by Jaime Loren
He stretched his jaw, checking its movement after the run-in with my fist. “Maybe she was sleep-walking.”
“Or maybe it was Stella,” I suggested.
He blinked and stretched forward. “Or maybe you roofied her with her own benzos, fucked her senseless, then dumped her in the lake when you’d finished with her.”
My chest swelled with a combination of horror and anger when I remembered April had found her pills in my drawer. In my room. The room Stella had been sleeping in.
“Roofied?” I choked.
Her empty orange juice glass …
“That’s what we’d hoped the police would think. Can’t exactly find her in her next life if you’re doing life behind bars, can you? But then the fucking doctors didn’t even do a toxicology test. What’s up with that?”
“You were trying to set me up for her murder?”
A hint of a smile spread across his lips.
“Tom, get April on the phone.”
Tom got out his phone and dialed, but it went straight through to message bank.
“Rowan?” I threw him my phone, but again, he couldn’t get through.
John’s laugh echoed through the barn. Again, I hit him so hard his chair tipped, smacking his head against one of the old stall gates before finding the cold, damp ground. His breath expelled with wet sounds as blood spilled from his mouth and nose.
“Well I guess Stella’s not so brazen when others are around, huh.” I knelt down and leaned in close, collecting some of his flowing blood between my thumb and fingers. We weren’t invulnerable yet. “She’s still alive, brother, which means I have time to end this.”
John groaned in frustration as I righted him again. I crossed the barn and picked up my shotgun. He gasped for air, his voice sounding more nasal through his now-broken nose.
“What will you do with Stella?”
“She’s mortal, right? We have these things called jails, here. Most of them are more secure than Purgatory.”
He shook his head. “Killing me won’t solve anything, you know. I escaped in 1712; I can do it again.”
I slid two rounds of ammunition past the magazine catch and clicked the barrel back into place. “I’ll take my chances.”
John struggled hopelessly against his ropes. “You’d kill your own brother? Your own flesh and blood?”
“I’d kill a thousand brothers if it meant avenging her deaths,” I replied, pumping the shotgun to load the barrel and then aiming it at his chest. “Not to mention all the women you practiced on.”
He sighed, and spoke softly. “Murder is a fine art,” he replied, fond reminiscence lifting his voice. “You like art, don’t you, brother?”
“Tom, could you please step outside?” I asked without turning around.
“You’re sure?”
I nodded. “Thank you—for everything. I wouldn’t be here if it weren’t for you.”
I watched as Tom walked outside, climbed into his car, and disappeared through the property gates. John looked up at me with renewed panic. I held the shotgun firmly as I moved around him and pulled at the rope behind his back.
His eyes widened as I quickly stepped away. “What are you doing?” he asked, shaking the ropes free.
I shook my head slowly. “Get on your knees.”
His nostrils flared. His eyes glistened. For a moment I saw the little brother I used to love, and against my will, my heart ached for him. “You’re not a killer,” he argued.
“I’ve killed men before.”
“That was war, Scott. You’re not the type of person who can look an unarmed man in the eye and pull the trigger.”
I scoffed. “The soldiers you sent that day may as well have been unarmed. You’re a coward, John! She was innocent!” I bellowed.
“You’re right. You’re right,” he nodded, “I’m a monster. But you’re nothing like me.”
“You know, I didn’t used to be, but then I lost the love of my life on this very spot,” I said, taking a moment to reflect on that day. I pictured April’s angelic face. Her blood-soaked dress. The way her body had cooled against mine. I cleared my constricted throat. “If I’d known you’d taken her life that day, we would’ve been in this exact same position come nightfall.”
“She was already dead. Shooting me wouldn’t have worked. Nothing would have.”
“Well, I guess I would’ve found that out the hard way.” I jerked the shotgun down. “Now get on your knees.”
John lowered himself to the ground, shaking. “Would you believe me if I said the first time was an accident? That she surprised me in here when I was playing with the shotgun?” He looked up, his eyes full of sincerity.
“No. I wouldn’t.”
He smirked, his whole face changing in an instant. “Didn’t think so.”
My blood curdled at just how well he could switch from innocent younger brother to a heartless murderer. “I want to know something before I end this,” I said.
“Forgive me if I don’t exactly feel cooperative right now.”
“What’s the point of living forever if you have nothing to live for?”
He chuckled. “You think you have it all figured out because April looks up at you with those big brown eyes and tells you she loves you?”
“That’s all I need.”
“Then you and I aren’t all that different, brother.”
I readjusted my grip on the shotgun. “What do you mean?”
He snorted, shaking his head slowly before looking up at me again. “I live for her, Scott.”
A sickening feeling washed over me. “April?”
“For Stella.”
My eyes narrowed in confusion before they widened with shock.
John was amused by my expression. “You might also remember her as April’s handmaid, Mary. Or the young and innocent Emma Willoughby. The voluptuous Sue-Ann Bradley …”
Horror turned my stomach. “Stella’s a reincarnate?”
He shot me a serious glare. “She’s something your books don’t even have a name for.”
A bolt of cold shock ran through me. John looked away.
Jesus. Stella was with April, and she was possibly worse than John. There was no time left, yet so many more questions to ask. Blood still poured from John’s nose, just as my hand still throbbed from breaking it. April was still alive. Either she’d outrun Stella, or Stella hadn’t yet made her move.
Hold on, my love.
My breath grew shallow. “Fate keeps me this way so I can wait for April. So we can be together again, the way we were meant to be.” I clutched the shotgun tighter. “So if you’re not supposed to be here, why do you become immortal too? Fate isn’t on your side.”
He sighed impatiently, as if I should know these things already. “We’re tethered, Scott.”
I raised my eyebrows. “Tethered?”
“Stella tethered my soul to yours. It was the only way I could escape. You were a new soul, and I was an old one looking for a way back.”
“What the fuck are you talking about?” I yelled.
“Oh, right,” he chuckled. “I guess now is a bad time to tell you that if I die, you die too. What happens to you, happens to me. I die, you die. You die, I die, and—”
“No.” I shook my head. “You’re bluffing. Trying to buy time.”
“You’d like that, wouldn’t you? But you’re screwed either way. If you don’t kill me, I’ll kill her. If you do kill me, you’ll die too, and she’ll be all alone.”
I squeezed my eyes closed in disbelief. “If you die,” I said, softly, “I die?”
“Bingo.”
I smiled. “You’ll be dragged back to the afterlife with me. Only, considering fate is on my side, I’ll be sent back here for April. Whereas you’ll be sent straight to Hell …”
The happiness was stripped from his face, the sight of which sparked more confidence within me. I was surprised he hadn’t considered the fact I’d willingly sacrifice myself for her. The thought almost m
ade me laugh aloud. “How long do you think it’ll take them to find you guilty, John, after everything you’ve done over the last few centuries? You’ll be in Hell before you know it.”
Just then, Stella’s voice pierced the air around us. “John!”
My heart flipped.
John’s eyes widened. “Stella? Stell, get out of here!”
She appeared at the barn door; her face filled with horror.
Mine, too. “Where is April?”
She shook her head quickly before a collected calmness smoothed her features, then she raised her hand to point her pistol at me. “Let him go.”
My eyes skittered the darkness in panic. “Where’s April?”
“She’s alive, obviously,” she said, taking in John’s bloodied state.
“You were supposed to kill her,” John seethed.
Her hand shook as she kept the pistol aimed at my chest. “Yeah, well, Rowan fucked it up.”
John lowered his head and sighed.
I raised my brow. “Rowan saved her?”
She sniffed and glanced around nervously. “I’m as shocked as you are,” she said. “Now let him go.”
“Not going to happen, Stell. I need answers.”
“You want answers? You can’t kill him without killing yourself. That’s the only answer you’ll ever need.”
I nodded, crushed over the possibility that was true. “So I’ve been told.”
“He doesn’t give a shit, Stell,” John said.
“Oh, really?” she asked, shifting on her feet before putting the gun to her own head. “You’ll give a shit when I follow you there, because I can guarantee you, you’ll never make it out again.”
My heart twisted. Sweat trickled down the back of my neck. Adrenaline coursed through my veins. “What are you?”
“She’ll be your worst fucking nightmare if you don’t let me go,” John said.
“Shut up!” I inched toward John.
“Scott!” Stella screamed. “I’m warning you.”
My gaze darted between them. Fuck! I couldn’t afford to die tonight. But I couldn’t let John live, either. On top of all that, I couldn’t risk that Stella was bluffing, because if she did have some knowledge of how things worked on the other side, then it was possible April and I could be torn apart forever.
That wasn’t a risk I was willing to take, especially if my death made April invulnerable, like we’d assumed it would. It had to. Fate would always find a way for us to be together again, wouldn’t it?
John watched us, waiting. It seemed to stay this way for hours until the sound of another car engine grew louder. All of our eyes flickered toward the sound, but none of us wanted to divert our attention for fear of missing an opportunity to shoot, or make a run for it.
“Scott!” April’s voice ripped through me, full of fear and desperation.
Stella spun to aim her pistol at April.
“April, no!” I roared, twisting to aim at Stella.
By the time I’d fired one round at Stella, she’d felled April with three.
Chapter 50
(April)
It wasn’t like in the movies. I didn’t jolt as each bullet pierced straight through me. My life didn’t flash before my eyes. It never did.
I stumbled and hit the ground a few yards from the barn door. Stella hit the ground at the same time, staring back at me with beautiful but vacant eyes, blood trickling from her slightly parted lips. Tears blurred my vision. Questions floated in my mind, but they didn’t form on my tongue.
Only one word ever passed my lips in my last moments.
“Scott?” I cried, not much louder than a whisper.
I heard groans, and thuds, and something smashing in the barn; the rustling of straw and the crackling of flames as smoke drifted into the air. It took every bit of strength I had to raise my head, but what I saw only made me cry. Fire from a smashed lantern had encircled John and Scott as they wrestled for the shotgun, covered in blood.
I couldn’t move my legs. I couldn’t feel my legs. But as the seconds wore on, I discovered I could move my arms.
The flames danced across Stella’s silver pistol where it lay a couple of feet away. Clutching at the cold, hard ground, I pulled myself a couple of inches toward it, my muscles trembling as white-hot pain shredded me from the inside out, my open wounds scraping against dirt and rock.
When I looked up, Scott had the upper hand, having pinned John to the ground to bring his fist down hard into his face repeatedly, grunting as he did so. After five or six strikes, he pulled back, leaving John barely conscious on the ground.
I lowered my head. Seconds passed. Maybe minutes. Scott’s voice sounded in the distance, asking Tom to come back, and then he dropped to his knees beside me.
“Baby?” he cried. He sounded strong. Unharmed. Relief momentarily dulled the searing agony coursing through my chest. “Can you move?”
I shook my head. Carefully, he rolled me over and took me in his arms as he assessed my wounds.
“John?”
“As good as dead. He can’t hurt you now.” His hands shook as his fingers brushed against my skin. I wasn’t even sure where I’d been shot—it hurt everywhere.
“Is it bad?” I choked, but I already knew the answer.
Scott was watching me die again. But, like the true gentleman he was, he brushed my cheek with his knuckles and smiled warmly through his tears. “No, baby. You’ll be okay.”
I treasured his lie. “I came to save you,” I whispered, and his façade cracked as he broke down and pressed his hand against the worst of my wounds in an effort to stem the bleeding. An involuntary squeal escaped me, tearing his heart in two. He yanked his hand back, too afraid to touch me. “She beat me here. I’m so sorry,” I wheezed.
He straddled my body and took my face in his hands.
I reached up and wrapped my hands around his wrists. “I want you to find me again.” He squeezed his eyes closed and moaned in sorrow. “I want you to find me, Scott, and don’t waste any time—tell me you love me. Tell me our story, because I’ll believe you,” I cried. “I’ll always be yours.”
I coughed, blood trickling down my chin. His face twisted with grief. We both knew I didn’t have long left. My body shook. Scott pulled me into his arms and held me tight, his mouth against my ear. “I will never stop fighting for you.”
My energy was draining fast. It was difficult to hold onto him. When I fell limp in his arms, he placed me gently back on the ground and caressed my face.
My world began to fade, the darkness creeping in.
He lowered his lips to mine. Against my cold skin, they were the flame I needed to warm me through. They opened the floodgate to all of my memories, and they surged through me, each one of my lives flashing before my eyes: lying in a lavender field on a hot summer’s day, burning with need as I pulled at the laces of his breeches.
Watching him from afar as he’d put new shoes on a customer’s horse, this beautiful stranger who’d handed me a pink lavender flower as I’d walked past him on the street the week before.
And this lifetime, when he’d slid his warm hand into mine and introduced himself as Henry’s grandson.
The boy next door.
“Promise me something?” he asked, drawing me back to the here and now: a world of unbearable pain and freezing darkness.
“Anything,” I breathed.
“Promise me that while I’m gone, you’ll live. Truly live, April.”
My breath caught in my throat. Confusion clouded my thoughts. “What … what are you—?”
“See the world, and take me with you in your heart.”
My face dropped, my heart seizing. “What? No—”
“But most important of all, have faith that we’ll be together again. My heart will be drawn to you,” he said, his eyes locking with mine. “I will know you, April, because you are the love of my life. Nothing—not even death—can change that.”
He silenced my cry with his lips, an
d then stood up.
Waves of horror rolled through me. “Scott, no—”
“Close your eyes, baby,” he said, bending down to pick up Stella’s pistol before stepping back toward the barn.
My whole body shook with terror. I screamed his name, trying to push myself off the ground but failing miserably. “Scott, don’t!”
As I watched him walk backward, not once breaking eye contact with me, I saw in him the child I’d spent lazy winter days with, playing hide-and-seek in my family’s home, filling it with shrieks of laughter and the echo of footfalls. He was the boy who’d carried me for miles when I’d been stung on the foot by a bee when we were eleven. The friend who’d ignored my wishes to be left alone after the death of my grandfather, and had instead risked catching a cold by giving me his coat and holding me, under a tree, in the rain, for the whole afternoon.
“Scott, don’t do this,” I pleaded. “I’m not strong like you. I won’t survive this.”
“You’re the strongest person I know.”
“Not without you.”
Scott Parker had been the teenager who’d made my heart flutter and my cheeks burn whenever he’d looked at me. The young man I’d given my heart and soul to.
He was the man I was going to marry.
My best friend.
The father of my baby …
And he was leaving me.
“Forgive me,” he said.
My soul clawed from within, struggling to break free, desperate to reach him. “Scott! No! Scott!” Furious adrenaline filled the spaces where my blood once flowed, throwing me forward, my elbows digging into the bloodied ground as I clambered with all my might.
He was already too far away.
His tears fell freely as he stepped into the barn to join John, but his smile was heartfelt. “I love you, April,” he called, ignoring the fire that licked at the ankle of his jeans, and the beams that began collapsing around him as he slid the barn doors closed.
“Scott!”
A moment later, over my screams, the unmistakable crack of a firearm filled the night sky, shattering my soul.
The sound that burst from within me was deafening, full of rage and agony. The bullet holes in my body burned with an excruciating intensity, shifting, uniting, healing.
