Demons

by Heather Frost

  “Kate!” Aaron yelled loudly, though he was leaning right over me now, crouched at my side.

  I blinked quickly and struggled to sit up. Aaron grabbed my arm and helped pull me to my feet. I flinched in pain and wrapped a trembling arm around my stinging ribs. I felt a little unsteady, and I was grateful for Aaron's strong grip. And then I saw Patrick, slumped against the tree trunk that he'd been dragged against, blood pouring from his nose and mouth from his brutal pummeling.

  Guardians weren't supposed to bleed like that. From my experience, they were healed almost as soon as the injury had been delivered.

  They weren't supposed to be throwing up, either, but that didn't stop Patrick from gagging and doubling over, bile ripping out of his throat and pouring to the ground in a sudden torrent.

  Micah jumped back to safety, letting his arm fall midswing. He was obviously grossed out, and staying that close to Patrick wasn't worth the satisfaction of delivering another punch.

  The football player that had been holding Patrick's shoulder and shoving him against the rough tree also reeled back, and without that support, Patrick fell to his knees, his hands flashing out to catch his body before he could fall into his pile of vomit.

  But while everyone else flinched back, I darted forward, pulling away from Aaron and wincing as my heavy footfalls jarred my aching body. I ran the few paces to his side and crouched down beside him, gripping his shoulder while his whole body heaved and shuddered.

  I held on to him tightly, watching in mute horror as he continued to retch. This isn't right! It's not right! I cried internally.

  I felt Aaron move to stand beside me, but before he could do or say anything, Patrick stopped throwing up. He breathed heavily for a moment, lifting shaking fingers to his mouth—wiping at his lips with the back of one cold, trembling hand.

  “Patrick?” I breathed, my fingers tightening their grip. “Patrick, what's wrong?”

  Slowly his head lifted, and he turned his bloody face to me. His eyes were haunted, his brow furrowed with intense pain, and his nose was still dripping blood. The cut on his lip looked especially painful, and I winced sympathetically. He pulled in a ragged but shallow breath, and as I looked into his crazed eyes, I knew that I wouldn't get an answer, no matter how hard and long I begged. Because he was as scared and clueless as I was. He couldn't give me an explanation, because he had none.

  “I need to go,” he whispered painfully. “Kate… I need to get out of here.”

  Aaron was instantly on his other side, and between the two of us we helped him gain his feet. Jaxon looked completely stunned, like he couldn't believe this had happened. I knew the feeling. One of his eyes was already swelling, but that only managed to make him look more dangerous. He rounded on Micah, who was still glaring at Patrick.

  “Dude—party's over,” Jaxon said loudly. “It's time for everyone to get lost.”

  Micah just went on glaring. He lifted a long finger at Patrick, his eyes darkly menacing. “This isn't over. Next time your girlfriend won't be around to save you. And, trust me, it'll be a lot worse.”

  Aaron grunted. “Back off, Micah. You've just kicked around a guy who's sick. Congratulations.”

  Patrick's eyes closed tightly, and I knew he was fighting another wave of pain and queasiness. He needed to get to a bed. I completely ignored Micah and the other people standing around, instead focusing on helping Patrick walk toward the open back door. Aaron followed my lead, and we silently made our way around the enraged quarterback, not even sparing him another glance. He wasn't worth it.

  Before we got too far, Jaxon came up beside us, quietly pointing out a side gate. “It's better than going through the house,” he said.

  We changed our course, and he wordlessly offered to take my place as Patrick's support. I just shook my head, and Jaxon moved ahead of us to get the gate. No one moved or spoke behind us, and we slowly made our escape.

  We were crossing the front yard when Patrick spoke levelly. “The keys are in my pocket, Aaron.”

  My ex-boyfriend reached into Patrick's wide pocket without hesitation, snagging the key ring and pulling it out easily. He pressed the unlock button, and all the doors hummed shortly in answer. Jaxon grabbed the passenger door and pulled it open, holding it while Aaron and I helped lower Patrick into the seat. He didn't take as much support as I thought he would—he seemed to be regaining his old strength. Not that it made me feel much better.

  “Thank you,” Patrick told Jaxon and Aaron meaningfully. For some reason, he didn't look at me. I had the feeling that he was concentrating very hard on anything but me.

  Jaxon snorted. “Yeah—because we did so much. I'm sorry about Micah. He can be a jerk without the beer, and with it, well…”

  Aaron was still seething, but his voice was surprisingly calm. “I'm sorry, Patrick. I had no idea he would do anything like that. I swear.” He glanced my way, and his true sorrow leaked into his words. “Maybe he wouldn't have been in that mood if they'd won the game…” It was a lame excuse, and we all knew it.

  But I wasn't going to torture him any more than he was already torturing himself. “It's okay, Aaron. Thanks for everything. And Jaxon… thanks.”

  Both boys nodded silently, and then Jaxon turned to Patrick. “You want a bucket or something?”

  Patrick shook his head. Carefully. “I'm feeling better already.”

  I wondered if I picked up on the lie because I knew him so well, or maybe I was just used to his easy deceptions now. But no one else seemed to read the lie, so I kept my mouth shut.

  Jaxon prepared to close the door, but someone called out to him. “Wait, baby!”

  We turned and watched Jaxon's date, the pretty girl with the dark skin come darting across the yard, carrying a glass of water. She rushed right up to the car and handed the tall glass to Patrick. “You'll feel better once your mouth is washed out,” she promised sympathetically.

  I was surprised by her compassion, and Jaxon noticed my look. While Patrick sipped at the water delicately, Jaxon introduced the girl. “This is Maria. She lives down the street. Moved in about… two weeks ago?”

  “Close enough,” she told him, before extending a warm hand. I shook it slowly, grateful for her small, reassuring smile. Seeing an aura surrounded by something other than red was also a relief.

  “I'm Kate. Thanks for the water.”

  Maria nodded. “No problem, Kate.” She dropped my hand and stooped to check on Patrick. “Do you want some Tylenol or something?”

  “No, thank you.” Patrick handed the glass back to her, only partially drained.

  Her head bobbed again. “You get feeling better.”

  “Thank you,” Patrick repeated dimly.

  Jaxon closed the door as if on cue, and he took Maria's hand and stepped back. I faced Aaron, hesitated, and then gave in and embraced him quickly. “Thanks,” I whispered deeply.

  He pulled me close and then pushed back. He gave a shaky smile. “Anytime.”

  I returned a timid smile, he handed me the keys, and I moved around the hood of the car to the driver's seat. As soon as I was in the car, I turned it on, setting the heater on low. Patrick was shivering despite the warmth that still pervaded the air of the car. I switched on the headlights and shifted into reverse while he searched the glove box for something to staunch the meager flow of blood from his nose.

  It was a little weird not driving a clutch, but I only reached for the nonexistent pedal a few times before I got the hang of it. Patrick silently used a small pack of Kleenex to wipe up some of the blood, and I tried not to give in to my queasy stomach.

  We didn't speak at all until I'd pulled out of the small neighborhood streets and onto the main road. Only then did I glance over at him to find him carefully watching my face.

  “Are you all right?” he asked, his eyes filled with pain. “I saw him fall on you.”

  My side still throbbed, but I wasn't going to bring it up. Not while he was covered in blood. “Patrick, what's going
on? Why aren't you healing? Why did you… get sick?”

  He swallowed with difficulty and leaned his head against the seat, his tired eyes still focused on me. “Kate… I need to ask you something. It may sound a little strange, but I need you to be entirely honest.”

  “What?”

  He pinched his eyes closed, his words muted and quick. “When we went after the Guardian on Tuesday night… He was sleeping when I found him. I startled him and he tried to back away and tripped. I reached out without thinking, and when our hands brushed his skin, something… happened. It was like an itch, an irritation. It covered my fingers, climbed up my arm… by the time my whole body was covered, it was like a burn.” He opened his eyes and met my worried stare. His lips pressed tightly together, then parted slowly. “And then it disappeared. The feeling was gone. I had other things to think about, I didn't consider the fact that he may have transferred something to me. Kate, I think… I think I have what he had. I think I might be… dying too.”

  My breath came out in a small, shuddering release, and my fingers around the steering wheel were extremely white. “That's not possible,” I whispered, my eyes trained on the road.

  His voice was barely a whisper in the still space beside me, but it was layered with determination. “Kate, you need to tell me… You've touched me. I… I've touched you. Kissed you…” His voice choked off, the question never fully formed, and I hurried to reassure him.

  “No, Patrick, I haven't felt anything weird. Whatever this is… you haven't given it to me.”

  His eyes closed once more, in fervent relief, and a weary hand pressed against his forehead. “Thank heaven,” he breathed shakily. “I couldn't have… Kate…”

  How could he be so relieved? I didn't understand it. “You can't die, Patrick. That's not possible.”

  He opened his eyes, watched me warily. “I don't understand what's going on, Kate. But it's not normal. I've never heard of this happening. Something's wrong with me.”

  “Then we'll find some answers. But you're immortal. You can't get some… disease.” That word had never sounded so terrible to me.

  “Unless the infection targets immortals?” he asked, almost to himself. “What if…” His thoughts drifted, and there was a glaring silence between us.

  At last he spoke. “I need to speak with Toni. I must have touched him at some point… he hasn't shown any signs, but… maybe I'm not contagious yet? That would explain your health, unless humans are simply immune.”

  I gritted my teeth, hating the way he was calmly discussing this.

  He didn't seem to notice my reaction. He continued to wonder and plan aloud. “If Terence weren't coming tomorrow, I'd call him immediately. But until then… I need to stay isolated, just in case. If you can drive me to the warehouse, maybe you could take Toni home with you? He could sleep on the couch, and no one would know. Just tell your grandfather,” he amended quickly. “He'd be a little surprised at seeing an invisible Guardian in his living room…”

  “You've got to be insane if you think I'm leaving you alone like this,” I said, overriding his murmuring, and he glanced up at me, his eyes on the side of my face as I swerved a bit too quickly through the traffic. I continued to try and reason with him, my voice too tight. “If you're worried Toni might get it… maybe you should be the one to sleep at my house.”

  He shook his head, peeling back the tissue to check his nose. It must have finally stopped bleeding because he balled up the bloody wad of Kleenex in his fist before answering. “Until I know if I'm dangerous, I'm staying away from your family. From you. I should have pieced this together days ago—known to keep my distance. That I might be a risk to you.”

  “Patrick, stop it.”

  “Kate, please. Don't. Just… don't.”

  I felt tears sliding down my face, heard him groan, but I couldn't stop the silent crying.

  “Please… please don't cry.” He implored powerlessly.

  I didn't look away from the road. The lines were becoming hard to see through the fog my tears created. I blinked quickly, but if anything that seemed to make it worse.

  “Pull over,” he instructed a heartbeat later. “Kate. It's okay. I can drive.”

  “I'm fine,” I snapped, regretting my tone instantly. It sounded so sharp.

  He was quiet for a moment, and then his sensitive words made me hurt that much more. “I know how you're feeling. It's exactly how I felt, when I finally realized that I… And then I came outside and I saw you, saw that cretin, and… and I needed something to attack. Anything. I needed to protect you in the only way I know how, because I knew that I couldn't stop this thing inside of me. How can I fight something that kills from the inside?” His voice was so quiet—hardly audible.

  “You're not dying,” I whispered fiercely. “You can't die.”

  “Maybe we can,” he breathed.

  “You can't,” I insisted stubbornly.

  He didn't answer.

  I didn't speak again.

  Neither did he.

  I drove straight to the warehouse, knowing that he was right—I couldn't expose my family to anything harmful. Well, more than I already had. But if I wasn't sick, then maybe Patrick was right. Maybe humans were immune to this infection. Or maybe he was crazy, and he didn't have the insane Guardian's sickness. Maybe this was just a Guardian flu or something…

  It was too much to hope for, and I knew it.

  I pulled into the dark alley, past the warehouse and toward their small shed. While I parked the car carefully, I wondered if everything that had happened tonight was real. It seemed so surreal. Dreamlike. Untrue. I wanted it to be untrue.

  I shut off the car, and it clicked and cooled mutely in the enclosed space of the makeshift garage. From my peripheral vision I saw Patrick undo his seat belt and then silently settle back against the seat, waiting for me to make the next move. I left the key in the ignition and returned my hands to the wheel. I kept staring out the wind-shield, as if not looking at his pallid face and the bloodstains on his shirt would make them go away. But nothing could erase the image of him falling to his knees, retching on the ground.

  I struggled to breathe, and he observed me silently. I could feel his eyes on me, but he wasn't saying anything. What could he have said?

  I'd stopped crying at some point on the way. But now that we'd stopped and I had only my thoughts and fears, no traffic to distract me, tears started falling again. A single drop of moisture slipped down the curve of my cheek, and in the darkness I felt him hesitate, deliberate, and then finally overcome the internal struggle. He lifted his hand and a single finger stroked down my face, following that wet trail until it intercepted the tear at my chin.

  “Don't cry,” he whispered brokenly. “Please… anything but that.”

  I finally turned my head, and his hand fell as our eyes met, mine stinging so painfully it was almost hard to focus on any of my other injuries.

  “You're jumping to conclusions,” I argued thinly, meeting his worried gaze firmly. “There's something wrong. I know that. But that doesn't mean that you're…”

  “Dying?”

  My eyes closed against the nauseating word. “Yes.”

  “You're right,” he allowed, but I had a feeling that he was just saying these words for my sake. “There are no guarantees. We'll consult with Terence tomorrow.”

  I opened my eyes slowly, and another tear escaped. He brushed tenderly at it, and his touch finally broke through whatever had been holding me back. I released my seat belt—his hand began to fall—but then I was leaning toward him, ignoring the minor obstructions that rested between our seats. He was hesitant at first—afraid of touching me too much, or maybe he was worried about rubbing the last traces of blood on me, but his need for contact was just as great as mine, and in a shaky second we were holding each other tightly.

  He was weak—I could feel that—but his closed fists rubbed my aching back, his head pressed against mine, and he murmured soothing words in my ear, mo
stly just unintelligible sounds. My arms wrapped securely around his body, and I buried my face in his shoulder, intensifying the embrace. I raised my head and laid my lips against his clammy forehead. “I love you,” I told him steadily, mouth brushing his skin.

  His hands slipped to my arms, where they moved comfortingly up and down. “And I love you.”

  He pulled back a little, swallowing hard. “If it would make you feel better, Toni can stay with me tonight. If he's going to get it from me, it's probably already too late anyway.”

  “You'll call me in the morning?”

  “Of course. And as soon as Terence comes, I'll let you know.” He nodded to the keys, still hanging in the ignition. “Take this home.”

  “But what will you drive?”

  “We won't need it overnight. There's nowhere I can go… you can bring it by tomorrow.”

  Somehow, I realized what he was trying to do—what he was trying to orchestrate. “You think Terence might… not let me come over?”

  The corner of his mouth twitched. “I'm sure your safety will be his top priority. It's just how we Guardians think. If he believes I might be dangerous to you…” He didn't bother to complete the thought.

  “You want me to have an excuse to come over,” I finished for him.

  He didn't have to answer me. It was clear in his solemn expression that I'd guessed right. His guilt was also extremely clear.

  I reached for his hand, squeezing tightly to let him know that he shouldn't feel guilty. He didn't have to face this unknown alone.

  I wouldn't let him.

  I then noticed that his bottom lip—still coated in a bit of dry blood—was completely healed. Whatever caused his rapid regeneration had finally kicked in.

  But why had it been late at all?

  Grandma, the early riser, saw his car first. She came storming into my bedroom, fully expecting to find more than just me. Her interruption of my sleep wasn't exactly unwanted, however. I'd been struggling all night to find some semblance of rest, but that was easier said than done. I couldn't stop thinking of Patrick, which I guess was understandable. But the more I pondered his situation, relived those tortured looks on his face, saw again those displays of sickness and vulnerability, the more I began to feel that there had to be some other explanation. To conclude that he was dying—just because a crazy Guardian had thought he was—was a nonsensical way to approach the situation.