Demons

by Heather Frost

  “Lee, I need to know how to lose Peter. Ask him.”

  There was a pause while Toni deliberated, then Lee spoke. “He says you could try getting pulled over. Peter shouldn't stop with a cop around. Also, he wants to know what Peter is, if he's not a Demon.”

  “I think he's a Seer. He's working for Selena.”

  Lee relayed everything as calmly as if she understood exactly what was going on. I hoped I hadn't overwhelmed her to the point of insanity. I think she was just in shock.

  “Toni says that… wait…” She turned to me. “He's putting Patrick on. What's Patrick doing with Toni?” She focused back out the window.

  The light turned yellow—I had every intention of slipping through. And we would have made it, if the car in front of me hadn't chickened out and slammed on the brakes. I almost hit his bumper. It was so close I felt my entire body break into a sweat. The seat belt kept me from hitting my head against the wheel, but the resulting welt hurt. It reminded me of the car accident. My dad hadn't been able to stop…

  Lee was listening intently to the words being spoken into her ear. She glanced over at me, and her voice cracked a little when she answered Patrick's question. “We just stopped—really fast. Patrick, what's going on?… I don't know.” Another worried glance in my direction. “I think she's losing it. She's shaking really bad.”

  I turned to face her, to assure her and Patrick that I was perfectly fine. From the corner of my eye I recognized the car right behind us. It was Peter. He was opening his door—climbing out of the still running car.

  “Oh my Oreos!” Lee gasped, noticing Peter coming toward us the same second I did. “He's out of his car!” she yelled frantically into the phone, her earlier calm shattered. “Kate! The back door—!”

  I hadn't told the twins to lock their doors. I hadn't thought of them until now.

  Lee strained against her seat belt to reach the lock before Peter could open the door… too late. Peter slid into the backseat behind me, slamming the door closed. He looked angry—and more than a little winded, as if his heart had been pounding just as rapidly as ours.

  Lee and I both cried out and fought against our seat belts. Peter leaned forward and grabbed Lee's hair, pulling her back against the seat.

  “Don't even think about it,” he hissed, eyes on me. “Don't you dare try getting out of this…” He saw the phone pressed against Lee's head. “Who are you talking to? Hang up! Right now!” He tugged on her hair, and Lee offered a yell.

  But she didn't close the phone. “Patrick! Help us! Please!”

  The light changed. The car in front of us rolled forward.

  I didn't budge. The cars behind Peter's abandoned one began to honk angrily.

  Peter tightened his hold on Lee's hair, and with his free hand he reached into his jacket pocket. He pulled out a small handgun and pressed the barrel against the side of my best friend's head. “Easy, Kate,” he growled. “I don't want to hurt either of you, but I swear I will.”

  It was the longest second of my life. The urge to try and escape, the desire to disobey Peter, the necessity of saving my best friend.

  I didn't have a choice. I knew that the second he'd pulled the gun. I stared at it, knowing that he was completely serious and there was only one thing to do.

  I gave a daunted nod, surrendering to this man I'd imagined to be a friend.

  My compliance gave Lee the courage she needed to close the phone, despite the loud protests I could hear from across the line. Patrick's distant voice was cut off, and our only lifeline was severed.

  Patrick O'Donnell

  New Mexico, United States

  Dying isn't complicated. I'd learned that the first time around. Dying is as easy as falling. Easier than breathing in many ways. The actual act of dying—the seizing of the lungs, the stopping of the heart—is the least complicated thing in the world.

  At the same time, it's the hardest thing a person ever has to do. Not the dying part, but the stopping of life part. The end of living. That's where the complications begin. That was where the real pain came in.

  Knowing you're going to die is a weird way to live. Because it suddenly seems like there's no point to anything. Your time is fading fast, and there's nothing you can do to stop it. There's no use fighting, working, doing anything. Because it's all meaningless. It will all be over. You'll be gone, and your life will fade from memory—just another fatality in the unstoppable course of time.

  Yet, at the same time, nothing had ever been as important as it was now. In these last hours, these final moments of life… nothing matters more than making the most of them. It's hard to find a balance. I don't know how I would have survived if I didn't have the perfect anchor, the perfect thing to tie me down and give me purpose in these last days.

  Kate.

  Without her, I would be completely lost. Unbearably unsure. Hopelessly fighting for something—anything—to cling to.

  But as much as her presence in my life was necessary, it was also the most painful torture I suffered. Worse than the headaches, the roiling insides, the endless clenching of my dying muscles. Knowing I would lose her made every other torment I suffered inconsequential. The cold that sunk through my body, the insentient ache in my bones, the heavy throbbing of my heart—what did that matter when I was faced with the knowledge that I had only so much time to hold her hand, so many minutes to kiss her, so many seconds to tell her how completely I loved her…?

  The fact that some foreign substance was killing me from the inside out, repeatedly fighting to win by destroying every last part of me, meant nothing when I knew I was going to lose her.

  It was unfair. How could I lose her after she'd just agreed to be mine? There was no justice to this fate. No sense in what was happening.

  And there was nothing I could do. No matter how long I spent on my knees, crying out for something—anything—it would do no good. No matter how much I needed her, or how much she needed me, there was no way to stop the inevitable. No matter how tightly I held her, I wasn't going to be able to hold on. No matter how much I promised to love her, I couldn't stay with her. No matter how much I struggled, how hard I fought—I was going to lose.

  I knew she thought I'd given up. And I had, in a sense. There would be no saving me. No cure, no hope. But I hadn't stopped fighting. Not completely. I was going to stay alive for as long as possible. I wouldn't let death be easy this time. I wasn't going to let death win without an adamant struggle. I would keep my lungs expanding, keep my heart beating, keep my eyes open until the ultimate end. I would be with her until my body gave out, hold her in my arms until it was totally impossible to do so any longer.

  This was what I promised death. This was how I would fight. I would love her more in this abbreviated time than any other living thing had ever loved another. Death would have to drag me away from this earth, because I wasn't going willingly.

  I knew as Toni and I drove silently back to the warehouse that I wouldn't be returning to school. This had been the day to say my good-byes, since spending time with Kate had become the priority, the reason for my holding on at all. I would force myself onto a new schedule, so I could be resting while she was at school. It would be the best way to ensure we had the most time together.

  Toni didn't talk about the inevitable, for which I was grateful. I wasn't ready to say good-bye to my partner and friend. Not yet. He wasn't in his regular joking mood, but I was tired enough that I didn't care.

  We got to the warehouse, and I was quick to open my door and shrug into my backpack. I didn't want him getting doors for me or offering to carry my bag. I needed to stay strong, and I think he understood and respected that.

  I moved right for my bedroom, asking him to make sure I was up around five thirty.

  He assured me that he would, and I shut my bedroom door and sank onto my bed. I pushed my backpack aside and let my head fall into my hands. I focused on my breathing, trying to ignore the crippling numbness in my fingers, the debilitating wea
kness in my arms. Though I hadn't eaten in days, my stomach still twisted uncomfortably, and the nausea had yet to fade completely. Toni had joked that maybe I should eat something just so I could throw up and feel better, but it didn't seem worth it to me.

  I could feel my organs breaking down against the constant assault the virus was inflicting. I knew without Terence's warnings that time was short. It was obvious to my throbbing insides, and especially noticeable when the sharp stab of pain lanced through me, leaving me doubled over and gasping until my body managed to partially heal the newest hole inside of me. These stabbings had started last night, soon after Kate had left. Terence had told me they would start at any time now, but no amount of warnings could have braced me for the all-consuming torture of having your insides burned through; the sensation of having your guts torn apart—no matter how soon your body struggled to repair the damage—was pure agony.

  The first time I experienced the piercing laceration, I thought it marked the end—I thought I was dead for sure. Surviving such excruciating anguish was inconceivable. The body was meant to die from this. I was supposed to die. My stomach was ripping, and I fell to my knees, my fingers grinding into the floor as the pain caused me to shake. It hurt so terribly that I wasn't even able to scream—I couldn't breathe. And soon I couldn't even see. But, though I was blinded by pain, I couldn't escape it. Time meant nothing during such suffering, but I know it must have lasted for minutes.

  I wasn't even aware that Toni was gripping my shoulders until my regeneration finally kicked in and the unimaginable hurt slowly receded as the damage was painfully healed. But the organs and tissues were bruised after such a penetrating blow, and I knew that the hole would be reopened soon enough, and I'd feel the gut-wrenching, heart-stopping punch again.

  Luckily, it hadn't happened again since last night. I waited for it to happen at school, constantly keeping tabs on every twinge of pain, every muscle spasm I felt, just in case I needed to get away from the crowds before the stabbing torture could return and take over.

  Kate knew I suffered. But I didn't want her to see this. I didn't want anyone to see this. I hated that Toni had already been forced to witness my agony. I would be as careful as possible to be alone when it happened again. The only problem was, there really wasn't time to prepare. There was no sure warning.

  I sat on my bed, the heels of my hands digging into my closed eyes as I fought the wave of hopelessness.

  Kate. I needed to concentrate on her face. Her eyes. Her smile. Her touch. Her voice. Her love. It was the only relief available to me, and I groped for it like it was my only chance to survive the pain. Which, admittedly, it was.

  After wallowing and clinging to thoughts of Kate for several minutes, I stretched out on the bed.

  Now that I was lying here, sleep seemed unattainable. My body ached, and ignoring the heavy numbness pervading every limb was futile. I let my eyes wander the room, searching for something—anything—to distract me enough so I could find rest. I needed to sleep so I could be at my best for Kate and her family tonight. It might be the last time I saw the twins, her grandparents…

  As if my eyes were being guided by some force, I found myself turning to look at my old leather book containing the sketches from my past life.

  I hesitated only briefly before reaching for it. Since today was a day for good-byes…

  I didn't sit up as I held the book and ran my fingers over the worn cover. It smelled of age, and the yellowed pages revealed the passage of time in a way that my skin never had. Slowly, I let my fingertips tuck around the edge, and I lifted the cover.

  I was staring into the faded face of my brother. It wasn't a perfect portrayal of him. Far from it. The head was too round, the brow too long… but somehow, even though I'd failed at everything else, his smile was just right. More of a smirk, really. He knew some joke that I didn't, and his eyes—perfect copies of my own—shined in anticipation of something. It was really quite horrible, as most drawings go. But it was all I had of him, and I found myself fingering the lines of his face.

  When it became too much to stare at his youthful face, I turned the page over, finding my parents. The drawings were far from perfect. My mother looked too wide, my father's eyes too slanted. But again it was something to hold, to remember… Just seeing these imperfect sketches had my heart burning, my memory stimulated and filling in the characteristics my drawings had cheated.

  For the first time in over two hundred years, I looked at every page in that book. Many were unfinished. A raggedy, black stray dog, a single wildflower… Some I'd declared complete but were far from perfect. Sarah McKenna's smiling face, the landscape in front of our house…

  I was overwhelming myself with memories, but strangely it didn't tear me up like it usually did. But that was because I was making peace. I was saying good-bye, knowing that soon enough I would leave another life unfinished, and they'd both cease to hurt me once I was gone, because I obviously didn't have heaven to look forward to. I would cease to exist…

  The page turned—I was in the middle, nearing the end of the used pages—when suddenly an unexpected face was peering up at me.

  I knew who it was immediately. There was no mistaking those eyes, that hair, that face… I'd traced that hair with my fingers less than an hour ago. I'd committed the curves of that beautiful face to memory, I'd been held captive by those eyes…

  But though there was no mistaking the identity of this woman, lost in my memories of the past, putting a name to the face was difficult. Because it was absurd.

  “Kate?” I breathed, alone in my room, my eyes riveted on the sketch I'd made two centuries ago.

  It was her. It was impossible, but it was her. It was Kate.

  How? My mind begged for understanding.

  I tried to remember where I'd received my inspiration. I never drew anything unless I'd seen it, and even then sketching was still difficult for me…

  The memory of that day came back incrementally. I was seventeen, thoughts of rebellion and war the furthest things from my mind. I'd dreamed of this face. I'd dreamed of this intriguing girl. She hadn't spoken a word but merely posed for me while I tried to keep the memory of her fresh in my mind. Because somehow capturing her on paper was so important. Vitally important.

  I'd sat in one of my favorite thinking places, near the back fence of my family's property. I'd worked endlessly to capture the right emotion, to frame her lips into that perfect smile… What had begun as a merely pretty face became the most beautiful thing on earth.

  Sean had seen it. He came to find me because… Sarah McKenna had come to visit. He was teasing me, and we laughed together. He looked at the sketch… he was troubled. He knew her face. He'd seen it.

  Surely not in your dreams, he'd said.

  But then… how?

  How did I dream of a woman who wouldn't be born until centuries later? How did Sean recognize the face of the woman I would someday love?

  I swallowed hard, unable to tear my eyes from Kate's face. It looked like I had captured her exactly as she was now—eighteen and impossibly beautiful.

  Somehow I'd known Kate's face before we'd ever met—before she'd been born.

  I groped wildly through my thoughts, trying to discover what had spurred my dream of her in the first place. Had I seen someone that resembled her? That seemed highly improbable. While my father entertained many guests, we lived in a small area, so unknown faces were quite rare. Besides, surely I would have remembered such a captivating young woman. I wouldn't have forgotten her eyes…

  But if I hadn't seen her, why had I dreamed of her?

  The thoughts were too overwhelming to keep to myself. I needed to talk to someone—just so I could work this out aloud.

  Toni.

  I pushed myself up into a sitting position, keeping my book open as I swung my legs out to the floor…

  It hit me without warning. I doubled over and my book of drawings slipped through my unresponsive fingers to slap against the
hard floor. My arms curled around my gaping stomach, but it didn't relieve the scorching agony.

  There was a hole in my body—in a different place than the first one had broken through. The torturous feeling was worse than I'd remembered. My head felt like it would explode from the pain, and I could swear that my heart actually stopped throbbing inside my chest.

  I felt myself falling, but I couldn't catch myself. I crashed against the cement and I felt my forehead split open with a horrible gash. My bared teeth slammed into the concrete next, and it felt like a few might be loosened from the impact. Blood filled my mouth as I bit my tongue roughly all the way through.

  But those pains were hardly noticeable compared to the ripping of my stomach. It felt like all my insides were being engulfed by flames, yet the stabbing pain pushed through all other hurts.

  Curled there on the floor, rolling onto my back and choking on my blood, I wanted to die. Anything to escape the agony of this slow destruction.

  My vision blurred and then went black. I could feel my body trying to repair the internal damage, and I wanted it to stop.

  Give up! You can't win! Don't let it kill me again and again…

  I heard Toni swear at my side, could feel his unyielding fingers forcing my head to the side so the blood from my mouth wouldn't clog my throat and fall to my ruined stomach.

  “Patrick!” Toni yelled through the blackness and the fire. “Come on man, fight it! You can't lose yet. What about Kate? Come on!”

  Kate… Kate would understand. She would understand that I needed to escape this…

  … Kate… How had I dreamed of her? What did it mean?

  “Patrick!”

  I felt my eyes roll, and then suddenly I could see. The convulsions inside my stomach slowly ceased, and I knew that the hole was gone and the bleeding was stopping. I continued to tremble, and the lingering pain sent shock waves through my body, reminding me that it would be back. That I would feel that horrific torment again.

  My heart pounded against my chest, another dull ache that hardly registered. My throbbing mouth tingled for a moment, and then my teeth and tongue were perfectly normal again. I felt the broken skin on my forehead sealing up, and at last I could breathe.