by P. G. Forte
Seth.
For just a moment longer her spirit hovered. Hesitating. Waiting. Poised in the suddenly endless space that seemed to stretch between one breath and the next...
Chapter Thirty Four
“What the fuck?” Seth stood frozen in his doorway, staring in horror at the scene before him, unable to comprehend what he was seeing. Or maybe just unwilling to believe his eyes.
There was a bald man dressed in a long, black coat writhing around on his floor. That by itself was enough – no, that was already altogether too much – to digest. But as for the rest–
No. No way.
The rest was a Technicolor nightmare. One that threatened to make his brain shut down entirely.
This isn’t happening. It isn’t real. I must be dreaming.
The man turned, and another shock rocked through Seth. Recognition chilled his soul as pale blue eyes in a blood smeared face locked with his.
I knew it. I knew!
Time seemed to slow to a stop, as though waiting for his brain to catch up with his eyes. Oh, hell, he knew this guy. He’d met him just this morning.
I told Cara he was bad news. I warned her.
Seth felt his mouth moving, but he could hear nothing at first, except a roaring in his ears. When the harsh sound of his own voice registered, he heard himself order his dogs to attack.
Snarling, the dogs leaped at the man. Gregg feinted and dodged, as he jumped to his feet. Arms raised to cover his face, black coat swirling behind him, he turned and hurled himself through the second story window. The crash of breaking glass filled the night with its noise.
“No!” Seth shrieked in dismay. He didn’t care what became of his mysterious visitor—the guy was creepy enough for anything, maybe he’d turned into a bat and flown away—he feared only that his dogs would try to follow. “Stop! Stay! Stay!”
Gulping for breath he stared around him, trying to take it all in. The shattered window. The blood spattered wreck of his room. The dogs, still snapping and snarling wheeling in circles, whining in confusion. The gory mess that lay splayed across his carpet. Oh, no, please, it can’t be–
Cara? Seth took a step forward and stumbled on something beneath his feet. He looked down and froze. Ray? Chills of horror dropped him to his knees, begging, murmuring, praying. “Ray? Oh, God. Ray? Ray? Answer me! Please.”
Seth’s fingers were shaking as he touched his friend’s neck, his wrists, his chest. Seeking anywhere he might find a pulse. Ray’s skin was cool. Too cool. Too pale. Too…dead.
No. No, this isn’t right. This can’t be happening. No! Seth jerked his hands back. They came away red and sticky with blood. He stared at them, and then turned and fell to his hands and knees, retching and heaving, losing his lunch all over the blood soaked carpet.
The whining of the dogs finally got his attention. He glanced up. They still circled the room, frantic, restless, waiting for orders, stepping on everything in their path. On everyone in their path. Trailing red-flower footprints wherever they passed.
“Sit!” Seth ordered, desperate to keep them from doing any more damage, wincing as their haunches went down in the gore, as their tails fanned the blood, painting crimson half-circles on the floor.
I have to get out of here. No. I have to get to a phone. I have to call for help. Now.
It was the first clear thought he’d had in several minutes, and he clung to it. He struggled to his feet, breath catching, knees shaking, carefully averting his eyes from the bodies as he crossed the room to his desk and grabbed for the phone. 9-1-1. His fingers trembled as he punched in the numbers. Then he waited, squeezing his eyes shut in an attempt to concentrate. Focusing on the information he needed to relay – and nothing else.
He was shaking all over when he hung up the phone. And the last thing he wanted to do was to remain in this room that reeked of death. Up until a few minutes ago, this place had been his haven. His hideout. His safe place. His home. That was all gone now. Now... it was his idea of hell.
* * *
“What is this place?” Sinead asked, turning away from the window, taking a deep breath as she braced herself for the answer. “Is this hell?”
Lisa’s eyebrows rose. “No, I told you, it’s–”
“Stop it,” Sinead said, cutting her off. “No more stories. This isn’t high school. And it’s not heaven, either. Is it?”
Lisa looked at her for a long moment, as though considering her answer. Finally she sighed. “No. You’re right about that. This isn’t heaven.
Sinead nodded, almost relieved. She’d known all along she wasn’t destined for Paradise. It was better to accept her fate than to continue fooling herself. Her chin rose as she turned back to the window. It was still beautiful, wherever it was. There were surely worse places to spend eternity.
“This isn’t heaven,” Lisa repeated softly. “And you’re not dead.”
Not dead? Sinead turned to stare at her. “What are you talking about? Of course I’m–”
“Nope.” Lisa shook her head. “Not yet, you’re not.” She nodded toward the window. “Neither is your friend out there, for that matter. Although, you both could be, if that’s what you choose. And pretty soon, in his case”
Night was falling over the forest again, and Sinead thought about the pain she’d seen in Nick’s eyes. “Don’t be ridiculous. Do you know how miserable he is? No one would choose that.”
Lisa sighed. “Sure he would. First off, he’s angry. See, he’d saddled himself with this big mission. He thought he could protect everyone he cared about, and now he’s mad at himself because he believes he’s failed. Then there’s the guilt, which is telling him he doesn’t deserved to be saved, either. Last of all, there’s fear. He’s paralyzed by it. All he can see is this one moment in time, and terrifying as that is, the thought of moving past it, of waking up and having to deal with the aftermath, is even worse. So staying here, even staying trapped in that one moment seems safer, easier, more comfortable than having to return and deal with what he imagines the consequences will be.”
Sinead shook her head. “I’m not buying that.” Surely it wasn’t that simple. “And what about me? Why am I here? I can’t remember anything – so how can you say I’m choosing to die? How can I make a rational choice about returning to my life, if I have nothing to base it on?”
“Well, exactly.” Lisa smiled as she walked back to the table and sat down. Sinead waited, but the teenager said nothing more.
“My life must have been pretty awful if I’m repressing all my memories of it.”
Lisa picked up a pack of cigarettes that was on the table and shook one out. “Okay, if that’s what you want to think. Go for it.”
“Are you saying I’m wrong?”
“Wouldn’t dream of it,” Lisa murmured as she lit up.
Sinead thought about asking her to put her cigarette out; she wasn’t a big fan of second hand smoke. But if she was already mostly dead – why was she worried about her health? “So, what exactly are you saying?”
“What I’m saying is... I’m not saying anything. This is your deal. You figure it out.”
Sinead rolled her eyes. “Well, gee, thanks. Isn’t that helpful?”
“Actually, yeah.” Lisa nodded. “I think so. See, you already have all the answers. And if you wanted to remember it, then you would. But I know you. When things go wrong, you always want it to be somebody else’s fault. And right now, you’ve got this big choice to make. There’s a lot of responsibility involved and you don’t want to deal with it. So you’ve set things up this way to give yourself an out.” She blew out a cloud of smoke, smiled even more smugly and added, “Not choosing is a choice, too, you know. It’s a real chickenshit choice. But it’s still a choice.”
Sinead glared at the girl. I am not a chickenshit, she wanted to tell her. But she wasn’t about to engage in a pissing contest with this... this child. “So what’s your story?” she asked instead. “What is it you’re afraid of? Why did you choose
to stay here?”
Lisa’s eyes narrowed. “We’re not all as lucky as you are. Sometimes, there is no fork in the road. Sometimes the road just dead ends. My choice was made for me.”
“Oh, I see,” Sinead drawled. “How very convenient.”
“Hey!” Lisa leaped from the table, eyes blazing. “Don’t you give me any of that shit. I was murdered, damn it. At seventeen. I had my whole life ahead of me – I did not decide to just toss it away like you’re doing. I didn’t want to leave it behind!”
“A little angry?” Sinead observed, turning back toward the window. Tears stung her eyes. She hadn’t meant to goad the girl. No matter what Lisa might think, Sinead really couldn’t remember who either of them were.
There was silence for a moment, then Lisa spoke. “You know, there’s another big difference between you and me. When I died, there were two lives lost. Mine…and my baby’s.”
Sinead turned back to stare at her. “Your baby?”
Lisa’s eyes twinkled with malicious amusement. “Yeah, I was pregnant when I died. How’s that for sucky timing? At least you’re not doing that, huh? You’re only killing yourself.”
Sinead felt her eyes grow wide. What’s she saying? But she knew. Awareness sluiced through her like a bucket of ice water poured over her head. “Victoria.”
Lisa nodded. “But, hey, don’t let a little thing like that worry you. Lots of kids grow up with only one parent, right? I’m sure she’ll be fine.”
* * *
Liam groaned as the pain in his head returned him to awareness. Wherever he was, it was warm and soft and more comfortable than he’d remembered being in a very long time. There was a swaying motion, almost a rocking sensation that seemed oddly familiar, and over the persistent hum of an engine wafted the low, sweet notes of a cedar flute. He took a breath and filled his lungs. The air had an strange, smoky, herbal scent that tugged at his memories and reminded him of– “Chenoa.” He sighed happily.
“Close,” a masculine voice snapped in reply. “But you try screwing me, brah, like you did my sister, and I’ll beat your ass.”
Liam’s eyes flew open at that. He glanced around as far as he was able without moving his head. He was lying on the back seat of a car. An unfamiliar vehicle, so far as he could tell. He shifted his gaze higher. A pair of angry, gold eyes peered back at him from the rear view mirror. Chay? Oh, great. Terrific. And, man, didn’t he look pissed?
Groaning again from the effort, Liam sat up. Slowly. Gingerly. His head pounded, making damn sure he got the message: it wasn’t happy with him right now, either. “How did I get here?” he asked, struggling to remember where he’d been, what he’d been doing, how he’d gotten hurt. “Where are we going?”
“You hit your head when you fell,” Chay replied, returning his eyes to the road ahead. “You might need stitches. I’m taking you to the hospital.”
When I fell? Off of what—someone’s roof? Frowning, Liam studied Chay’s reflection in the mirror. He looked guilty. Uncomfortable. “You jumped me!”
Chay shrugged. “Yeah, well, what can I tell you? I was provoked.”
Provoked? Fucking perfect. Tamping down the urge to return the favor, Liam dabbed at his head with his sleeve, it came away bloody. The hospital? Yeah, that was great, too. He needed another trip to the hospital like he needed– Oh, fuck, no. As memory returned, he surged forward, ignoring the pain in his head and Chay’s yelp of surprise, as he wedged himself between the backrests and dropped into the passenger seat. “Screw the hospital, I need to get to the police station. Now.”
* * *
“The police?” Chay stared at his passenger in surprise as he reached for the car’s CD player to turn down the volume. “You gotta be kidding me. Why’s that?”
Liam grimaced. “Look, I don’t have time to explain. There’s a girl. Sh-she’s in trouble.”
“In trouble, huh?” Chay snorted. “Why am I not surprised? How many more of them you been messing around with?”
“Not like that,” Liam snapped. “Someone’s trying to kill her. I gotta find her before that happens.”
The edge of panic in Liam’s voice sounded real enough. Chay stretched across him to flip open the glove compartment. “Well, then, here.” He handed Liam his cell phone. “Why don’t you give ‘em a call? It’ll save time.”
“Thanks,” Liam sighed in relief. He flipped open the phone and then stopped. “Shit. I don’t know where she is.”
Chay shot him a curious glance. “How’s that?”
But Liam had screwed his eyes shut and appeared to be thinking hard. “She has a friend... Seth, somebody,” he murmured slowly. “Drives a white truck. I think he works for a nursery.”
“What’s he look like?” Chay asked.
“Tall. Dark hair. Late teens... ”
“Seth Cavanaugh?”
Liam shook his head. “I don’t know. I can’t remember.” His voice sounded fretful, fearful. Then his face cleared. “Nick. He’s Nick’s cousin.”
“Okay. Hold on.” Chay spun the wheel hard. His tires squealed as he took a quick right and headed back toward town. “You’re in luck. I know where they live.”
“Good,” Liam replied dialing 911. “Drive there.”
“Aho. I’m way ahead of you.”
Chay gunned the car through the mostly-empty streets, listening in growing surprise as Liam called in a disturbance; a possible prowler, armed, dangerous, at the address Chay had just given him. “You know, calling in false alarms, that’s a good way to land your ass in jail,” he said when Liam fell still.
Liam frowned. “I know. I’ll take the risk.”
“Yeah, brah. But, you’re takin’ it with my phone.”
“Listen,” Liam said, eyes flashing as he turned to face him, “There’s a good chance that– What? Wh-when?” The last two words were barked into the phone. Chay watched as the blood drained from Liam’s face, leaving it deathly white.
“What’s wrong?” Chay asked as Liam disconnected the call and sagged against the doorframe.
“They’ve already been called.” Liam’s voice sounded drained of hope. “They’re on their way to the scene.”
“Well, that’s good, right?” Chay prompted.
Liam shook his head. “No. It means we’re too late.”
* * *
Seth averted his eyes from the bodies of his friends as he made his way across the room, intent only on reaching the door. He had almost made good on his escape when he heard it. A small, small sound, too soft to be a sigh. He froze, slowly pivoting in place, afraid to look, afraid to see. Afraid to hope.
The sound came again. Wincing, Seth dropped his gaze to the floor and forced himself to take his first good look at what had been done to Cara.
It wasn’t quite as bad as he’d feared. The damage seemed mostly confined to her arms and hands…to one leg... to her chest…and... oh, God. Her face. Her poor face.
He cringed, almost shutting his eyes at the horror. I have to go. I have to get out. I can’t stay here. I can’t see this. Swallowing hard to keep from retching again, he had already begun to turn away when his eyes were caught by a faint movement. He swung back to face her, his gaze zeroing in on her chest. Had it risen? Or was that just wishful thinking? He waited, eyes riveted, his own heart thundering in his ears. And then– “Yes!”
He strode quickly back across the room and, ignoring the blood, dropped to his knees by her side. He started to reach for her and then stopped. Shuddering, freezing once more, he thrust his hands through his hair in helpless frustration as his eyes roved over her. Christ, there was nowhere he could touch her that didn’t look like it would hurt. Well, other than a few places where he just didn’t feel right about touching her – not while she was unconscious, anyhow. He settled, finally, on cradling the crown of her head in his palm. “Cara? Can you hear me?” he asked bending close. “If you can, then... ” Then, what, genius?
Shit. He sat back on his heels, biting his lip as he pondered th
e question. What could she do, to let him know she was conscious?
Nod?
No.
Blink?
No.
Squeeze my hand?
No.
Say something?
Doubtful.
Crap. There was nothing, was there?
A small sound broke from Cara’s lips; too weak to be a cough, too garbled to be anything else.
Seth leaned closer, eyes focused on her mouth. “Cara?”
She coughed again. Blood bubbled between her lips.
Grabbing the end of his shirt, Seth swiped at her mouth with delicate strokes. His fingers trembled. “Don’t die,” he begged softly. “Please don’t die.”
Her lips parted. The noise that emerged from her throat sounded thin and thready, indistinct – nothing at all like her usual voice. “S-s-shethh-th?”
“Yes. It’s me. I’m, I’m here. I-I-I–” Tears rolled down Seth’s cheeks. He gulped back a sob. How many times had he cringed at the sound of her voice? Or complained about her whining? How many times had he been impatient, angry, even cruel to her? He wished there was some way he could take them all back. “Cara, please... ” He’d give anything right now to hear her voice again—her normal, everyday voice. To hear her whine at him. Hell, even to hear her call him an asshole. “Hang on. Just-just–” Why, God? Why her?
Her lips moved again and her forehead puckered as she struggled to speak. “Kuhhh... kuhh... klahh–”
“Shh,” Seth soothed, one hand still curled protectively around her head, the other resting lightly on her waist. “I called for help already. They’re on their way. Just... just don’t die on me, ‘kay? Please?”
“C-c-clap.”
Seth blinked to clear his eyes. “Wh-what?”
“Clapp.” Cara’s throat worked. More blood trickled from her mouth. “Yourrrr... haanns.”
Seth stared at her. “Clap my hands?” Surely, she hadn’t said that? Shit, that made no sense. No sense, at all!
But there was a trace of movement against his hand. She was nodding.
“You want me to clap my hands?” he repeated in disbelief, more alarmed than confused by her request. Clap? Like at the end of a play, or something? What the fuck was this about now?