “You didn’t agree to kill us?”

  Mercy scowls. “Do you really think that little of me? I was willing to sacrifice myself, not all of you. And because I won’t he’s going to have us killed.”

  “We can fight,” I say, determined.

  “What for?”

  “What for? Did you really just ask that?”

  “You don’t understand.” She pushes her hair back from her face. “He told me that my mother and Isadora were working together, that they’ve been working together this whole time. I didn’t want to believe him,” she points at me, “but you basically confirmed it. No, they didn’t intend for Breachers to exist, that was an accident, but it doesn’t change anything. Nathaniel and my mother are still killing people whenever they need a recharge. And because I’m not willing to stop them, I’m no better than they are. We’re not the righteous in this situation, Gage. We’re the damned. And we probably deserve whatever’s coming to us.”

  “You’re not damned.”

  “Aren’t I?” Mercy laughs nervously. “I have two choices. I can kill my mother and Nathaniel and sentence them to Purgatory, or I can let them live, allowing countless others to die in their place. Sounds pretty dammed to me.”

  “We will find a way.”

  Mercy jumps to her feet. “Jesus Christ! Do you hear yourself? There is no good way out of this. We’re all going to die, either by my hand or Lucas’s. We can’t win!”

  I don’t want to believe her. These can’t be our only choices. There has to be something we can do, something we haven’t thought of yet. My life can’t be over before I’ve even begun to live it.

  I never expected to be human, never would’ve chosen this life, but now that I have it, I’m not ready to let go. And I’m not willing to let Mercy give up so easily either. It wasn’t that long ago that I believed just as she did—that Breachers shouldn’t exist. But look at me now. I’m protecting them, helping them, looking for a way for them to carry on in this world. When did I change my mind? When did I decide that Breachers are worthy of life?

  I don’t know what’s right anymore. All I know is that I don’t want to die.

  “I’m going home,” Mercy says suddenly. “I’m tired, and I want a shower.”

  “I’ll walk you,” I offer.

  “You don’t have to.”

  “You said yourself Lucas is coming after us. Now is not the time to be splitting up.”

  “Fine.”

  Mercy doesn’t wait for me. She’s out the door before I have time to throw on some fresh clothes, grab my jacket and keys, and lock up the place. I have to jog to catch her on the sidewalk, which isn’t easy considering my injury.

  We fall into rhythm as we walk, matching each other stride for stride. I’m trying to keep my mind in the present, but I can’t help but think of Justice, of all that happened the night before. I can still practically feel her lips against mine, feel the way our bodies fit together.

  Tires squeal in the distance. Mercy and I both freeze.

  “They’re here,” she says, her voice trembling. “Lucas’s men. I can feel it. They’re coming. We have to move.” She tugs my arm, and we take off running.

  Behind us, footsteps stomp the sidewalk. I steal a glance over my shoulder, and sure enough, there are two men chasing us, and they’re gaining fast.

  Mercy and I sprint. My wounded leg protests, but I ignore the stabbing sensation and keep moving. We make it to her street. I can see her house in the distance. If we can just get inside, we might have a chance.

  When we get there, I race up the steps with Mercy on my heels and use my shoulder to shove the door open. It doesn’t budge. “It’s locked!”

  “There’s a key under the flowerpot!” Mercy drops to her knees and crawls to the row of pots. She flips each one over until she finds the one she’s looking for. A silver key, outlined in dirt, is under the last pot. “Here.” She tosses me the key, and I quickly jam it into the lock. “Gage! Hurry!”

  The two men have made it to her yard. The door finally gives way just as shots explode through the air. We duck inside. Slamming the door behind us, I lock it. The front window shatters as a storm of bullets pelt the house leaving a gaping hole.

  We drop to the floor. I crouch above Mercy, sheltering her with my body. What I wouldn’t give for a gun or even knife right now. “Kitchen!” I yell, and Mercy nods understanding.

  We crawl. Thank God Ariana likes to cook. There is an ample supply of scary-looking cutlery at our disposal. Bullets continue to rain down on the living room as we make our way back. Using the sofa as a shield, I set up and wait for my moment.

  There’s a brief pause in the firing, and that’s when I stand and throw two knives in quick succession. I hear a moan and a body hit the ground. We are down to one attacker, and he’s making use of the giant hole in the front of Mercy’s house. Glass crunches under his feet as he enters the room.

  Mercy throws her knife, but it flies past him. He smiles wickedly at us, aims, and fires. We flatten ourselves to the floor just in time. I can feel Mercy trembling beside me. She looks at me, terror in her eyes. I pull her against my chest and hold her there while we wait to be slaughtered.

  “Mercy!” A voice calls from the front yard. “Mercy!”

  “No, no, no,” Mercy whispers against me as we both realize the direness of the situation. Her father is here.

  I hav
e to move. Leaving Mercy, I leap from our hiding spot and hurl myself at the gunman who is pivoting toward Mercy’s dad. I land on his back and wail on him with all my might. The gun fires once, twice, three times before I’m able to choke him to death.

  He slips from my grasp and falls to the floor. I kick his gun away from his hand.

  Screaming comes from all directions: in front of me, behind me—it’s practically in surround sound.

  Mercy’s dad lies on the front porch, a puddle of blood pooling beneath him. His eyes are rolled back into his head, his mouth wide open. Ariana is leaning over him, pleading with him to wake up, but he’s gone.

  I look back at Mercy. She’s holding her head and shaking it back and forth, her mouth wide open. I rush to her, lock her in my arms, and hold her against me. Her shoulders shake as she sobs heavily.

  Suddenly, she stiffens, shoves me off and trudges, wobbling and unsteady, to where the body lies. Dropping to her knees, Mercy takes her father’s hand and presses it to her cheek. “Please, Daddy. Please don’t leave me.”

  Sirens wail in the distance. Someone must’ve called the police. I squat next to Mercy and put my hand on her shoulder, but I can’t tell if she even knows I’m there.

  Seconds later, several squad cars come to a screeching halt in front of the house. Police officers hustle toward us and yell for us to raise our hands. I comply, but Mercy and Ariana aren’t paying any attention. The officers cautiously approach and assess the scene. One goes to Ariana and forcibly lifts her away from Eric’s body. Ariana fights against him until she’s wrenched free.

  Not wanting Mercy to suffer the same fate, I hold her by the shoulders and gradually pull her away. She doesn’t struggle. I bring her to Ariana, and they cling to each other while officers begin to process the scene.

  Once things have calmed down some, the questions begin. I tell them a version of the truth: how Mercy and I had just gotten home, how we sensed something was off, and that’s when they started shooting at us. When they ask me why, I tell them I have no idea. There’s no way they’re ever going to piece this together, so let them try to fill the holes in my story.

  The officers are extremely patient with both Mercy and Ariana. They want us to come down to the station, and though I try to protest, they basically tell us we have no choice.