Forgiven

by Gina Detwiler

  “You can’t curse someone who’s already cursed.”

  I push her aside and throw the door open.

  Stairs to a basement. A bad smell. Oh, God, no. She’s dead already. I can’t feel her and can’t hear her heart. I barrel down the stairs.

  The evil in this place is nearly stifling. I pause on the bottom step, unable to move further—the oppression and the stench overpower my senses. I scan the room—shelves lined with skulls, tables of bizarre artifacts and candles, and a cauldron filled with bones. A dressed-up skeleton with a crown dominates a scene that resembles a horror movie.

  But I don’t see Grace.

  She isn’t here.

  The woman rushes down the stairs, yelling and still cursing me.

  “Where is Grace?” I demand.

  Her mouth falls open when she sees the basement is empty, and she begins to rant in Spanish. I make out a name—Pedro.

  Torega stumbles down the steps, holding his broken arm. He takes one look, gasps, and races back up. I drop the machete and storm after him. I tackle him as he tries to escape out the back door, take hold of his broken arm and twist. He screams in agony.

  “Where is she?”

  Torega answers with a stream of Spanish curses. Suddenly, the front door bursts open and the SWAT team swarms in, shouting. I release the man and put my hands in the air as they charge into the kitchen, their guns trained on us. An officer knocks me to the floor and presses his knee into my back.

  “I’m with you guys,” I say.

  Beranski arrives and barks at the SWAT guy to let me up. Another has Torega pinned down.

  “What the heck happened?” Beranski asks me.

  “She’s not here,” I say.

  His face reddens. “I told you, didn’t I?”

  “She was here. This is the right house. She must have escaped.”

  “From a basement?”

  “There’s a broken window. Find her. More men out there. Torega wouldn’t be here with only two guys.”

  Beranski barks orders to the SWAT team leader. “Search the other houses and that garage out back. The girl is 10-57. Find her before they do.”

  43: Brave

  Grace

  Pedro and I crawl along the back of the house where tangled, leafless thorn bushes scratch our faces. Bits of glass from the broken window are embedded in my skin and hair. The warmth of seeping blood trickles down my cheek, but I cannot pause to wipe it away. I have to focus—focus.

  The boy’s breath comes loud and fast and I want to tell him to be quiet. The fear is almost paralyzing. I pause to peer into the backyard. It’s fairly empty except for a firepit. A tall fence surrounds the property and a dilapidated garage takes up one corner.

  “We need to get over the fence,” I whisper.

  “They will see us!”

  “We have to take the risk. There’s no other way out. Follow me.”

  He shakes his head, frozen in terror. “No. No.”

  “Pedro, if they find you—”

  “There are guards…everywhere,” he mutters. “They will see us.”

  “Then we move fast. The police are nearby. I promise!”

  He refuses. I must do this alone. I crawl on my belly across the scant, muddy grass, passing the fire pit, which is filled with ash and the remains of bones. The fence suddenly seems a long way off but at least it’s darker around the edge of the property. I continue my low crawl, focused only on my freedom, praying for invisibility.

  “Don’t move, witch.”

  I freeze when something cold and hard presses into my neck. A heavy boot kicks me onto my back. I stare into the face of a young, bearded man holding an assault rifle.

  “Where do you think you’re going?” His accent is American. “Get up.” I rise slowly to my feet, my hands open. He looks me over and his eyes narrow as he gives me a leering grin. “Move.” He tilts his head toward the house and shoves me hard. I exaggerate my stumble, desperate to prolong this death march. I turn to him, drop to my knees, clasp my hands together.

  “Please,” I say. “If you let me go, I’ll pay you. My father is very rich. I’ll give you whatever you want.”

  I keep babbling in an attempt to stall him and to keep his eyes away from Pedro hiding in the thorn bushes.

  To my relief, the man pauses to consider my offer. Holding my breath, I wait for him to decide my fate.

  “You’re lying,” he says finally. “Move.” He pulls me to my feet and spins me around to face the house.

  Suddenly, there’s light everywhere, shining in my eyes and almost blinding me. Angels? But no—searchlights rove the yard. A voice bellows over bullhorns. “Throw down your weapon!” Commotion erupts inside the house—screams and shouts and breaking doors.

  The man grabs me by my shirt and hauls me toward the garage. He pulls the door up halfway and drags me inside. I break free and throw myself against the slowly descending door but he’s stronger. He pushes me to the floor, slams the door closed, and turns the locking handle.

  I lie on the floor, panting. A lightbulb swings on a chain overhead, illuminating the space. The garage is filled with crates and boxes.

  I hear a whimper and turn to see two small children huddled in the corner, sitting on a filthy blanket. Their clothes are ragged and their bare legs are covered in bruises. When I look at them, they shrink back and hide their faces.

  The man with the rifle is pressed to the garage door, listening to the shouting outside. Clearly, a raid is going on. I say a prayer of thanks. They found me.

  “Who are these children?” I ask the man. “What are they doing here?”

  “Shut up.” He brandishes the rifle at me. But he doesn’t need to answer. I know exactly what he’s been doing. I forget my fear in the rage that builds inside me.

  “They will find you,” I say. “You should surrender now. They’ll go easier on you if you do that.”

  “Shut up!”

  “Of course, when they realize what you’ve done with these children, they’ll lock you up for the rest of your life and throw away the key. But that’s nothing compared to what God has in store for you.”

  “I said shut up or I’ll kill you!” The man trembles and wipes his mouth.

  I crawl over to the girls, who huddle together, trembling, eyes wild.

  “It’s okay,” I whisper. “They’re coming to help you. They will take you home…”

  Scuffles outside are followed by a rattle as someone tries to open the door. Muffled dialogue ensues. “Locked!” “Stand back. We’re breaking it down!” A second later, something huge and heavy slams into the door from the other side. The girls whimper as it splinters.

  I get to my feet, ready to run. My captor rushes over, grabs me around the neck and holds the gun one-handed against my head.

  “Get back or I’ll shoot!” he shouts as a SWAT officer climbs through the hole. The officer aims his rifle at the man who holds me, shouting at him to release me. The muzzle of my captor’s gun bores into my neck, choking off my windpipe. He threatens to kill me if the SWAT officer comes any closer. They continue to yell back and forth, neither one conceding. My body goes limp with fear. Stars spangle my vision. The little girls cry.

  I pray. God save me. A simple plea. Give me strength. Courage. One last time. I gather whatever strength I can muster and I stomp on the man’s foot while I reach up and shove the gun barrel upward. An explosion rips into my ear. Everything turns white, then red, then black.

  ***

  I’m not dead.

  I know this because I see the face of the SWAT officer looming over me. He definitely doesn’t look like an angel.

  “You okay?”

  His words are muddled by a loud ringing in my ear. I nod.

  “That was the stupidest move I’ve ever seen,” he says. “And the bravest.”

  He helps me to my feet. My head swoons, a warmth runs down the side of my head. My ear is bleeding. Pain knifes my skull. My captor is on the ground, hands cuffed behind h
is back. Other officers are tending to the two children.

  “Let’s get you fixed up.” The SWAT officer escorts me to an ambulance. Jared is already there. He gasps when he sees me—I must look pretty bad.

  “I’m fine,” I say. I’m shaking, I’m bloody, I’m in shock, but I’m fine.

  He pulls me into his arms, and I know by the fierce trembling of his body that he’d feared I was dead.

  I lie on the gurney in the ambulance while a paramedic dresses my wounded ear and tends to the scratches and cuts on my face and arms. She seems too young for her job, with multi-colored hair and many piercings. Jared sits beside me, holding my hand, answering her non-stop questions.

  “Your ear’s going to ring for a few days,” she shouts, snapping her gum. “Don’t worry about it. You’ll be fine.”

  Detective Beranski comes in to see how I’m doing.

  “Heard you took down a guy with a gun to your head,” he says. He has to repeat himself when Jared tells him to speak up. “Marconi said you were pretty good at dodging bullets.”

  “I’ve had a lot of practice,” I reply. “Did you find Pedro?”

  “Yeah, he’s fine. We have him in custody. He’s talking. Turns out it’s the woman who’s the head of the operation.”

  “What? You’re kidding.”

  “Nope. They call her Mama Rosita. She’s not talking. Neither is Torega. Not that they have to. We’ve seen enough. The product stashed in that garage will put her and her son away for life. And shut down the cartel, at least for a time.”

  “They said La Parca was coming to witness…the ritual.”

  “Really? Interesting.” The detective smirks. “Although I doubt it. Maybe one of your friends called Torega and told him that? To stall him?”

  I glance at Jared, who shrugs. “Could be.”

  “What about those two little girls?” I ask.

  “We’re looking for their families,” says Beranski. “It’s a thing with these cartels, kidnapping children.”

  “Grace!” Penny appears at the back of the ambulance with Silas in tow. She tries to get in but the paramedic stops her.

  “Hang on, there’s no room in here. She’ll be out in a minute.”

  As soon as I step down from the ambulance Penny and Silas throw their arms around me.

  “Thank God you’re all right,” Silas says. “Ripley said he lost your signal. We thought—”

  “How did you find me?” I ask Beranski.

  “Ask your boyfriend,” the detective says with a derisive chuckle. “Cause I have no idea.”

  “You need to tear this house down,” Penny tells him. “Bulldoze it.”

  He regards her, one eyebrow arched. “I’ll see what I can do.”

  ***

  It was Ralph’s idea to call Torega. He had Mace pretend to be one of La Parca’s henchmen. Torega fell for it. Maybe Mace isn’t a traitor after all. The detective told us later that Rosa Negro shut down their operation in Buffalo virtually overnight. One cartel down, a dozen to go. But it’s a beginning.

  The drug sting made the papers, but Beranski kept my name out of it, as promised. Torega and his mother are being held without bail. Pedro was given immunity in exchange for his testimony. Beranski put in a request to have the house condemned and demolished—surprisingly, it was granted. We took the PsychoVan over to Babcock to watch the bulldozers destroy Torega’s shrine forever.

  In the weeks after, we return to some semblance of normal. We move back into the Lighthouse and re-open the bike shop. Penny goes back to school. The weather warms. The last of the crusty, blackened snow disappears. The raid becomes a dusty nightmare in the back of my mind, stacked with all the others that lurk there. Even the ringing in my ear has stopped.

  One warm evening, Jared and I take a blanket up to the Mansion and have a picnic in what once was Ralph’s library. We spread the blanket and eat cheese and crackers and drink Loganberry—well, I do. Jared tells me more about his journey with Mike, about Jonna and the ship, and about the bizarre and beautiful house in Iceland. I sense he leaves a lot of stuff out. But I figure that in time, he will be able to tell me all of it.

  “Jared,” I say. “I want to get married.”

  He nearly chokes on his cracker. “What?”

  “You heard me.”

  “Grace, you know we can’t.”

  “Why not? You love me, right? And I love you. That’s what people in love do. They get married.”

  “Not us.”

  “You don’t want to marry me?”

  “I do. I mean, I would if—”

  “If you weren’t a Nephilim.”

  He sighs, lies back on the blanket, and stares at the moon. I watch his face, the subtle clenches in his jaw, and the faint glow of his eyes. He has told me what the Nephilim he encountered in Norway looked like, and that he would eventually become like them. But it doesn’t matter to me. I won’t live to see it. And maybe he won’t either. I don’t care about the future. Or the past. I only want the now.

  “Ralph won’t go along with it.”

  “We’re adults, Jared. We don’t need his consent. Not that we shouldn’t ask him. I love Ralph. He’s been a guardian, a father to both of us. I respect his opinion but…this is our decision.” He doesn’t respond. “Look at me.” I knee my way over to him. “My legs are fine now. Since the Abyss. Something did happen to me there. I’m not sure what, but my legs are healed. And you’ve been healed too. We’re different than we were.”

  He rolls over on his side and looks me in the eyes. “Are you sure you want to do this?”

  “Yes! I want it more than anything. Jared, will you marry me?”

  He smiles. “Aren’t I supposed to ask you that?”

  “Okay, then, ask me. I’ll pretend I wasn’t expecting it.” I gaze up at the moon and whistle under my breath.

  “Grace Fortune, will you marry me?”

  “What? Are you kidding? I thought you’d never ask!” I tackle him, wind my arms around his neck, and kiss him hard. “Tomorrow.”

  “Tomorrow? Isn’t that a little soon?”

  “Okay, then, the day after tomorrow. What are you doing on Saturday?”

  He hesitates, and perhaps that should have made me wonder. About the things he still hasn’t told me. Does he love me like I do him? Can he love me? After all, Nephilim aren’t supposed to have feelings. At least, not feelings that are unselfish, like love. I keep telling myself he isn’t what he used to be. He’s changed. My love changed him. And God’s love.

  “I…need to get a ring…” he murmurs, stumbling over the words.

  I laugh. “I have it covered.” I pull two rubber band rings out of my pocket. “I made them myself. Penny showed me how.” I put one of them on his finger. It’s yellow and purple and mine is blue and pink. He stares at his ring, silent. I frown. “What’s wrong?”

  “You know…we can’t…really be married, don’t you? Like…”

  “I know that,” I say. “I mean, I know it won’t be like a normal marriage. But it’s okay. I won’t ask that of you.”

  “But…don’t you want to do this properly? Like with a party and a wedding dress? Are you really sure—”

  “I’m sure. I’m sure I’m sure. I’m sure I’m sure I’m sure. Is that enough sureness for you? We need to do this, Jared.”

  “What if God disagrees?”

  “Let’s ask him.” I clasp my hands together. “Heavenly Father, if you don’t want us to get married, say so. In a big way. Amen.” I open one eye and look at Jared. “How was that?”

  “Okay, I guess.” He grins despite himself.

  “I love you, Jared. Love can’t be wrong, can it?”

  44: Us

  Jared

  I have agreed to marry Grace.

  Of course, I should have said no. There is so much she doesn’t know. And yet I want to believe, as she does, that this will make everything all right. That despite what I am and what I will become, we can have a life together.

&nbs
p; We go back to the Hobbit Hole and she makes the announcement.

  “When did all this come about?” Ralph asks. His gaze falls on me, but I can’t meet it.

  “Just now,” Grace says. “Well, it’s been on my mind for a long time. After Jared came back, I started to worry that something might happen and we’d be separated. And then with the Torega thing—I don’t want to waste any more time.”

  “Well,” Emilia says with a happy sigh. “I’ll finally get to use my wedding cake recipe. I do love wedding cake.”

  “Have you talked to your father?” Ralph asks.

  “I will when I get home.”

  “You realize that a wedding is a public event.”

  “Celebrities get married all the time without anyone knowing until after,” Grace points out. “We’ll go to the courthouse tomorrow and fill out the paperwork. And then get married the next day before word gets out.”

  “You forget that Jared is a citizen of Canada, which means he has to file for a change of status. That could take weeks.”

  Grace seems deflated by this information. “Then we won’t bother with the paperwork part. It doesn’t matter what New York State thinks, anyway. It’s not like we’ll file joint taxes or have kids or anything.” She glances at me when she says this. A heaviness fills my chest.

  “Marriage is a sacred commitment.” Ralph stammers a little. He’s really flummoxed. “With or without a license. It is more than a promise. It is a covenant that requires a great deal of thought and preparation and—”

  “Of course,” Grace says. “We understand that. But we are both adults, and we know what we’re doing.”

  Do we?

  “Why don’t you talk to Silas,” Ralph says. “We can discuss this in the morning.”

  She sighs. “Fine, but I’m not changing my mind.”

  ***

  I go to the Lighthouse early the next morning to talk to Silas. He’s working alone in the bike shop.

  “Congratulations,” he says. I can’t tell if he means it.