But I press on more time. “It’s on my finger.”
He grabs my shoulders and pulls me forward. Burning pain explodes in my back and hips. I feel him raise and twist my hand to inspect. I hear silence as he turns the ring around on my finger.
He pushes me away and crosses the room. When he reaches the opposite wall, he turns and leans back. Slowly, he slides down, lowering himself to the floor. He watches me in the silent dimness.
I wonder where Klaus is now. Where is Reason? No one will ever know where I am. I’ll die here. He’ll kill me. He’ll—
“It’s just a ring on a liar’s finger. That's all it is. I’m his apprentice. He’d never choose you over me.” He seems to put himself back together as he speaks, piece by invisible piece. He rises to his feet and puts his hat on.
I close my eyes. I don’t want to see the hand that kills me.
I hear the hard soles of his cowboy boots on the concrete. Instead of moving toward me, they drift away. The door slams, reverberating in my skull again. I hear the sound of steel grating on steel as something big slides back into position.
He’s gone...for now.
Chapter 23
Klaus
HE MOVES THROUGH THE DARKNESS. The strength of his will pushes him forward despite the stab of goat-head burrs in his legs and the pads of his feet. He keeps his eyes straight ahead, seeing nothing but the road in front of him. He follows the white line at the edge, slipping into the cover of tall grass where headlights can’t see him.
He doesn’t stop.
Brilliant light grows brighter in the sky around him as the roar of an oncoming car grows louder. The light finds him in the dark, blinding his eyes. Only when it’s gone does he drift back onto the freedom of the highway.
He knows he’s failed his master—both of them. He continues on, unaware of the trail of bloody paw prints he leaves behind. He thinks only of his first master’s face, and like a beacon in the night, he follows it home.
My face presses against something cold. For a moment, I forget where I am. But when I move, my cheek drags across the rough concrete and I remember. It’s not a dream. Something nibbles at my fingers. I jerk away, swinging myself into an upright position.
The outline of my hairdresser still lies a few feet away from me. It doesn’t look like he’s moved. I wonder if he’s dead. How long have I slept? Five minutes? Eight hours? Hunger rumbles in my belly. I wonder if my mother can see where I am right now. I wonder.
I close my eyes and lower my head. Inside my eyelids, I see Reason’s face in the light of the Christmas tree at Bethlehem Park. Then I’m at the North Star Inn again, and he smiles at me from across the table. Another image appears: of snow falling all around us. I bury my face in his chest as we glide across the ice like we have wings that carry us on the wind. He smiles at me in the carriage, wearing his old-world Santa suit. He yells German at my dog and sends him scurrying in shame. He’s so strong and so gentle. He’s not lightning, he’s thunder—giant, deep thunder that rolls but never strikes.
Tears stream down my face as I realize I can’t remember exactly how he smells or the taste of his kiss. And I’ll never know how he got the scar by his eye, the one that disappears when he smiles.
How can a week feel like a lifetime and three seconds at the same time? If any of this was real, any of it at all, do I really care if he met me under false pretenses? The questions flood over me until I finally realize it doesn’t matter anyway. There’ll be no future to figure it out in.
When I ignored his calls, I thought I had plenty of time to decide what to do. When I planned to leave him behind forever, I felt arrogantly immortal—kind of like I did at eighteen when I overstayed my visit to New York by a decade. My sense of time makes me spoiled and over-confident.
I didn’t even talk to Reason today. I didn’t hear his voice. If I hadn’t become so fat with snap-judgment, I’d probably be with him right now, safe in his arms, instead of here. Who cares if he had an ulterior motive?
The point of my anger seems so far away now. I have to work at it to hone the blade, to even remember it accurately. Oh, yes. Now I remember. If he deceived me, then he didn’t mean anything he said or did. I have a ring from the future that says otherwise and not an ounce of faith to go with it.
I never expected my last hours to feel like this. How acutely simplified things become. Since last Christmas, I’ve wasted my life…until I met Reason. And then I really lived. I never knew how that felt before. I’ll die very soon, knowing what I’m missing. But at least I’ll know. It suddenly seems more tragic not to. I’ll know all the days, the seconds, the hurt, and the joy that no longer stretches in front of me like a highway slicing into the horizon. At least, if I know, then I’ve seen the truth about life. It’s all beautiful.
A highway. I remember now. I dreamed of a highway...Klaus running in the dark, alone on a highway. Poor Klaus. It may be because I’m losing it, but I want to think it’s real. I can’t give up—not yet.
Believe. I have to believe. If I don’t, I’ll die. That’s all I know.
I scan the room. There has to be some way out of here. A dim, wire encased light bulb hangs in the center of the ceiling. It glows yellow, casting an ugly circle of light on the floor below. I struggle to stand. My feet, I have to get them under me. I shift my weight. The ties around my ankles sink further into my skin as I flex, but I ignore it and keep trying. Finally, I work my feet into position under my bottom. I press my back against the wall and force myself upward. My coat drags down as I push, but seconds later I’m standing and I’m surprised to discover more wiggle room between my ankles now that I’m not bending them. It gives me just enough slack to shuffle.
I begin moving along the perimeter. I examine the door first. It’s smooth on this side. Not even a window, so I continue on past it.
A few feet away the floor looks darkened with moisture. As I check the wall, a large droplet of water smacks me in the center of the forehead and runs down the bridge of my nose. I shake my head. I bet the rats drink this. God only knows what they eat.
Rats. They must have some way in and out of here. A large one scurries along the wall a few feet ahead of me. It reaches the corner where it sniffs at the air and the wall before it disappears into a small flat crevice, not even half the size of its fat belly. That’s not going to do me any good.
I keep inching forward until I notice a square shape in the wall near the floor, a metal grate with screws at the corners. I lower myself to my knees and peer inside. About five feet in depth, I see a dim orange glow. I wonder where it leads. Then I realize—who cares where it leads? It leaves here. That’s all I need to know. But this small glimmer of hope fizzles too. I’ll never get the cover off with my hands tied behind my back.
A sob escapes my lips as I press my forehead against the grate and close my eyes. I try to steady my breathing, try not to give into the exhaustion. In the distance, the steel bar slides out of position. I hear it as if it’s farther away than before and somehow, I don’t really care right now. I don’t turn.
Cowboy boots strike the concrete in a steady pace toward me. Hands grab me by the waist and drag me back to the other side of the room. I land on my bottom with my arms squeezed between my back and the wall. Electric shocks of ligaments stretching sear through my shoulders. Oddly, I begin to hope they’ll dislocate. If they did, maybe I would pass out.
“What did he say about the Gift?” Brice paces the floor, breathing fast like he’s been running.
“I already told you.” I don't have the energy I had before to challenge his thinking.
“Tell me!” He grabs a handful of his own hair in each fist. Then he drops his hands to his sides where they continue to clench—opening and closing, opening and closing.
I grab at words to say. “He said the Gift knows things. It only gives what is wanted or needed—purity of heart. That’s what he said. It doesn’t impose on free will, and you have to believe. You…have to have faith.”
<
br /> He repeats my words to himself, still pacing. Then suddenly he stops with his back to me. He faces the wall so that I can’t see his face as he speaks. “Did he say anything about seeing things?”
“I don't think so.” I close my eyes. I just want to sleep.
“Think about it!” He roars. “Did he say the Gift shows him things?”
“I don’t know.” I pause to think. “Yes, he said it showed him something and then confirmed it.”
He continues pacing as he mumbles. “He knows, he knows. Oh, my God. He knows.” A loud sob catches in his throat. “I saw it in his eyes, the way he looked at me when he carried the dog in. Think Brice, think!”
I feel myself drifting. His words begin to string together like musical notes, lulling me to sleep.
“Wake up!” He screams in my ear and shakes my shoulders. When my head lolls to the side, my eyes fly open. I look at him and he lets go of me. “Has he ever said he didn’t trust me? Has he ever said that to you, or anything else about me?”
“No.”
He jumps to his feet. “I gotta get it together. Paranoia, that’s all.” He turns and heads for the door.
I close my eyes. There must some glimmer of rationality left in me, enough to realize he spoke of Reason as if he’s just seen him. He said he carried a dog in. How could he get between here and there so fast, unless I am near the ranch—near the Sloon.
The tunnels. Reason told me about tunnels. The elevator in the Sloon—it must descend to the tunnels, where Brice has hidden me. But my thoughts begin to unravel as I drift in the twilight of sleep, only half-listening to Brice’s boot heels move toward the door and the steel bolt locking it closed.
I awake to the sound of grunting. When I open my eyes, I see Rick inching himself across the floor like a worm. He’s the last person the world I want to be locked in this room with. I close my eyes, and lay still so he won’t know I’m awake.
I count the drips of water. I reach 232 when I hear the bolt slide again.
Brice enters pushing a wheelbarrow in front of him. I wonder which of us will be in it first—me or Rick—and whether we will be alive or dead. Brice seems hurried as he grabs me by ankles and yanks me across the floor. He wraps the scarf around my face, but this time, he lowers it to cover my mouth. It presses tight in the corners of my mouth as he cinches it tight.
Brice stops and tilts his head to the side as though he hears something in the distance. I try to listen too, but only silence follows. He grumbles to himself, something about rats and paranoia, and ties the final knot in the scarf.
I count more water drops. 233. 234. 235. 236.
He grabs my waist from behind and lifts me, dragging me closer to the wheelbarrow.
Out of the corner of my eye, a shadow moves near the door. Brice yanks me to my feet, so that for a moment, I face it. My heart sinks when I see only the haze of yellowed light in the threshold. He bends down and shoves his shoulder into my stomach, knocking the breath out of my lungs in a loud gush. The room turns and spins upside down and spins, until he drops me into the wheelbarrow. My back and outer thigh hits the side of it. The shock of pain makes me cry out in muffled anguish.
He steps back and studies my position, deciding how to arrange me for a better fit. He must come to a decision because he bends down to grab my legs again. Reason stands behind, his face like chiseled stone. My heartbeat quickens. He fills the open doorway with his large shoulders, wearing an expression of intense focus. His gaze bores into Brice’s back. Time slows for a moment as I take in the sight of him. He doesn’t look like Father Christmas at all. He wears the face of a warrior. Except for his lack of artillery, he looks like a Navy Seal.
He lunges and slams into Brice full force. I hear the gush of breath leave his lungs as Reason makes impact. Brice’s eyes fly open in surprise as he sails past me. His body slams into the wall behind my head with a momentum that sounds equivalent to being hit by a truck.
Voices approach from the tunnels. I hear cowboys running this way, lots of them.
“I didn’t hurt her. I swear it. Please.” Brice’s voice garbles with wetness. The dull sound of a fist pounding into his flesh releases another gust of exhaled breath that steals his words.
“What did you do to her?” Reason’s voice thunders through the tiny room.
A group of men rush through the door. One of them gasps and another shouts. I recognize Dex first. He scans the room, no longer a whimpering inferior. Tonight he wears the intensity of a promise keeper, a fierce ally. “Boss’s got him over there. By the wall.” He turns to where Rick lays curled in a fetal position near the opposite wall.
“Brice did it. It was all him,” Rick insists in a shrill voice.
“Who’re you?” Dex moves toward him.
Brice pleads with Reason, “I was trying to help you.”
Another series of thuds pummels him into silence.
“Boss, I got him. It’s okay.” Dex rushes over to him, where I know Reason stands poised to continue beating Brice to a bloody pulp. “Steady now.”
For a moment I close my eyes and listen to the sound of boots scuffling and good guys barking orders. The air around me suddenly shifts and changes, and I swear I feel his presence—his face near mine. I know it before I even open my eyes. And when I do I see his stricken face, half-light, half-darkness, and marked with emotions that seem all at once frightening and yet totally sexy. His eyes search my face as he loosens the scarf and pulls it from my mouth. He examines me, running his fingers along my temples. He pulls me forward against his chest and unties my wrists. His warm lips press against my cheek as he works, his hot breath warming my ear, bringing me back to my life and my future. “I’ve got you now. I’ve got you.” Emotion weighs at his voice with a heady rasp that vibrates through me.
My shoulders sear with pain as I shift them into normal position. He leans me back in the crook of his arm and kisses me in the space between my eyes, whispering soft soothing sounds as he unties my legs with his free hand. Seconds later, he scoops me up into his arms like I am weightless. My head rests against his neck. His scent envelops me, covering me with his beautiful smell and the safety of his heartbeat pulsing against my forehead. I have more time.
Chapter 24
HE CARRIES ME. Whispered words tickle my hair and flow with the delicate touch of a feather down over my throbbing temple. I’m sorry, Er. I shouldn’t have left you. I’m so sorry.
Sounds come to me: the sound of walking, opening doors, and echoing slams. Everything becomes weightless for a moment, lifted and rising upward. A great bird carries us upward, held tight to its breast. Maybe we’ll spiral up into the sky and float out into oblivion together. But it abruptly shifts down and hovers before finally settling in place. I’m almost disappointed to realize it’s only a lucid dream—an elevator. It would’ve been nice to fly free with Reason.
Fresh air moves over me, at least fresher than the damp staleness of the tunnels. I squint against the blinding brightness of civilized lighting. He senses this and pulls me tighter against him, shielding my face with his.
“Not much longer.” His voice anchors me.
Fragments of conversation surround me.
Bring Hannah. Get another blanket.
But what about Brice?
I’ll deal with him later.
My cheek sinks into a soft cloud. His warm hand brushes my hair back from my forehead. I won’t let anyone hurt you again, Erin, ever—I swear it.
But the luxuriousness of life, of Reason, of knowing I have tomorrow pulls me into the seductive embrace of sleep.
I’m startled awake by the unseen arms clamping down around me like iron and the clink of a dog tag, approaching fast in the darkness. I try to pull away and bolt upright in bed. I blink my eyes, as the fiber of sleep stretches and falls away. Hannah sits in a chair beside me. Her head has fallen forward in the profile of sleep. She holds her glasses in her lap, clutched in a lax fist.
The aching in my head reminds me
the dream really happened. But also that it’s over.
I’m in a room very much like the one I saw the day Dex drowned his sorrow in his twenty year old whiskey. Only, this one has a small writing desk instead of a card table.
“How’re you feeling?”
I lift my gaze to Hannah. She's already put her glasses on. The lenses make her eyes seem so much larger.
“Sore,” I answer.
“How’s your head. Looks like you took a nasty hit.”
I had a few, I mentally correct, but my answer is only, “It aches.”
“I cleaned you up. I hope you don't mind. I examined you at the same time. Medical training is the specialty I pursued...in the Society.”
“Thank you.” I didn’t notice before, but I do feel clean. My coat has been removed, and I’m wearing different clothes. I raise my arm to inspect them and find I’m wearing flannel pajamas. The soft cream fabric has satin ribbing at the cuff. I examine the collar. It’s my favorite pair...except I threw them out last year because they’d become too scraggly. This pair has all the buttons in place and no tear in the sleeve.
“Reason.” Hannah answers my unspoken question, and smiles at me with her motherly face.
“Right.” I lower my head back to the pillow. Despite the soreness in my arms and the dull ache in my head, I’m not so bad. “How long did I sleep?”
“It’s Thursday...afternoon.”
I left my house Monday afternoon. “I’ve been asleep three days?”
“No, dear, just since last night, when Reason found you. I think you’d been medicated before that—there's some bruising on your thighs.”
It makes sense I guess, and definitely explains the sleepiness. Brice kept me dosed with injections while I slept.
She goes on. “I gave you some intravenous fluids earlier, but you complained about the IV, kept tugging at it. So I took it out, but you’ll need to make sure you drink a lot on your own.” She motions toward a pitcher of water on the small night table beside me.
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