by S. F. Kosa
“No, you won’t,” he says as he fastens the door’s latch lock. “Have a seat.”
I glare up at him, my thoughts spinning. He’s so much bigger than I am. Unquestionably stronger. And I’m like a hollowed-out eggshell, ready to break.
When I don’t move, he takes my arms and steers me toward the bed. The he looks down at me, those blue eyes intense. “Don’t scream, okay? I only want to talk. I swear.”
He’s between me and the door. It won’t be difficult for him to stop me if I run. I sit down on the edge of the bed. “Is this really necessary, Noah? You could have just called me.”
“You didn’t reply to my texts, so I knew you wouldn’t answer if I called.” He lets out a bark of laughter. “This isn’t really a phone conversation anyway.”
“I’m sorry I didn’t read your story,” I tell him. “And Miles didn’t really want to—”
He holds up a hand. “It’s not about that. Well, not about Miles.”
“It is about the story, though,” I say. “I know your first one was fake—the Children of Darius message board isn’t real. You made it up.”
His brow furrows. “It’s totally real.”
“Miles met another child of Darius. The kid’s been looking for his half siblings for years, putting up his genetic info on all the sites, including the one you mentioned in your story. And he’s had no luck.”
“That doesn’t make sense.” He’s pacing in front of me, his palms cupping his elbows. “I’ve read all the posts.” He whirls on me. “You think I made it up? That’s why you won’t give me the time of day?”
“If the group is real, then how did you really find it, Noah?” I watch his intense pacing—I’ve seen it before. In times of stress, in times of concentration, he would do the exact same thing. That night at the altar, moments before everything burned, this is how he looked. Because he knew what he was about to do. Because he craved the power of life and death, and he knew how to make it happen. My stomach drops. “You’re one of them. You’re his son. That’s how.”
He drops to his knees in front of me. “You recognize me?”
“How old are you?” I whisper. I’m so blind. I never once considered…
“You probably could figure it out if you spent two seconds on it.”
“Xerxes,” I breathe, swiping at my tears with my sleeves. I should have known. A laugh escapes me. “So many questions.” And so many demands. “You haven’t changed.”
“You have,” he says. “You used to be a lot bigger.”
“You used to look up at me,” I say as memories consume me. My gaze darts back to his face. “I thought you might be dead because of what I did.”
“You would have read it on the news if there had been a child victim.”
I shake my head. I’m afraid to say why it might not have been. I’m afraid he remembers.
“Well, here I am,” he says in a hard voice. “Did you ever wonder what happened to me? Or did you just give up on me and get on with your own life?”
I shoot to my feet, my limbs shaking so much that I almost crumple to the bed again. “You have no idea—” My voice breaks. “You have no idea how badly I wanted to save you.”
He looks confused. “But you did. Didn’t you?”
I watch him warily. He was so young, and he was drugged. Does he actually know what happened? And if he does… “Why are you here?”
“I recognized you that first night we met at the bar, but I wasn’t sure,” he tells me. “I went to the library, checked the archives. I found that picture—Miles told me it was gone. I swear I didn’t steal it.”
“I know,” I whisper. “I did.”
He blinks at me. As if he’s surprised I told the truth. “You looked really different but not different enough. And the way you hold yourself—that’s the same. Like you’re expecting someone to hurt you or yell at you.” He gets to his feet. “I remember that night. Some of it, at least.”
I close my eyes. I can almost smell the smoke. I can almost feel that soft, blond hair tickling under my chin. “I wish I didn’t.”
“He was going to kill me.”
I nod. “He didn’t like it when people defied him. And you…” I smile in spite of the ache in my chest. “You were always defiant.”
He chuckles. “Yeah, my parents—they adopted me out of the foster care system, didn’t mind having an older kid because they were older themselves—they had to deal with how messed up I was. I’m therapized from head to foot. You’d think I’d be the most mentally healthy person in the fucking world, but…” He gives me a rueful look.
“You went through so much before you were even five years old.”
“My mom,” he says. “My birth mom. What kills me most is I never really knew… I remember her telling me to run. I remember being so scared. And then I never saw her again, and everybody said she left me.”
“Octavia died that night, Noah. The night she tried to escape with you. It kills me that I helped bring you back.”
“You didn’t kill her, though,” he says. “But I know who did.” His voice has taken on the hard edge of long-suppressed rage. “Ladonna.”
I feel like a rabbit, cornered by a fox. Afraid to move and draw his attention. I nod slowly. He was always smart, aggressive, and sharp. He could have killed Essie, exacting a final revenge on the woman who killed his mother. He could have killed Marie Heckender too. He hated Fabia even then. And she’s the one who pushed him back into the building that night. The one who wouldn’t let him escape his own death. Horror rises inside me. “Noah…” My voice shrivels to nothing. If he thinks I’m not an ally, he could literally snap my neck easy as breathing.
“Your mother was one of the nicest people I ever met,” I say. “All she was trying to do that night was protect you and your little sister. She deserved so much better.” I’m glad he doesn’t know everything. His fury would be endless. And so would his pain.
“My sister,” he murmurs. “I’ll have to ask Arman… There aren’t any girls on the board.” He runs his knuckles along his stubbly jawline. “I was hoping the article would draw her out. She’s the only full sibling I’ve got.”
“Does Arman know you’re his half brother?”
“No. I…I wasn’t going to tell anyone. Ever. That asshole was my father.” He grimaces. “I think I’m a lot like him.”
It’s probably why Darius disliked him. Xerxes always wanted to be the one in charge, even as a child. And while some men, some leaders, would be gratified by that similarity, it had all gone sour by the end, and Darius couldn’t handle the boy’s willfulness. “You’re not like him, Noah. Don’t think like that.” Then I remember how he got in here. And what he might have done. Three people are dead. And Miles…
Noah’s eyes narrow. “Why are you looking at me like that?”
“Did you copy my car key?”
He rears back. “No. Why would I even want to?”
“Do you happen to drive a blue car?”
“Yeah? So?”
My mouth has gone dry. His tone is like a blade, but I have to know. “Did you run Miles Connover off the road last night?”
His eyes go wide. “What the fuck? Is Miles okay?”
I can’t tell if he’s being genuine. “Pretty banged up, but alive and alert.”
“Why would you think I’d do something like that?”
I shrug. “Honestly, I can’t figure out what’s happening. I only know that my entire life has crumbled around me, and it’s my fault.”
“You want to go take a look at my car? See if there are any dents or scratches? Would that help?”
I’m not sure. He and Arman still might have copied my key. But if we go out to the parking lot, it gives me a little room to call attention to myself, to get away. I still don’t know what he remembers or whether he blames me for what happened o
r whether he’s murdered three people in the last few weeks. “Okay.”
“Let’s go.” He strides toward the door, opens it, and waits for me. I follow cautiously, waiting for the trick. He pulls his car key from his pocket as we reach the lobby. My eyes search for the hotel clerk as I pass, but no one’s behind the front desk at the moment.
The air is thick with mist and drizzle as Noah and I exit the building. I look up at him, his hair dripping, water streaking down the harsh plains of his cheeks, and I can almost see the little boy with bright-blue eyes. The one who missed his mother so badly. The one who wanted to understand the world and all its mysteries. The one who had a question for everything. Now that I know who he was, my question is: Who has he become?
He points to a blue Honda parked next to the dumpster, in the shadow of a big pine. “Not a scratch on her,” he says over the hiss of rain. He looks down at me. “You look nervous as hell, Dora. Let’s go somewhere and get something to eat.”
I look up at him warily.
He rolls his eyes and offers me his key. “Do you want to drive? Would that make you feel better?”
I shake my head. “I appreciate the offer, though.”
Noah squints through the car’s rear window. “What the…” He strides faster toward his vehicle, with me a few steps behind. The rear passenger door opens as I reach his side, revealing Arman inside.
He’s holding a gun tucked close to his flank, aimed up at Noah. “When you said you were coming here to talk to her, I knew I had another chance. I was going to do it when we got ice cream yesterday, but she ran off.” His gaze flicks to me. “Get in or I’m going to shoot him.”
Noah goes stiff. “What the fuck are you doing, man?”
Arman’s finger is curled around the trigger. “You can drive,” he says to Noah. “But keep both hands in sight, or I’ll shoot her.”
Ashen, Noah drops into place and puts his hands on the steering wheel.
Arman keeps the gun pressed to the back of Noah’s seat. “Get in, Dora. Now.”
I obey. Something about the eerie, friendly calm of his voice chills me from the inside out. I had thought Noah reminded me of Darius, but Arman… I flinch as the door slams. “You stole my key,” I say, guessing.
He snorts. “I knew I could get it copied the moment I saw how old your car is. It was easy.” He glances to the front. “I put the address into your GPS. Just follow it. Oh! Hand me your phone first. You too, Dora.”
Noah curses under his breath but does as he says. I do too.
As Noah pulls out of the parking lot, Arman hurls our phones out the window, and they land in a puddle at the side of the road.
I thought he was the follower. The weak one in Noah’s sway. But now… “Is the Children of Darius board real?”
“Nah. It’s just me and a lot of aliases.”
“You asshole,” Noah says. “Why?”
“We were looking for you,” he says. “You…and her.” He inclines his head in my direction. “And we thought if we found one of you, we might find the other.”
“We,” I say.
Arman smiles. “We’re going to see Mother. She was so happy when she figured out who you were.”
My heart is a fist, clenched tight. “Your mother,” I whisper. Because it’s not only Darius he resembles, and now I know why it struck me as so familiar. The shape of his eyes, the bridge of his nose—
His smile has gone now. “She said everything is your fault. You left us to die.”
My lips shake as I murmur her name, one I haven’t spoken aloud in twenty years. “Parvaneh.”
Chapter Thirty-One
The Retreat
December 15, 2000
Eszter burst into the dark of Darius’s cabin, her limbs shaking, muscles ready to give out. The child in her arms felt like he weighed a thousand pounds.
She’d been training for something like this for the last several weeks, but even the short runs she’d tried to take in the woods had left her winded. Still, she didn’t have a choice now.
Outside, the fire raged, but in here, she could only see the orange outline of it through the trees. And she could smell the smoke, but it was drifting up from below, from the passage she’d just dragged herself down, step by agonizing step.
She laid Xerxes on the bed. He stirred, whimpering. She’d wanted to only give him a little of the drug to keep him calm, to keep him from trying to escape by himself. She’d known he might try, and she’d been certain it would result in his death. Now, his ankle swollen a lurid purple and clearly broken, even if he woke up, he wouldn’t be able to run.
She’d have to carry him. A desperate moan unfurled from her throat. It felt like her legs were still wrapped in the flames. A quick glance told her the skin of her calves was ripe with blisters and ash, red and black and gray. But she was still breathing, still alive. With a long way to go before she and Xerxes were safe.
A shout from outside made her flinch. If anyone else knew about the passage, they might check in here. And if she stayed here, the smoke would get too thick, and soon. Already it was wafting up from below. They had to go.
Eszter drew in a breath and coughed. “I can do this,” she whispered, rolling her shoulders. She pulled the woolen blanket up from the corners of the bed, wrapping Xerxes like a burrito. He let out a high-pitched cry as she folded it around his feet, and she murmured an apology. Then she looked down at him.
What would Octavia think if she knew? Was she somewhere in the deep consciousness, hungering to see her boy again? Eszter shook herself. She wasn’t sure any of it was real anymore. She hadn’t been since the night they’d all let her baby girl die. She’d allowed Darius close, needing the comfort, expecting things to start making sense again, only to discover there was no going back. His words had sounded hollow. Cruel, even. He hadn’t believed their child had a soul, not until it could be born alive. But Eszter had felt the vigorous kicks, the twists, the stretches. She’d known there was a real person inside her, needing protection until she was ready to emerge. No way it was just a soulless body.
Now she had another child to protect. And she felt more vulnerable than ever.
She moved to the door, opened it, and listened. Voices droned in the distance, but from the other side of the dorms. They were occupied with the fire, their voices rising in alarm. Hopefully they wouldn’t notice or hear the two of them escaping.
She returned to the bed. With a groan, she lifted Xerxes and turned for the door. She froze when she heard another sound. One she herself hadn’t made.
It had filtered up through the open trapdoor leading to the crumbling tunnel, just a scrape and a rasp. Parvaneh. Terror jolted her bones, guilt and sorrow hard on its heels. The last year flashed through her mind, the decision to approach the pale, skinny girl on the curb, the way that girl had become the best friend she’d ever had. It was Darius who’d ruined it, Darius who’d been the wedge between them. She’d been so sure Parvaneh would come with her, so sure they’d be allies. And she knew it was her fault they weren’t—she’d let her fear suffocate her honesty. And just now, she’d felt Parvaneh’s determination. She’d really been trying to kill, and Eszter and Xerxes would both be doomed by now if Eszter hadn’t remembered the stone in her pocket.
She looked down at the little boy in her arms. She had no choice. She’d already decided who to save, and he would die if she didn’t protect him.
She kicked the door to the passageway closed, squeezing her eyes shut as she whirled away from it. Forcing herself not to think about what she’d just done. Shouldering the cabin door open, she burst into the night air, gritting her teeth as the cold wind slapped her burned, bare legs. Her robe hung to her knees before ending in burned, frayed bits, and her feet squished and slid in her clogs. The boy in her arms was leaden, dragging her to the ground. She weaved her way through the trees, heading for the spot far
behind the barns, almost at the edge of the property. Everything she needed was there.
But within a few hundred yards, every step was a determined effort. A wrenching stomp, an agonized rasp of breath through her singed throat, a readjustment of the fifty-pound bundle in her arms. Stomp, rasp, clutch. Over and over. She’d meant to run, but now even walking was becoming impossible. The thick adrenaline fog that had propelled her through the last hour was fading to fumes, pulling back the curtain on the pain, the terror.
The guilt.
She shook her head. If she thought too much about it, she’d drop to the forest floor and never get up. Instead, she pressed forward. Stomp, rasp, clutch. The cache, her treasures, were waiting.
She’d collected them slowly, week after week, from the homes they’d cleaned. Saved them for the moment she became sure. She hadn’t wanted to be sure. She’d wanted to be convinced everything was good and right and getting better every day. She’d wanted to know she’d made the right decision, becoming an Oracle. Instead, each day had brought a touch more horror, and each night brought a touch more certainty, as Darius whispered his bloody fantasies in her ear. But each passing hour had also brought worry—these were people she cared about. People she didn’t want to leave behind.
But now all of them were dead. Except for one. And it might all be worth it if she could save him.
When she reached the mound of pine needles that marked the spot, with the hulking barn, ebony and dense in the distance, she dropped to her knees and finally allowed herself to put Xerxes down. Her arms felt as if they were sleeved with stinging hornets, branded with the fiery pain of her own weakness. Shaking, she crawled over to the pine needle mound and thrust her hands into it, even as the spiny golden sprigs coated her bare, blistered legs. She pulled free an old sneaker, gray and purple. A size too big, but she’d hoped it would be close enough. She’d shoved it under her robe after finding it in a box marked Goodwill in the homeowner’s garage, but she hadn’t been able to dig through long enough to find its mate—Ladonna had noticed she was missing and come to find her. And then, a week later, she’d found another shoe, this one a dingy, white Converse, at the bottom of another homeowner’s closet, piled with other shoes. Surely she wouldn’t miss it?