by Logan Fox
Really gotta quit smoking.
But the little shit’s not in the tower either.
“Fuck.”
I pull out my phone, try and call him. It’s probably a lost cause, seeing as he didn’t answer before, but—
I hear it ringing.
Not through my phone. I actually hear Apollo’s Nirvana rip off ring tone rocking it out somewhere nearby. I look to where the sound is coming from, and it feels like every hair on my body is stretching for sunlight.
There, barely visible behind the mass of the bronze bell, is a metal door.
It’s standing ajar. Beside it, smeared on the stonework, is a bloody handprint.
Ice coats me from head to foot, and then I’m running.
Running so fucking fast.
But I know I’m already too late.
Chapter Four
Apollo
I’m going to miss this view. I hope there’ll be enough time to sit up here and smoke a last joint before we leave Saint Amos forever. I could bring the crew here when we’re done. We could all sit up here and stare out at the forest.
Because we will find Gabriel.
He will tell us where to find our Ghosts.
And then we just have to go and kill them.
I fill my lungs with sweet forest air. I’ll miss this old stack of stones too. Probably the only one who will. The others hate it here. Always have.
I like gloomy places. Even the basement—but only when there weren’t any Ghosts around.
And the forest.
Shit, I’m going to miss that forest.
But I have to get going. When I move, keys jingle inside my pocket.
Did Trin find the envelope? I didn’t want to put it in her room in case Jasper found it before she did. Now I’m worried she didn’t come up here again after I cleaned out the place. Or, if she did, that she didn’t check the drawer. Shit. Maybe I should have left it out in the open.
Trin didn’t mention anything about finding the photo, and I have a feeling she would have. Maybe give me a knowing look or something. A kind of a thank you.
The photo means a lot to her. I wish I knew why.
I’ve stared at it so many times over the years, I have it memorized. Especially Gabriel’s face. He was young back then. He looks so innocent in that photo, if a bit of a prick. Guess that’s no surprise. Maybe that’s how she’d prefer to remember her father. Innocent.
I saunter over, glancing at the view as I try to drink in every leaf on every tree.
I unlock the door and push. It swings open, then gets stuck like there’s something in the way.
The hell?
I push against it, shove a little harder. There’s a groan.
My eyes go wide, lungs tight and hot and bursting.
I squeeze in through the gap and stare down at Trinity. It takes me way too long to process what I’m seeing because there’s blood down there and blood makes me feel like gravity has stopped working.
I grab onto the thin edge of the metal desk behind me, holding on, trying to stay rooted to the floor so I won’t float away.
Her eyes are open, but she looks out of it. Concussed maybe. I’ve seen it plenty of times. Ghosts playing too hard with their toys. Sometimes they break them and those toys don’t always heal.
“Trin.” My voice comes from far away.
Shit, man. Keep it together. She needs you!
But there’s blood pooling on the floor by her head. More on her legs. She’s still wearing the white dress, and her skin is so pale. The red looks neon against all that white.
Focus on her eyes, man. Look at her. Help her.
I push away from the desk. Start rambling. “Hey. It’s okay. I’m here. Trin. Trin! Can you hear me? I’m here, pretty thing.”
She groans again, her eyes fluttering closed. I get closer. See all that blood is actually her dark hair. Only a little blood. A small splash. Almost less than the streaks on her thighs.
We did that.
No. Can’t be. I saw blood yesterday, but not that much. Not enough to make me float away.
I touch her shoulder, scoop a hand under her head. Help her sit up.
Got to be careful with a possible head trauma. So, so careful.
“Hey, you there?” I ask. “Can you hear me, Trin?”
Her mouth moves, but no sound comes out. Is that good or bad?
“I’m here, pretty thing. You’re safe now. Everything’s fine.”
Best thing ever—someone telling you shit’s fine. Even when it’s not, it doesn’t matter. Because you give them hope, right? Would have been like those other kids if we didn’t have hope. The ones that came to the basement to die.
“’Ming,” I think she says.
“Shh. Don’t speak, okay?” I can carry her, but not down all those stairs. Not without jarring her. And that can’t be good.
Gotta get help.
I take out my phone.
Shit! Cass has been trying to reach me. I must have forgotten to take my phone off silent this morning. I turn on the ringer now. Then I go to call Cass.
“Coming,” Trinity says, and this time I hear her fine. But it’s too late, because her eyes are already wide, her lips peeling open in dismay.
Maybe if I’d understood sooner, Gabriel wouldn’t have had the upper hand. But he works out. Stays fit.
I don’t. Hate getting sweaty. Hate feeling tired and stiff.
When Father Gabriel comes at me from behind, slings an arm around my throat, and puts me in a chokehold, there’s nothing I can do about it.
Sweet fanny fuck all.
I swat at him, try and scratch out his eyes, but he dodges like a snake.
Trinity watches, eyes brimming, lips distorted. Angry, scared. But just sitting there like a broken doll propped up against the wall in some filthy playhouse.
I finally make contact. Scratch his cheek.
But the light’s fading. I can’t fend him off much longer. And once he’s rid of me…
“They’re coming for you, you piece of shit,” I manage through a collapsing windpipe. “I’d run. Run fucking far.”
God, it takes everything I have to say those words. Not just physical effort, because taking a nap right now is all my body wants to do.
I’m giving up everything we’ve tried so hard to conceal. No vote. No consensus. But I can’t let him take her. And I know that’s what he’s going to do after leaving her here like this. Probably had to go fetch some ropes, or a carpet to roll her up in like those old spy movies.
Life is more important than revenge. Trinity’s life especially.
I don’t care if she’s Gabriel’s daughter.
I don’t care if she was sent to spy on us.
I care too much about her for that shit to matter.
My brothers might never forgive me, and that’s fine. I can handle that. But I’ll never forgive myself if I didn’t do everything in my limited power to protect her.
“They? They who?” Gabriel says. It sounds like he’s trying not to laugh. Like he thinks I’ll say anything to drop his guard.
“My brothers. They’re coming up the stairs. You’re trapped.”
“Brothers? You don’t have any brothers.” He laughs outright now, so hard his chest shakes. That vibration goes through me. Fills me.
The Guardian wasn’t one of the sick fucks who took turns offloading their unrighteous perversions on us. He never touched us.
But he orchestrated everything.
The feel of him so close against me, it’s worse than cleaning out the fucking grease trap.
It turns my stomach, gives me the shakes, and just when I think I’m about to puke…
It flicks a switch.
I’m useless, a victim. Then suddenly I’m not. Because all that rage, all that horror, all that shame and humiliation and pain rises up in me like a motherfucking tsunami.
And wherever it goes, it leaves devastation in its wake.
I let go of the arm around my throat. It c
lamps tighter. Lights sparkle in the darkness that’s eating away ten times as fast at the edges of my sight.
I clasp my hands. Throw back my arm. Drive my elbow into Gabriel’s stomach.
He makes a soft sound that sends a puff of ashtray breath against my face. His grip relents, but not enough. So I do it again. Then I stamp on his toes.
Fighting like a fucking girl, but still fighting. That’s what counts.
He folds forward, and I push back, shoving him against the edge of the metal desk. It must catch him somewhere painful—his hip, his ass, his kidneys, I don’t fucking know—because he yells out and loses hold of me.
I swing around and throw a punch. It lands solidly on his nose.
Blood gushes.
I start floating away.
Gabriel comes at me, teeth shining red through the blood. And all I can do is stand there as he rams into me. Drives me over Trinity’s legs and into the wall.
She’s lying on her side now, and I can only hope I didn’t hurt her. Trample her pretty legs, or bruise her beautiful skin.
Gabriel takes hold of my hair, twists it, rams my head into the wall. And then steps back as if to check out his work. The darkness comes, and with it some flashing lights. Pain is there, but distant, because I’m already fading. I slide down, my legs refusing to keep me up.
He puts a hand to his nose, coating it with blood. Looks stunned that there’s so much of it. Then he’s crouching, poking a needle into Trinity’s arm.
I want to tell her it’s going to be okay. That we’ll find her, somehow. That we’ll make Gabriel pay for whatever he’s planning to do with her.
Somehow.
But he’s already scooping her up. Her head lolls back, and I know it’s not because he might have broken her earlier, but because he set her mind free and it’s flapping away like a bird.
That’s something at least.
Whatever he does, she won’t mind it one bit anymore. That’s how that shit works.
Maybe I’ll tell her now, when I leave my body.
Because there’s nothing else left for me to do now but float away.
Float away and never come back.
Chapter Five
Cass
That bloody handprint feels like an accusation the closer I get. A blatant stamp of the Universe’s disapproval. I slam into the metal door, and barely manage to catch hold of the handle to stop it flying inward.
Inside, Apollo’s phone rings a last time before going silent. I hope that means that I’m not too late. But that glaring smear of red says otherwise.
Need to calm down. Need to get control.
But as soon as I’m inside and I see Apollo crumpled up against the wall, fury obliterates what little control I had left.
My hand shakes as I lift my phone. It’s already locked again, and now it doesn’t recognize my fingerprint, beeping impotently at me once, twice, fucking five times before it unlocks and lets me dial.
I go to my knees, trying to be gentle when I thumb back Apollo’s eyelid. Left, then right. No fucking clue if anyone’s still left behind those pupils though. I pat his cheek. He comes around with a groan. His head tips forward, but I push it back with fingers on his jaw, but gentle. Could be gay for him that’s how tender I’m being.
“Gabriel?” I ask. Meanwhile, my phone rings in my ear then goes to voice mail. I redial. Why the fuck isn’t Zach answering? “He did this?”
I mean, who else, right?
But how? Why? That’s what I need to know.
Apollo’s eyes roll around in their sockets as he tries to focus on me. He eventually gets out a pained, “Trinity.”
I frown, huff out a laugh. “Yeah, no. Try again. Gabriel, right?”
“He’s got Trinity.”
My blood turns into a raspberry slushie.
All that shit I was spouting about denial? Well, I guess I’m a pussy after all. I couldn’t have given less fucks when I found out Trinity had left. There was even a whole good-riddance vibe in my head. Because obviously she couldn’t handle the four of us. We were too much for that pretty little slut. Who wasn’t a slut after all, and I guess that goes a far way in explaining why she bolted in the first place.
But now?
Christ fucking Jesus.
I was bullshitting myself at a master level. Because if I didn’t give a fuck, there’d be no way I’d be outright getting heart palpitations at the thought that something bad might happen to our little girl. And that makes no sense, because we were just having a good time. I don’t do feelings. I don’t—dear God—do relationships. There’s no way you can date someone like me.
So why do I feel like someone’s gone and dug up my future grave, poured lighter fuel over my corpse, and set it alight?
The phone goes to voice mail. I call Reuben without missing a beat.
Apollo’s eyes flicker, about to close.
“Nuh-uh,” I tell him, gripping his jaw harder. Next I’ll be putting my nails in him. “Tell me what happened.”
He winces, but whether that’s from whatever blunt trauma he experienced or my grip is difficult to say. I won’t call him an outright pussy, but he’s never been able to handle pain, or blood, or any of that shit. Despite what he claims when we get pissed and rage about the deliciously dark shit we’ll do to our Ghosts, I know he’ll be the one standing outside, keeping watch. Or digging the grave. Or something that doesn’t include binding, torturing, and killing.
It’s not that he can’t hurt a fly. He swats them all right. But he only does it hard enough to daze them, and then tosses them out the window.
“Apollo!” When he doesn’t respond, I try, “Trevor!”
His eyes go wide. He winces again. Mumbles, “He took her.”
“Yeah, you said that already, Christ. Where did he take her? Did he say anything? Does he know?” Too many questions, but I can barely stop myself from yelling at this point.
“He…I dunno. Didn’t say where.” Then he closes his eyes, and I’m convinced he’s about to start crying.
“Cass?” Reuben’s voice legit makes me flinch.
I turn away from Apollo, letting go of his head and glancing around the tiny room as I talk to Rube. “Yeah, buddy? We got a serious fucking problem on our hands.”
Chapter Six
Zach
I’m headed to Gabriel’s room when I get the call. I shouldn’t even have checked who it was—my mission is set in stone. I must find Gabriel before he leaves Saint Amos.
We know he’s staying behind to oversee the repairs to Saint Amos. Him and him alone. Which is perfect, because by the time they figure out Gabriel’s missing, we’ll be lost in the woods. Even if they send out search parties, the chances of them finding that decrepit hunting lodge is slim to none.
Reuben is on his way to the admin offices. We want to make sure Gabriel doesn’t have a chance to escape if he happens to catch wind of his own death. Fuck, for all we know, he has a direct line to Satan and Old Scratch sends him prophetic messages every now and then.
Cass and Apollo are probably disobeying me and having a joint together somewhere. They take things like summer break too fucking seriously. It pisses me off, but I can’t really blame them for acting like the kids they are.
My phone rings as I step into Gabriel’s hallway. I hurriedly take it out of my pocket to silence it, cursing myself for being idiotic enough not to have done that already. When I see it’s an unknown number, my curiosity is piqued. Only a handful of people have this number and none of them would phone from an unknown number.
I hurry back down half a flight of stairs before answering, fully expecting to hear Gabriel’s voice on the other end of the line. Not that he’s one of the handful. But the feeling’s impossible to shake for the precious second before an old lady says, “Hello. May I please speak with Mason Price?”
It takes another second before I can answer. “Speaking.”
“Mr. Price, it’s Beverley from California Key Realty. Is this a good tim
e?”
I stop breathing. My back’s against the wall, and I use it as support to slide down until I’m hunkered in a crouch.
I force myself to take a breath.
“No time like the present,” I say, and even manage a faint chuckle. “What can I help you with, Beverly?”
I stare at my phone for a few minutes after the call ends. My fingertips are still tingling. My chest still feels too tight. But for the first time in a long, long time, those feelings bring relief—even joy—and not anxiety.
It’s done.
It’s fucking done.
We got the house.
Soon as it’s out of escrow, it’ll be ours.
There’s a grin on my face, and I can’t seem to shake it. Fuck, I don’t even want to. I draw in a huge breath as I stand, and for a moment it feels like I’m still rising, like a fucking balloon some sweaty kid lost at the fair.
Christ. Why am I so surprised? In this economy, with my generous offer? But I am surprised. Fuck it, I’m shocked. Because honest to God I thought the Universe would send a last fuck-you to the four boys it’s been such a motherfucking cunt to all these years.
Nothing’s ever been easy.
Getting out of the basement.
Trying to keep us together. Focused.
It’s been hard fucking work all the way.
I can’t remember how many times I’ve wanted to give up. How often I’ve wanted to let the Universe win.
But then I’d think of them.
Of my brothers.
And I’d find my second wind. I’d get the strength I need to tell them we need to push on. And they’d rally. They always rally.
I shove my phone in my pocket and head for Gabriel’s apartment again. But my euphoria starts fading the closer I get. My steps become reluctant.
About a yard from his door, I slow down. Then stop.
This means everything to them, to me…but I can’t stop thinking about the house. I’m even getting fucking feels about it. All I want to do is spill my guts to them. I’d call them, but it has to be in person. I want to see their faces light up as I tell them about the infinity pool and the dance room and all those big fucking windows. Light everywhere. The coast so close you can taste salt in the air.