“A person can live in many places so long as he has those he loves with him.” He turned to her then. “I have searched for you for countless centuries. I have longed for you for even longer. But every second of that pain was worth it to finally be with you here, in this place that holds the thread giving me life.”
Riley wanted to tell him that it was only a pond, but the genuine love in his eyes stilled her words. She squeezed his hand instead. “I know this is a dream.”
The corner of his mouth darkened as it drew into a half grin. “Is it?”
She glanced around them. “Yes, I think—” He was gone. The space beside her was empty. Stunned, she spun in a circle. “Octavian?”
A soft splash interrupted the silence, hooking her attention and turning it to the stretch of water yawning at her feet. No more than a stone’s throw away, a body rose from the depths, sleek and powerful, before diving headlong back into the black folds. A second later, something long, narrow and pale broke through the surface, shimmering in the night before it too vanished from sight.
Riley bolted upright with a gasp perched on her lips. The sweet scent of flowers and wilderness followed her back to the sundrenched walls of her room. She stared at her closed door, each breath running a bit more ragged than the last. She closed her eyes, willing the dream back into focus, but only managing a vague, blurry imitation that left her frustrated. She was totally losing her damn mind. Fantastic.
Irked, she threw back the sheets and rolled out of bed. She padded into the bathroom for a quick shower and froze as she ripped off her t-shirt and caught sight of her arm.
Three uneven welts curled a harsh crimson against the pallor of her right forearm. The area throbbed with the residual thrum of a third degree burn that was excruciating at even the slightest contact. Riley had no idea where the burns had come from, only that they were there and they hurt like nobody’s business.
“What the hell?”
She gingerly touched two fingers on her left hand to the tender area just beneath the marks. It was as though she’d stabbed herself with a white hot iron. She growled through her teeth, her vision going momentarily white as she struggled not to pass out. Her stomach heaved, a vicious protest to her stupidity. She collapsed to her knees before the porcelain bowl as her entire body broke out in cold sweat and began trembling.
Minutes ticked by, stamped by her labored breathing. She pushed away and leaned against the wall with her knees to her chest. Her mind raced with every detail of the previous day, searching fruitlessly for the moment she’d injured herself. But nothing at Final Judgment had that shape. Even if she’d somehow brushed up against the woodstove or the fireplace or anything else, nothing left perfect loops unless she stuck her arm into a metal band that had just been extracted from the pits of Hell. It made no sense, yet the proof of it blazed a fierce red along her arm.
If the mark on her arm was strange in its appearance, it held no candle to the anxiety biting into her like the serrated teeth on a piranha. It gnawed without mercy at her patience and sanity until it burned under her skin. For the hundredth time that day, she glanced at her watch, counting every tick until it was tattooed into her brain.
She wasn’t late, but even as her feet ate the distance between home and work, she couldn’t dislodge the pressure compressing her soul.
What’s wrong with me? But there was no one that could answer her.
Final Judgment, a shadowy smudge against the gray-blue background, seemed to glow with an almost ethereal hue. She felt the jerk deep in her chest like a cork wedged in the neck of a bottle filled with baking soda and vinegar. Any moment now it would pop and spray everything in sight with her insides. The suffocating build strangled the breath from her lungs. Standing so close, that band shifted, became almost bearable. By the time her feet touched the first step, she could nearly breathe.
“Riley?” Kyaerin looked up when Riley stumbled into the diner. A dainty teacup sat poised at her painted lips. “Is everything all right? You’re an hour early.”
“I…” Unusually dizzy, Riley slumped against the door, using it to keep upright.
“Riley?” Kyaerin set her cup down with a resounding clank and was on her feet in an instant before the kitchen door flew open and Octavian stomped in.
“Riley.” Unlike Kyaerin, he was unsurprised by her presence. He turned his gaze to his mother. “I asked Riley to come in early and help me with a few things.”
His mother appeared unconvinced as she continued to stare from Riley to Octavian.
Pulling herself together, Riley straightened, pushing off the door to face the room without looking like an even bigger idiot. “I ran,” she lied. “My watch is broken and I was afraid I would be late.”
Kyaerin’s dainty eyebrows furrowed, but she made no indication that she didn’t believe Riley. “All right,” she said slowly. “As long as you’re sure.”
Giving her a nod, Riley headed towards the kitchen where Octavian held the doors open for her. She made it all the way under his arms when Kyaerin called after them again.
“What kind of things?”
“Inventory things,” Octavian replied, closing the doors before she could press.
Riley stared up at him. Her blood hummed beneath her flushed skin. It took every ounce of thought not to do something stupid, like tackle him.
“You didn’t ask me to come in early,” she said.
“I know.”
“Then why…”
“Because it was easier to lie then tell the truth.”
Riley had no idea what he was talking about and never got the chance to ask when Reggie strolled into the room, whistling happily to himself. He stopped and stared at the two with a raised eyebrow.
“Am I interrupting?”
“No,” Octavian said at once. “I was just heading out to take care of a few things.”
With a last glance at Riley, he moved past his brother and disappeared through the door towards the back of the house. Riley watched him go, a lump the size of a small chunk of stone wedged in her throat.
“So.” Reggie pulled her attention to him. “This is awkward.”
Chapter 7
The dreams persisted, becoming an almost tradition to her nightly routine, like brushing her teeth or remembering to flush the toilet. Each one faded almost the moment her eyes snapped open, but she remembered enough to know Octavian was leading man in every one of them.
At work, he remained his broody, grumpy self, except those rare moments when Riley caught him watching her. It was usually quick and gone before she could gather herself back from the momentary prickle of surprise. But even then, it was becoming a routine. She wasn’t sure how she felt about it, not sure she wanted to think about it. There were enough complications in her life without adding one more to it and something told her Octavian came with a whole fleet of problems, even if just the sight of him was a cool salve on a burn.
Riley stared at the inside of her refrigerator with a mild sense of fascination. It looked exactly how it did the morning it arrived from the appliance store, empty and very clean. The single stick of butter that had been in there was now gone and she wondered what her father had used it for. She’d already explored the cupboards and freezer and both were as polished clean as the fridge. Except for the single box of cereal, they were as Old Mother Hubbard as possible.
The painful reality of just how far they’d come had her slamming the fridge door with a bit more force than was necessary. She reached for the cereal box and cursed when it lifted easily off the shelf, the few crushed pieces of Cheerios rattling around at the bottom. It was all she could do not to pitch the box across the room. Instead, she dumped it into the recycling bin and stalked out in search of her father.
She found him reclined on the sofa, remote in hand, flipping idly through their prehistoric TV. The thing only got three channels and one of them was always covered by static snow, but her father didn’t seem to have any trouble repeatedly passing through
all three like somehow, magically, a forth channel would materialize.
“Hey, Dad.”
He lifted his head and caught sight of her in the doorway. “Hey.”
Riley folded her arms and glanced at the forgotten bowl of cereal on the cluttered coffee table with soggy bits of floating Cheerios and more milk than necessary. There was a glass of milk next to it and several granola bar wrappers, gum wrappers and an unfinished bowl of macaroni and cheese alongside it. On the floor was that morning’s newspaper, rumpled and carelessly tossed aside. She went over to it and picked it up.
“Did you find anything?” she asked, keeping her eyes on the black and white print and not the man switching channels like it was going out of fashion.
“I haven’t looked yet.” He sighed, shifting onto his back. “Just taking a break. I’ll have a look in a little bit.”
The paper crinkled under her curling fingers. She dropped it down on the table, mouth opening, a flood of angry words stinging the tip of her tongue. But she swallowed them back. She had fifteen minutes to get ready for work and she knew if she started now, she’d only get worked up and start crying. The last thing she wanted was to go into work with a blotchy face and red rimmed eyes. It was the curse of having Irish skin, it always showed when she was embarrassed or when you cried and she always cried when she was angry.
Gulping a deep breath, she turned on her heels and marched out of the room. She stomped all the way to her room before closing her door and slumping against it.
It wasn’t fair. Ever since her mother left them when Riley had been five, she’d been the one to keep the family afloat with little to no help from her father. On the off chance that he did get a job, he got fired or laid off. In that one year alone, he’d been fired eight times and laid off twice. She really couldn’t take it anymore. She couldn’t take how little he cared. He hadn’t even put up a fuss when she dropped out of college after only a year of attending so she could get a job and help manage the bills. She wasn’t merely contributing, she was singlehandedly keeping an apartment she couldn’t afford and a grown man who just didn’t care. What hurt the most was the fact that he knew how hard she’d worked to earn a fully paid scholarship and how badly she had wanted to go. He had known, yet he hadn’t cared. He hadn’t thanked her or apologized or even pretended like it was a bad idea. He had nodded simply like it had made perfect sense. She couldn’t believe how selfish, he was being. Hadn’t she given up enough for them? She never made any friends because friends would want to know why she couldn’t hang with them at the mall or go to movies or why you could never offer them anything more than water when they visited. It had always been easier to keep people at a distance rather than let them know just how poor they were. Even Stan who she dated for almost four months was never allowed to her house and when he began to push her, she left him. But she never once complained. Never once told him to get his act together and be the parent for once. She never could because, in her mind, her mother was to blame for everything. She walked out on her daughter and husband knowing he couldn’t possibly raise a child on his own. She had known what he was like, yet she left. Why would she leave? Why couldn’t she have taken Riley with her?
No, no! Don’t cry! But she could feel the building sting behind her eyes, the escalation of her heart rate and the liquefaction of her nose as it began to run. She quickly inhaled, exhaled, willing herself to calm down and focus. She had work in ten minutes and that’s what she needed to do.
Taking a deep breath, she moved away from the door and hurried to the vanity. She checked her face, relieved that there were no telltale signs of her near emotional breakdown. The sleeves of her green blouse were just long enough to conceal the gauze wraps keeping the burn ointment in place over the injuries on her arm. She slipped her feet into flats, grabbed her jacket and left the apartment without a single word to her father.
It was reasonably warm out with just a hint of a moist breeze. The world smelled of damp earth, clean and fresh. Riley breathed it all in deeply and wished she had more time to enjoy it. It could be the last warm weather they had before winter. But all too soon, she arrived at Final Judgment and she was walked into a tangible wall of torture.
The powerful aroma of fried meat and vegetable soup slammed square into her gut like an iron fist. Her empty gut moaned, knotting so excruciatingly tight, she nearly doubled over with the pain as every muscle in her body began to quiver with weakness. She reached for the nearest chair to steady the tremble in her knees and swallow the flood of saliva pooling in her mouth. She closed her eyes and held her breath.
“Hello Riley!”
Riley jolted, eyelids flying open. Her gaze shot to the only occupied table in the room where Kyaerin and Liam sat with a stack of papers spread out in front of them. Standing just behind his mother with his arms folded and looking larger than life, was Octavian. His narrowed gray eyes were trained on Riley’s face with something akin to concern. They roamed over her, touching her from head to toe before fixating on her face once more.
Riley quickly averted her eyes before he could see the truth and turned her attention to something safe, like Kyaerin, and smiled. “Hello!”
“I hear you guys have been having an uneventful week,” Liam chimed, setting down his pen.
Riley chuckled. “Yeah, it’s been pretty dead.”
Liam shook his head. “That always happens when it rains, something British Columbia is famous for. But it’s a clear night, so maybe we’ll make up for it.”
“How are you feeling?” Kyaerin asked, head tilting to the side, remind Riley of a baby bird.
Riley shrugged. “I feel great.” An exaggeration, but how were they to know? She cleared her throat. “I should get ready.”
No one stopped her when she turned and hurried to the kitchen and away from their watchful eyes. She darted through the doors, holding her breath until she was tucked away safely in the staff room. She hurriedly shrugged out of her coat, stuffed it into her locker and braved the long journey through the kitchen back to the dining area.
Gorje said nothing to her as she darted past him. Even when she waved at him, he stared back at her warily, as though she were a fox in the chicken coop and he did not trust her. He had no idea how right he was. Just walking through the wall of delicious smells was enough to have her lunging at the woodstove. Hot or not, she was hungry enough to scoop stew out with her bare hands.
She ducked out of the kitchen and exhaled loudly. The temptation was still there, but not as strong.
“What is it?” Octavian stood just on the other side, literally a foot away, hip propped against the counter as he stood facing the kitchen doors. He had his arms folded over his chest, a stance he preferred, she noted. “Something’s wrong.” It wasn’t a question, but an accusing fact.
Tactfully avoiding his searching gaze, she fussed with her apron. “I’m fine,” she lied, untying and retying the straps. “I can fill the condiments unless you need something else done?”
He took a great deal of time before responding and even then, it was only the mute shake of his head. But she could feel his eyes on her, could feel them worming into her soul in search of the truth.
Panicked at the thought, Riley ducked her head and scampered away to gather the salt and pepper shakers from the tables. She brought them to the front counter, a safe distance from where Octavian stood counting the odd pieces of metal money from the register. She reached beneath the counter, searching for the salt box they kept there and frowned.
“Are we out of salt?” she asked, crouching down to see into the back. She pushed aside the boxes of napkins and stirring straws. No salt.
“There should be more in the storage room,” Octavian replied, glancing up.
Of course there was. It made sense that the thing she needed most would be in the one place she felt the least bit comfortable visiting.
Unconsciously, her hand touched the bandage around her right arm. The burn underneath throbbed at the contact,
reminding her how much it hated being touched. Not for the first time, she wondered if it was normal that the injuries hadn’t scabbed over yet. Wasn’t that the first thing it was supposed to do after a few days? The marks looked and felt as fresh as they had the night she’d received them two weeks ago.
“Riley?” Octavian had stopped counting and was watching her.
She jolted, shaking her head. “I’m okay. I just…” She rose to her feet, dropping her arm back to her side. “I zoned. Sorry.” Giving him a sheepish grin, she moved to the swinging door.
He didn’t stop her, much to her relief. She made it all the way into the kitchen and to the storage room before exhaling the breath she’d been holding. Her clammy palms shook as she reached for the doorknob. The brass knob felt like a chunk of ice as her fingers wrapped around it. Her gut rolled uneasily as the door gave easily in her grasp.
It’s just a room! She told herself as she reached through the dark opening for the light switch on the inside. Her fingers fumbled before locating the switch and filling the room with the dim glow.
Octavian's Undoing (Sons of Judgment) Page 9