That was why he had opened his doors to the Oneness when they came, refugees from a massacre and a bombing and law enforcement gone wrong. When they came, running from demons that hounded their heels baying for blood, shaken and bereaved and desperate. That was why he had taken in Mary and her twin brother and his family, why he had not opposed Diane joining the Oneness though he did not Join himself, and why he had died.
Protecting them.
Neither woman had ever forgotten that night, or that man.
Chris hung back at the edge of the graveyard. He did not come here more than once a year, when he would bring his mother on the anniversary of his father’s death. He had not really known Douglas. Was too young when he died. Knew that he was his father reincarnated in many, many ways, and was perhaps afraid to face the spectre of his own end here.
Or maybe he just didn’t like graveyards.
April waited with him, casting furtive glances from the women standing at the gravestone to the son, pacing in the weeds outside the boundaries of the cemetery.
How different, how ironic the stories she was learning.
Douglas, who never became One but died for them anyway.
David, who was One, was still One, and was doing all in his power to destroy them.
And both because of the same event—because of the same demonic attack.
They had learned a few things in their recent interactions with David. That he blamed Mary for his misery, because at some long-forgotten day in the past, she had brought him into the Oneness. Of course she hadn’t—no one could be forced in, all came of their own accord. If he was One it was by his own choice. But he needed someone to blame, and he blamed her. That it was the demonic attack all those years ago that had turned his heart bitter and angry. That he had gone to the hermit on Tempter’s Mountain seeking some way to be released, to be exiled, to be amputated from the body he had joined. And that there had been no way.
What exactly had happened to him—what exactly had caused the inferno of hurt that was threatening to devour them all now—that was still a mystery.
One they intended to solve and to heal.
If it was at all possible.
And if it was not . . .
Maybe there was one way to perform an amputation.
“Are they almost done?” Chris burst out. He kept his voice to a stage whisper, but April winced anyway and cast another look at the women by the stone.
“I don’t know.”
“I don’t know why they needed to come here.”
“It means something to them.”
“Yeah. It means they’ve already lost too much in this fight.”
“Maybe that’s incentive to keep fighting.”
“Maybe they’re just broken and they don’t know what else to do. Maybe you all are.”
“Everyone is broken,” April said. “That doesn’t make them fools. Or without value in the fight.”
He stopped his pacing. “That’s not really what I meant. I’m sorry. I want to see this battle won as much as any of you. I just don’t know why we have to be here.”
“Do you remember him at all? Your dad?”
He shrugged. “Maybe. A little bit. I remember a feeling more than a face—a presence.”
April smiled. “The Oneness is a little like that.”
Then she said, “Maybe, if you’d known him, you would want to come here too. It might feel more like you were close to him.”
He didn’t answer. Instead he turned and stared out at the blue water stretching away just beyond the slope. Sails dotted the distance, and fishing boats closer to shore. April wondered if that was where Chris felt close to his father—on the water, with a fishing net in his hand and the sun beating on his head and shoulders.
“What about you?” he asked, turning abruptly. “You even have parents?”
The question might have sounded harsh and uncaring if Chris hadn’t been Chris—if she didn’t know, from watching him with his mother and Reese and Tyler, that his reason for being was to care.
“Yes, I have them,” she said. She wanted to tell him more—didn’t she?
No, she didn’t. The Oneness had mostly let her bury the past. Better it stay that way.
“And you can remember them?” Chris asked. Far more gently now.
“Yes, I can.”
He nodded. “I think they’re ready to go.”
She looked up. Mary and Diane were making their way across the grassy yard to her and Chris.
They were done facing the past for the moment.
Ready to go seek out David and force him to face his.
And April wondered, suddenly fearful, how many more of them would have to do the same.
Though Mary made a point of stopping to meet April’s eyes and give her a sad smile before they moved on, neither she nor Diane spoke. They simply led the way back to Richard’s car, with Chris falling in behind them and April trailing at the back. They’d discussed the plan before coming up here: go to the jail where David was being held in custody prior to charges—among other things of kidnapping, attempted murder, and arson—and try to talk to him, try to get through to his heart. And if that didn’t work, spring him out and take him away somewhere where he would have nothing but the Oneness to fall back on, where he would have to face himself and them.
There was only one place they could go where they were sure no one would interfere—not the law, not hive members, not anyone. It was Chris who would take them there.
Out to sea.
Maybe, if he wouldn’t turn, never to bring him back.
April chilled at the very thought. Even knowing they were considering it—that they were all considering executing one of their own—tore her apart to a degree she could not explain.
The Oneness was supposed to be hope, safety, a home. Not a judge and jury, not an axe to fall. The Oneness was grace and transformation as you opened yourself to the world as it truly was and embraced community, connection, becoming more than yourself and finding your place in a whole. That they would end a life instead of transforming it—
That ached.
She was afraid, too, of the consequences. The demons avoided killing Oneness. When they had to, they tried to do things like they’d tried to do to her—to trap and starve them, or cause them to fall into an accident, anything that left the blood technically off their hands. They were quite happy to inspire human agents, like those in the hive, to do the killing. But they knew there were consequences to blood. To murder. Consequences they feared. Necessary as it might be, April did not think she and the others would escape the consequences if they killed David.
But really, what other choice did they have?
They drove along the coast for a while, down out of the cliffs, and then turned inland toward Lincoln and the large city jail there. The heat of the sun grew worse the further they drove from the water. Thankful that Richard’s car was new and comfortable and air conditioned, April laughed at the bitter incongruity of caring about the temperature when the whole world as she knew it was rocking on its foundations.
They knew something was wrong as soon as they arrived at the jail. Caution tape stretched around its perimeter, police officers were swarming the parking lot, examining who knew what. Bystanders had gathered, but the police shooed them off as best as they could.
Chris parked the car across the street from the jail, and Mary was out the door almost before he’d put it in park. She jogged across the road and approached the nearest officer.
“Excuse me,” she said. “We have an appointment to see someone you’re detaining—David Foster.”
“Sorry, you can’t. All visits are off.”
“What’s happened here?”
“That’s confidential for now, ma’am.”
She scanned the parking lot, taking in the activity and what looked like a scorch mark on the ground. The others gathered behind her.
“What’s going on?” Chris asked loudly. The officer sighed and said ag
ain, “Confidential. Move along, please, folks.”
“You lost them, didn’t you?” Mary asked.
“Excuse me?”
“You lost the prisoners—the new ones. David Foster and Clint Wagner. And the rest of them.”
The officer barked a laugh. “I wouldn’t say we lost them so much as they just walked right out. But not all of them. We’ve still got Parks and Foster.”
“Parks?”
“Jessica Parks. The woman who was brought in with them. The only one who walked out of here was that freak—left the others here to spite them, if you ask me.”
So much for confidential. Mary kept her relief carefully controlled. “So David Foster is still here.”
“Yeah, he’s still here, and mad as hornets.”
“He’s the one we’re here to see. It’s important. Please, our talking to him might even help you with all this.”
The officer looked newly interested. “What are you? Family?”
“Yes,” Mary said simply.
“He told us he didn’t have any family.”
“He lied.”
“Family feud?”
“You could say that.”
The officer lowered his voice. “If you talk to him, you think he’ll tell you anything? About that freak?”
“Maybe. How did he get out?”
“I told you—he just walked out. Right through the doors and the walls. We swiped at him but our hands went right through him. He got out of here and just went up in a pillar of fire—right there. You see the mark.”
“I do,” Mary said. She didn’t bother to tell him they were hoping to walk David right out as well, if necessary.
“But it wasn’t suicide or nothing. There’s no body. He just disappeared. You ask me, the fire was just for show. Big bloody circus act.” His face darkened. “You can lead us to him, I’ll let you in. I want that freakazoid dead. He killed our men—murdered them in cold blood.”
“That has to be proven, doesn’t it?”
“He confessed it. Told us all about it. Had fun doing it.” To her surprise, there were tears in the man’s eyes. “Those were my pards. We went to academy together. We worked the streets together. If justice can’t get to that guy, I don’t want this badge anymore. I’ll trade it in for something that doesn’t kill me with how much I can’t do anything.”
“We want justice done too,” Mary agreed. “We’ll help you anyway we can. What’s your name?”
“Captain Jeff Rogers.”
“Jeff, if you’ll let us talk to David, we’ll do all we can to help you get to Clint. You’re right—he’s not dead. He’s out there somewhere, and he will kill again if he’s not stopped.”
The officer stepped back and looked the four of them over, new light coming into his eyes.
“There’s something different about you people.”
“We can help,” April cut in. “But we need you to help us first.”
“It’s possible,” Mary said quietly, “that you might not like how we help at first. Something might happen . . . do you know what I’m saying?”
“Listen, lady, right now I don’t care. You can break every law in the bloody book if you want to. I’ll call it bail. Just get us to the freak.”
Mary stuck out her hand, and they shook. “We’ll do the best we can.”
He looked around and gestured with his head. “Follow me.”
The jail wasn’t a large one. They passed through the office and into the secured area in the back, and David was there, glaring up at them from the corner of a cell. Mary recognized the woman who had been at the house—Jessica Parks—in another cell, but they were pointedly ignoring each other.
A third cell had been caution taped off. Its bars looked like something had melted through them.
Or someone.
“He’s strong,” Mary said, half to herself. “I’ve never seen one so strong.”
“Because you’ve never seen power,” David said. “You’ve gone your whole life with your eyes closed, denying that anything in this world can be stronger and truer than you are.”
“There is nothing ‘true’ about the demons, David,” Mary answered. “Or about those who allow them in.”
“And you would know,” David said. “From your vast experience being beaten by them.”
“You’re a very bitter man.”
“And you’re a very foolish woman.”
They stared at each other for a few minutes. The others, clustered together behind Mary, shifted their feet and looked at one another, Rogers looked pointedly at Mary. “I’m going to step out for a minute,” he said. “Stay put.”
She nodded. “Thank you.”
“So what?” David asked when Rogers had left. “You’ve all come as a small mob to do what? Kill me? I’m trapped here. The only one with the power to get me out abandoned me here, just to show that he’s stronger and smarter and that I need him. Idiot can’t see the power in acting as one. So here you are. This is your chance.”
“We don’t want to kill you, David.”
There. The words were out there. Implicit in them the suggestion that they would, if they had to.
He smirked. “Learning that not everything goes the way you want it to, are you?”
“Nothing ever has. I didn’t want the massacre all those years ago. I didn’t want to lose so many I cared about. I certainly didn’t want to lose you.”
“You say that like you knew. Like you had any idea how much it cost me. Like I haven’t just been some nameless, faceless piece of the Oneness, hiding out in Lincoln where you never thought of or cared about me at all.” He lifted his eyes and addressed the others. “This woman, she’s your mother, isn’t she? The matron of the village den, holding you all together and caring about everyone equally. The truth is she cares about no one equally. You’re just cogs in a system. Like all the Oneness.”
“No, David,” Mary said, her whole voice a groan, a burden. “No, that’s your hive.”
“Then why didn’t you know about me?” David asked. “Why is it that even now, you hardly remember me? Why is it that you have no idea what turned me, when you were there? You were right in the middle of it.”
Her face paled.
This, she didn’t know.
He had told her before that he blamed her for his pain because she had brought him into the Oneness.
And to her shame, she didn’t really remember that. She had vague memories of David as a young man, years of vague awareness that he was leading the cell in Lincoln.
That was all.
He had not told her, before now, that she was also involved somehow in the very event that had turned him.
He settled back against the wall, clearly satisfied. “See, children? She doesn’t even know what I’m talking about. That’s how much she cares. That’s how much Oneness binds people together, heart to heart, in love and unity. So much that she watched my life destroyed, and she doesn’t even remember.”
David was not a remarkable man to look at. Like so many of the Oneness, he would blend into any crowd. His hair, thinning in middle age, was cropped short. His face was a little heavyset but not fat, his build was average. His eyes were creased with laugh lines, and his face still, despite how twisted they had seen it, despite all the bitterness coming out his mouth, looked kind. He wore his own clothes in the cell, just jeans and a polo shirt. He was just a man, a brother, like any of them.
“I don’t know what to say,” Mary said. “It’s true. I don’t remember. Tell me the story, and give me a chance to put the pieces together.”
“No, I don’t think so,” he said, enjoying himself. “I don’t think so. I think I want to wait and see if you ever recall it on your own.”
“David, whatever happened, I am sorry. I would apologize—would try to make things right. But I can’t do that in the dark.”
“Seems to me the dark is your natural habitat. I’m just doing all I can to make you see that.”
He closed his eye
s for a nanosecond, during which they could see him processing something—they didn’t know what. And he opened them again.
“So have you come to kill me, or what?”
“No. We’re here to talk to you.”
He laughed. “That’s classic. Why don’t you do the thing right? Really get into cahoots with your police buddies and spirit me off somewhere with no address. Torture me until I tell you all. Until I reveal how vast and nefarious my plan really is, and how doomed to failure you already are.”
“That’s not the kind of talk we want to have.”
“But you will if you have to, right? Your black friend will tie me up and play cattle drive with a taser until I give in screaming.”
“Mary,” April said sharply. “Don’t let him get to you.”
“Oh, I’ll get to you,” David said. His eyes gleamed. “As long as you insist on ‘talking to me,’ I’ll get to you. As long as you make me stay here, here on this planet as part of the Oneness, I’ll get to you.”
Mary sighed. She opened her mouth to answer but stopped herself short and turned around, doing a 180 to face Chris and April.
“I can’t do this.”
“You . . .” April felt her way forward. “What can’t you do?”
“I can’t talk to him. Not in here. Not like this. We need to get him out of here.”
Chris lifted an eyebrow and hid a smile. “Somewhere with no address?”
“That’s not funny, Chris.”
His eyebrows went back to normal. “No, it’s not. But I’m going to enjoy the picture he was painting for just a minute anyway.” Chris strode forward and grabbed the cell bars, his fingers straining around the cast on his arm, standing over David like Atlas over some mere man. “Listen, weasel. As sick as you are, you are still Oneness, and they love you. I do not. You can joke all you want about turning them in ways you know they will never be turned, but you do not know me or what I will do. Behave yourself. You understand me? We’re going to get you out of here, like you said, and go somewhere with no address, and you are going to talk to the ladies like they want to talk. If I catch you threatening them, if I catch you making their lives any harder than you’ve already made them, in ways that are unnecessary, I might just throw you overboard.” He smiled grimly. “Literally. Got that?”
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