“It’s me, Marcella. Little Ant’ony.” He paused, shaking his thick head of hair. “God damn it. I mean, Darwin.” His Bronx accent was thick. “Pardon my language.”
She looked around at the park, bewildered and irritated. “What the fuck am I doing here, Darwin?”
He smiled, though the face of the wise guy that did the smiling for him had a crafty hint to his grin. “I thought ya up. It was easier dan I tought—uh, thought. Woulda friggin’ done it yesterday if I’da figgur’d it out sooner.”
Marcella flicked his pinstriped arm. “It’s a friggin’ good thing I don’t know too many people who think about me, then. I was in the middle of something.” Deep in the middle. Of revealing her raw, exposed heart.
“I apologize, but I had to talk wit ya.”
She hadn’t forgotten their last meeting, and though she knew her own doing had skewed his perception of her—it still hurt. “You mean me, the bitch? The dumb one?”
His pudgy face, or rather Little Anthony’s face, revealed such sadness at her sarcasm. He held up a hand with thick fingers attached to it. “Bear wit me fer a sec while I get Ant’ony to quiet down.” Turning from her, his body shuddered as though he were waging an internal battle. He muttered a string of threatening words like “local,” “precinct,” and “downtown,” and finally, “confessions that would make the feds’ eyelashes curl” if Anthony didn’t pipe down. When he faced her again, his eyes remained steeped in uncensored sorrow. Clearing his throat, he said, “I called you here first to apologize, Marcella, and second to tell you something you must know.”
Looking down at her dress, she nodded then glared at him. “You definitely should be apologizing. I had a brand-new dress I should be wearing—a perfectly gorgeous dress—but you had to go and think me up in this one, you buffoon.”
He bowed his greased-back head. “I’ve been many things, Marcella. Buffoon, ass, judgmental.”
Her eyes narrowed. “Is the end of the world slated and you know the date?”
“Why would you ask that?”
“Because not only are you apologizing to me, but you’re agreeing with me. Should I take cover?”
Taking her hand in his thick one, he squeezed it, his diamond pinky ring casting a prism of light on the pavement. “Let’s not beat each other about the head and shoulders with our words, Marcella. Not tonight. Just listen and let me tell you how sorry I am for my ill-perceived, misinformed ideas about you. Truly, from the depths of my soul, I humble myself at your feet.”
This was a startling turn of events, and it left her uncomfortable. Every steadfast quality in the people who surrounded her was changing and it had begun to freak her out. She’d only just started to adjust to Kellen’s change of heart, her feelings for him, and now Darwin was asking her for something he shouldn’t have to ask for. He’d called her a bitch. Okay, so she’d taken it badly. She’d told him to leave her alone—she’d done that at least a million times before in their relationship as frenemies and they’d always found their way back to each other, like it or not. “Go humble somewhere else and knock it off, Darwin. You dragged me away from something very important. Besides, what do you have to apologize for?”
“Because I know,” he said, his tone low and hushed.
“Know?”
Darwin’s thick red lips expelled a sigh. “Stop, Marcella. Stop pretending you don’t know what I mean. I was so unfair to you, I don’t even know if I can stand to be in my own skin, er, even if it’s Little Anthony’s. I can only say, I didn’t know the details. I never would have guessed.”
Marcella sucked in a breath of cold air. Would this part of it never be over? Reliving losing David and everyone’s shock over what she’d done was wearing her down. “So you know about . . .” Though she’d been so cleansed at this point she should have nothing left to clean, the residual of her confessions still ached.
Darwin’s head bowed, his eyes grave. “Yes. I know everything. I know about David. It’s all over Plane Dismal. I can’t apologize enough.”
Marcella tried to dismiss it. “Yeah. I’ve heard that once or twice in the past couple of days. Look, Darwin. I didn’t do anything to give anyone the impression I was anything other than Party-All-the-Time Barbie. It’s not your fault. It’s no one’s fault but mine.”
Clinging to her hand, he shook his slick head. “But I didn’t look any deeper, either. Not even after you saved Delaney and Clyde. I judged you so heinously. I helped you get here and consoled myself with the justification that it was for Delaney, my once beloved mistress, never in a million years thinking you actually deserved help. I coaxed you back to this plane to ease Delaney’s fears for my own selfish purposes, and as a result, I doomed you. I’ve talked to everyone to try to help get you back, so at the very least you can find some modicum of peace, with no luck, and now you’re all wrapped up in this thing with Carlos and Armando.”
Wrapped up. Invested. Involved. All words she’d once banished from her vocabulary. Now it was all she thought about, and once more, the helplessness of her situation pierced her heart.
“That brings me to what I have to tell you. This Armando, he’s bad news, Marcella.”
Her head hung low to her chest as she stared at her floating feet. “I was married to the bad news, remember? I killed him so there’d be no more bad news. So believe me, bad news I know. We’re like this.” She crossed two fingers together.
“There’s more. He’s possessed that little boy’s mother. I have confirmation. And more importantly, I know why he’s possessed her.”
Fear sizzled in her gut. She’d been almost one hundred percent sure when she’d told Kellen her suspicions about Solana. To have confirmation set her into motion. “I knew it! Damn that piece of shit. Now I have proof. I have to go, Darwin. So apology accepted and all that good stuff. Go tie cement blocks to someone’s feet, and I’ll see ya when I see ya.”
But Darwin clung to her hand, holding her in place. “Wait! You have to listen very carefully to me, please. Not just for your safety, but for the boy’s.”
More anxiety, more panic. So much, she shook. “Tell me what you know.”
“Armando knows you’re here on this plane. The only time he can’t see you is when he’s in that child’s mother’s body because really all he’s doing is utilizing her limbs, but he has informants everywhere. He knows you gave him up to Satan.”
Marcella blanched, but recovered when she realized something very important. “So? He’d have been found out eventually, and there’s nothing he can do to me anyway.”
“Don’t underestimate the kind of anger a man locked up for seventy-six years is capable of. He wants revenge, and the kind of power he’s honing is toxic. If he gets his hands on you . . .” His shoulders shuddered.
Please. “There’s nothing he can do to me, Darwin. I’m a ghost. Like you said, he can’t even see me. I know that to be fact.”
“No! That’s not true. He can see you if he leaves Solana’s body and takes his demon form. And Jesus, can he ever hurt you. If he finds a way to capture your soul, he’ll drag you off to a place that hands-down beats even the pit. But it isn’t just you he can hurt. He can also hurt others.” Darwin’s beady eyes shifted downward.
Rage took the place of her anxiety. “If he touches Carlos or Kellen or Delaney, I’ll find a way! I’ll make his first murder seem like he took a Royal Caribbean cruise!” she shouted into the roaring wind as if Armando were standing right in front of her.
Placing a hand on her arm, Darwin squeezed. “He knew you’d been banished to roam restlessly for eternity. He was the one responsible for planting your image in Carlos’s head, Marcella. He wanted Carlos to summon you. He wanted you to become involved with the boy.”
“But why? For Christ’s sake, why?”
Darwin motioned to the bench. “Sit. Please.”
She shook her finger at him. “Oh, no, Guido. When you tell me to sit, it means there’s some serious shit about to go down. I’ll take this stand
ing up, floating. What-ever. Speak.”
Darwin hedged, gnawing on his thick lower lip.
Grabbing his meaty shoulders, Marcella couldn’t take it anymore. “Just say it!”
She watched his wide neck work, his jowls tremble. “Carlos is your great-grandson, Marcella. Your granddaughter was Carlos’s mother, Solana. His grandfather is your son, David.”
The wind picked up with a howl, whipping her dress about her knees, the strap of her torn sandal flapping in time with it. Dead leaves bristled in the harsh gusts, crisp and brittle. The elements were all motion, yet she remained motionless, the air drained from her very lungs.
Darwin pulled her to the bench, pushing down on her shoulders to seat her, dragging her hand into his pinstriped lap, covering her fist with both of his hands. “I’m sorry. I . . . there was no other way . . . talk to me, Marcella. Please,” he urged, his unibrow scrunching together.
Her throat was thick, her heart bursting with fear. It all didn’t add up. No. Darwin had to be wrong. No, no, no. Moments ticked away while she fought to put her questions together. “This can’t be. How can this be? Carlos’s grandfather’s last name is Ramirez! You’re wrong, Darwin. I don’t know who fed you this load of bullshit, but you’re wrong!” Oh, God. Please let him be wrong.
His strong hand gripped hers harder, the bristling hairs on the back of it chafing her skin. “No, Marcella. I’m not wrong. Listen carefully to me. I made it my mission to be clear on what happened with David when I found out what you did for him. Your sister, Isabella, and her husband took David and moved as far away as they could from New York. They changed their names. They changed David’s name. If you check with Carlos’s grandmother, you’ll find that David’s name is now Juan.”
She felt dizzy—disoriented, like a cloudy blanket had fallen over her thinking skills. “Why? Why did they change his name?”
“Because of a threat from one of Armando’s supposed colleagues. He was convinced your sister knew where some large amount of money Armando had stolen from him was. He was a despicable thug who terrorized Isabella and her husband, Luis, with his clan of evildoers until they feared for their lives. They feared for David’s safety—so they took your parents and your son and moved to California with the help of Luis’s family and hid. They changed their name to Ramirez, Marcella. Juan Ramirez is David Villanueva.”
She bent over at the waist to stop the spinning. Oh, sweet Jesus. Carlos. He was her great-grandson? David was still alive? She shoved a fist in her mouth to keep from screaming her rage, her anguish. Almost as quickly, she sat back up. “Does Armando know I know what he’s done? That he’s taken possession of Solana’s body?”
“No—he only knows you’re here on this plane. It’s why he planted the image of you in Carlos’s head—for confirmation.”
There was always a way to bargain. Always a deal to be had. She’d make one. No matter what it entailed. Armando was a greedy pig. She’d find his weak spot and pluck the motherfucker dry. “Tell me what Armando wants. Tell me, and I’ll give it to him. Does he want to see me writhe in the pit? I know he wants revenge, so I’ll let him have whatever he wants and bargain for Carlos.” With what or how, she couldn’t even begin to consider.
“No, Marcella!” He gave her a hard shake, but his eyes still held sympathy. “Listen carefully. He definitely wants revenge, but he wants to make your eternity far worse than any pit in Hell could ever be. He wants the child. Armando knows who Carlos is. He plans to take him from his grandparents, and there isn’t a thing they can do because he’s in that child’s mother’s body.”
It had come full circle.
Armando would make her pay by way of proxy. By way of a small child. A child who was familia—family. Her son’s offspring. David. Oh, God, David . . . “I—I . . .” And Armando knew there wasn’t a damned thing she could do about it. She was a useless ghost. She couldn’t stop him. Who could stop him? How could they convince anyone that her ex-husband was holding Solana Vega’s body hostage? Just the thought was insane, even to someone who’d grown accustomed to the supernatural.
“Do you know what happened to Solana?” Marcella asked, her question littered with hesitation, her voice scratchy. “Is she . . . ? I mean, is she alive? I don’t understand possession well enough to . . . if that dickless motherfucker hurt her . . .” So many idle threats, so little time.
Darwin looked down at his knees. “If there’s any consolation in this, it’s that Armando didn’t kill Solana in order to possess her. He was just in the right place at the right time. When he was set free from that box, Solana had already passed.”
Jesus, God. Carlos’s mother was dead. Her granddaughter was dead. Grief gripped at her heart like a vise. “How do you know your information is accurate? Who told you this?”
His deep-set, beady eyes grew wet. “Solana. She’s on Plane Drab, Marcella. Just as you left, she arrived, and she’s not crossing over until she knows Carlos is safe. It isn’t just Carlos who needs your help; Solana does, too. She absolutely must cross, but she refuses until she knows Carlos and her parents are safe.”
Marcella’s mind raced with recklessness, almost unable to process the enormity of how tangled this had become. “How did Solana die, Darwin? Are we sure it was an accident?”
“That much I’m sure of. She’d had a particularly hard day and was missing her husband, whom I assume you know passed. While bathing, she’d consumed too much wine and fell asleep. She drowned.”
Pain clutched at her heart. “Oh, God. Carlos. Not only has he lost one parent, but now two?”
Darwin clucked his tongue. “Without a doubt, the boy has suffered epic tragedy as of late. Which makes me all the more anxious to keep him from any more.”
Defeat battered her entire body, making it slump.
But Darwin was beside her, shaking her out of her pity. “Don’t give up, Marcella. I can feel you giving up. Don’t. It’s just one more battle in a string of many you’ve waged. I know you’re tired. I know it seems like there’s no end in sight, but don’t give in. I’ll help you. We’ll find some way to protect Carlos.”
She threw her hands up in a gesture of pure helplessness. “How can we protect him from that freak—especially seeing as he’s in Solana’s body? He has all the control, Darwin! That miserable fuck knows it, too. We don’t have the resources—the kind of power it takes to thwart Armando’s rage. I just know that’s what he’s been doing while he’s been wandering around in his own granddaughter’s body, honing his demonic skills. He makes me want to gag. Damn it. I don’t know where to go from here. I’m lost, Darwin.”
“Then let me help you find your way.”
Her chest tightened into a fist of anger and other rebellious emotions she hadn’t felt since she’d saved her son’s soul. “Isn’t it funny how no one wanted a thing to do with me, despite the fact that I was a pretty decent demon who never really caused any trouble? I mean, the most damage I’ve ever done is to a Visa card. But now, because you all know the truth, you’re all in love with me? I’m still the same old beyotch I always was. What I did wasn’t anything any other mother wouldn’t have done if she had access to the kind of afterlife resources I did.”
He wagged a chubby, hairy-knuckled finger at her with reprimand. “That’s not fair. You hid, Marcella. You hid your sacrifices. Saving your son’s soul is the ultimate sacrifice.”
Marcella’s scoff held disgust. “So if I hadn’t saved someone’s soul, I’d still be a dirty, rotten bitch? I sort of resent that. I wasn’t a bad person while I was a demon. I might not have been out saving the world, but I didn’t hurt anyone. I shopped. I didn’t cultivate my evil. Yet still, it wasn’t enough.”
Darwin gave her a sideways glance chock-full of disapproval. “Please. Let’s be honest here, you were the crankiest, snarkiest demon in three-inch heels and a tight tee. You wanted us to believe you were heartless because it was easier than convincing anyone of the truth. Did it make people love you? No. Had we known why you w
ere so godforsakenly horrifying, we might have cut you some slack.”
She sighed, her anger vanishing, helplessness returning. “That’s fair.”
He gave her a hard shove with his shoulder. “C’mon, Marcella—get mad at me. Call me a kibble-loving ass licker—fight back!”
“With what?” she screamed into the wind. “Jesus Christ, you canine catastrophe—fight back with what?”
Now Darwin slumped back, too, his beefy shoulders pressing against hers. Settling beside her, he narrowed his eyes. “I don’t know, but by all that’s holy, I’ll find out. We’ll find out. We’ll end this cyclical hell once and for all. Delaney and Clyde’s situation seemed helpless, but they found a way out. We’ll find one for Carlos, too. But I beg you, don’t give up. We will find some way to help him. I won’t have it any other way.”
Fat tears began to form in the corners of her eyes. Here came the whine. “I’m just so tired, Darwin. The running from the truth, the hiding, it’s taken its toll, I think. I don’t know that I realized how exhausting it would be until it all came crashing around my ears. Lately, I’m either crying or crying. It’s pathetic.”
Pulling her to him, Darwin pressed her head to his shoulder. “That’s because you’ve stuffed this so far down inside you that it became a ticking time bomb. Letting it go, talking about something so horrible, so life-altering, is exhausting, Marcella. You need to mourn properly instead of shoving it aside. But there’s hope now. You have a great-grandson who needs you. I suspect, with all the time you’ve been spending with Kellen, he needs you, too.”
She fought another wretched sob against his linebacker’s shoulder.
“Ah. It’s as I suspected. Kellen knows about David?”
She nodded, mute.
“Things have changed between you, haven’t they?”
Words were impossible.
“You’re in love.”
Marcella choked on a whimper and another nod of her head. “I didn’t mean for it to happen. I thought it was just a stupid fantasy, but everything’s changed.”
My Way to Hell Page 23