by S. J. West
“How much resistance should we expect?” Mason asks.
“There’s no way of knowing without scouting things out first, but we don’t have the luxury of doing that,” Nina answers. “Just be prepared for a fight as soon as we get there.”
“Is everyone ready?” Brand asks.
We all nod.
“Nina,” Brand says, “phase us.”
We’re soon standing in a stark white hallway. The floor is white granite. The walls are painted white and completely devoid of any decorations that would indicate someone lives in the home. Six of the seven doors leading off the hallway are white. Only the seventh one at the end of the hall is a different color. It’s painted a glossy black, and has a silver doorknob.
We all immediately draw our swords, expecting our arrival to attract the attention of however many guards this reality’s Jered might have stationed in his home. We wait.
And we wait some more.
“Shouldn’t they be here by now?” I ask, after at least a full minute has passed, feeling stupid holding my sword at the ready with no one to swing it at.
“Yes,” Brand says, obviously worried that our intrusion isn’t being contested. “Nina, take Jess and Mason into the room to see if their friends are in there. The rest of us will stay out here in the hallway to guard our exit.”
Nina doesn’t waste any time, and neither do Mason and I. When Nina reaches the door, I notice her hesitate for a fraction of a second before placing her hand on the doorknob. She twists the knob, opens the door, and takes two steps inside the room before coming to a complete stop, acting as if she just ran into an invisible brick wall.
As I look past her further into the room, I feel physically consumed by its darkness. The walls, the floor, even the ceiling are made of a black, glassy, marble-like material. But it isn’t just the color of the room that’s distressing. There’s an air of oppression seeping from every corner of it.
A single spotlight shines down from the ceiling onto what looks like a bronze statue of some sort. It sits in the center of the room, acting as its centerpiece. The statue has the shape of a man’s face hammered into the metal. His neck and shoulders are covered by a double-layered ruffle collar, and he’s wearing a hat in the shape of a spade. The rotund body looks large enough for a person to stand inside it.
The room itself looks similar to something you would only see in a horror movie. Scattered around in an orderly fashion are various instruments of torture, some I recognize and some I don’t. I see no windows or other means of escape out of the room, except for the door Nina just opened. The most disheartening thing about the space is that I don’t see any trace of Jered or Tristan. Considering the purpose of the items I see, I have to wonder if that’s a blessing in disguise.
“Nina,” I say, placing a hand on her shoulder in an attempt to draw her attention.
As soon as I touch her, Nina flinches, but it breaks the hold the sight of the statue seemed to have over her.
“I don’t think they’re in here,” I tell her.
“Well, you’re half right,” a feminine voice mocks from somewhere within the room.
I hear the clicking of heels against the marble floor before I actually see the owner of the voice.
Ravan Draeke walks out from behind the statue, gliding the fingers of an arched hand around its bronze shoulders as she comes into our view. She’s wearing the same one- shouldered, red silk dress I saw her in at the party earlier. Her red hair glistens brightly underneath the lone spotlight, giving her an almost ethereal appearance.
My sword automatically flares to life in my hand, and my bracelet begins to warm against my skin.
Ravan stares at the dancing flames along the blade of my sword for a moment, appearing mesmerized by them. Her gaze rises to meet mine, and a smile with no pretense of friendliness stretches her lips.
“You won’t need that,” she tells me. “I’m not here for a fight, Jess.”
The casual way she says my name makes my skin crawl, but I try my best not to let it show.
“Then why are you here?” I ask.
“I thought I would welcome you to my reality,” she says pleasantly enough. “It’s not everyday someone travels to a parallel world. Not only did you come, but, apparently, you brought some of your friends along with you.”
“I guess you’ve been talking to my Lucifer,” I say, seeing no other way for her to have so much information about us.
“Oh, yes,” Ravan says, her smile broadening. “Lucian and the others have been having a lot of fun with him, in a room very similar to this one.”
“You’re torturing him?” I ask, gripping the hilt of my sword tighter. “Why?” I demand.
“Why not?” Ravan asks with a small tilt of her head, looking perplexed as to why I would question anything she or the others did. “Maybe the real question here is why do you care what we do to him?”
“I didn’t say that I did,” I reply.
“Not in so many words,” Ravan agrees, narrowing her eyes as she looks me up and down. “But everything else about you says you’re worried about what’s happening to him. I’m surprised you care so much. Lucian thought you would, but I vehemently disagreed with him. I guess I gave you more credit than you deserve.”
“Is there a point to this conversation?” I ask, feeling my temper about to get the better of me with her deliberate goading.
“I came to give you some friendly advice,” Ravan tells me, as though she’s about to spout a font of wisdom when I’m pretty sure it’s going to be the complete opposite. “You and your friends should leave this reality and return to your own as soon as possible. The only things you’ll find here are pain and death.”
“We’re not leaving until we’ve done what God sent us here to do.”
“Then you’ll lose your lives trying,” Ravan says, like a promise.
“You’ll have to do better than that if you’re trying to scare me,” I tell her. “If I don’t get a death threat at least once a day, I figure I must be doing something wrong.”
“I’m only being truthful, Jess. I would hate to see you lose everything for some misguided mission from God. He’ll only lead you down the wrong path.”
“Not if you trust Him.”
Ravan studies me for a moment, as if she’s making a snap judgment about my faith.
“Believe what you want,” she says dismissively. “I couldn’t care less. I’ve always prided myself on giving people a chance to save themselves. If there is one thing I know about God, it’s that He prizes free will, even if it works against His agenda. I’m offering you a chance to leave before things get much…much worse for you and your friends.”
“Thanks for the offer, but I’m afraid I’ll have to graciously decline,” I inform her.
“Well, now your deaths won’t be on my conscience. I gave you fair warning. Your fate is your own from this point on.”
“Where are my friends?” I demand. “The ones who were here.”
“As I said when you entered the room you are half right. I have one of them in here for you to take,” Ravan pats the shoulder of the bronze statue. “The other one isn’t here anymore, but please, be my guest in retrieving this one, Jess. I’m sure he would appreciate the reprieve from his pain.”
Mason and I rush into the room as Ravan slinks off to one side of it.
I go to pull on one of the handles on either side of the body of the figure, but Mason places one of his hands on top of mine to stop me.
“We need to do this as quickly as possible,” he warns. “We don’t want to cause him anymore pain than we have to. This is an iron maiden, Jess.”
I don’t know a lot about such devices, but I have seen pictures of them. I understand what they can do to a body.
“Maybe I should do it with you,” Nina says, offering to take my place. “I’m stronger, and the doors are heavier than they look.”
“Stand in front of it, Jess,” Mason instructs. “He may float out of it, d
epending on the interior design. You might need to catch him.”
“He won’t float out,” Nina says in a voice filled with certainty. “But if he’s still conscious, it might help if the first thing he sees is a friendly face.”
I keep my position in front of the doors, and brace myself for what I know I’m about to see.
“Ready?” Mason asks Nina.
Nina nods and they both yank their respective doors open at the exact same time.
Even though I tried to prepare myself for what I knew was inside the iron maiden, the sight of Jered’s naked body pinned within the torture device makes me audibly gasp in horror. Mercifully, Jered is unconscious. Not only did Jered have to endure the torture of being stabbed by the knife-like protrusions on the inside of both doors, but his body was also impaled on the spikes studding the back of the iron maiden. Since the room lacks gravity, a sphere of blood from his open wounds has collected around his head. With the opening of the doors, this ball of blood slowly disperses into the room, rising to the ceiling as a red amorphous cloud. Mason quickly pulls Jered’s body off the spikes and out of the chamber.
“We’ve got company!” we hear Brand yell from the hallway, just before a clash of swords is heard.
“Ahh, right on time,” Ravan says, peering out the doorway to view the fight with mild interest. “It looks like my escorts have arrived.”
“We need to leave!” Brand yells to us as the hallway is quickly filled with Watchers who are obviously on the wrong side of this war.
“Go on,” Ravan tells us with a small, underhanded wave of her hand, as though she’s shooing us away. “They won’t follow you. I got what I wanted.”
“This isn’t over between the two of us,” I warn her.
“If that’s the way you want it, Jess,” Ravan says with a disappointed sigh. “I came here to resolve this matter peacefully. I see now that it was a mistake, but I thought I would give it a try.”
“You might have the world fooled into thinking you’re some kind of peacemaker, but I know your real agenda.”
“Do you?” Ravan asks with a tilt of her head, looking skeptical. “I have a feeling you only see a fraction of the masterpiece Lucian and I are painting. If you actually knew what we have planned, I feel sure you would be returning to your reality with your tail tucked tightly between your legs.”
“I don’t run,” I tell her. “And I certainly don’t run from bullies like you.”
Ravan lets out a harsh laugh. “I’m no bully, Jess. I’m simply following my destiny.”
“Jess, we need to leave,” Mason tells me urgently as he holds Jered’s body to him.
I turn my back to Ravan and walk over to the doorway to join the others so we can make our escape.
“See you later, Jess,” she calls out behind me.
“You can count on it,” I promise, without looking back at her.
In a low voice, I hear Ravan say, “Until next time…”
CHAPTER TWELVE
When we phase back to headquarters, Mason lays Jered down on the dining table.
“Get Rafe,” I tell him.
Mason phases.
“Why Rafe?” Sophia asks, as she quickly walks over to the couch to retrieve a pillow and a blanket.
“Rafe has the power to heal,” I tell her. “He can heal Jered’s wounds faster than Jered can regenerate them on his own.”
“How come he doesn’t heal your hellhound wound?” Nina asks Malcolm.
“His power isn’t made to heal that type of injury,” Malcolm answers, leaving the explanation plain and simple.
Sophia hands me the pillow, and I place it underneath Jered’s head while she drapes the blanket over his naked body. I don’t think it’s meant to keep Jered’s body warm as much as it’s supposed to shield us from having to look at his injuries. The action turns out to be a pointless one, though. The blood from his open lacerations quickly turns the blanket dark red.
Mason promptly brings Rafe back with him, Moses’ staff in hand.
“Dear God, what happened to him? He looks like he was used as a pin cushion,” Rafe says, aghast, leaning his staff against the table beside him as he reaches out to pull the blanket away from Jered’s body in order to examine the full extent of the damage.
I avert my gaze from what the blanket reveals and contemplate Jered’s blood-smeared face instead.
“He was locked inside an iron maiden,” Mason explains.
Rafe picks up his staff and holds it horizontally over Jered’s chest. The blue glow of Rafe’s power shines brightly as he runs the staff down Jered’s frame, slowly healing the wounds.
I force myself to watch Rafe’s ministrations, because I feel as though I owe Jered at least that much respect. I’m the one who brought him here. Ultimately, I’m the one responsible for what happened to him.
“Don’t,” I hear Mason say, drawing my attention to him directly across the table from me. “This isn’t your fault.”
“We’ll talk about it later,” I tell him, not wanting to have an argument in front of the others.
Of course, he’s going to do his best to convince me that everyone who came with us knew the risks involved in coming to this reality. Logically, I understand that, but I know in my heart that they are only here because of me. All of them have stood by, helplessly witnessing my slow mental and physical deterioration during my quest to return to this Earth. They’re my friends, my family. They would have jumped off a cliff for me if they thought such an action would have saved me. No, I needed to feel my guilt. I needed to hold onto it like a piece of armor. It added to my determination to see us all safely back home.
I return my gaze to Jered, and see that Rafe has already healed his wounds. I also notice something else.
“Why isn’t he breathing?” I ask in alarm, seeing no noticeable rise or fall of his chest.
“God, I’m such an idiot!” Nina says, sounding angry with herself. “Roll him onto his side. His lungs are filled with his own blood.”
We do as Nina suggests.
“Hit his back,” Nina instructs Mason.
Mason gently hits Jered’s back where his lungs are, but nothing happens.
“Come on, Jered,” I encourage as I study his face, keeping my hand on his exposed arm to hold him steady on his side as Mason continues to hit his back, a little harder each time. “Please…”
Suddenly, Jered opens his eyes wide and his lips part as if he’s about to speak. Unfortunately, words aren’t what pass between Jered’s lips. Instead, a continuous stream of blood spews out, landing directly on me.
When we were young, Faison dared me to watch The Exorcist with her. Jered’s retching reminds me a lot of a particularly gruesome scene from that movie, except with blood. Obviously, Jered didn’t only breathe in his own blood. A great deal of it must have been swallowed as well.
“I’m…sorry,” he says, in between uncontrollable bouts of coughing as his lungs try to expel the remainder of the blood in them.
I’m drenched from the chest down, but I don’t care. I’m just relieved that Jered is conscious and able to speak to us coherently. The pain he must have endured at the hands of his torturers would have driven a lesser person completely insane.
“You have nothing to be sorry about,” I tell him soothingly. “They’re just clothes. They can be washed.”
As I look down at my once-white leather outfit and t-shirt, I begin to doubt my own words. I can feel the blood slowly seeping through the leather and coating my skin. I have a feeling my suit of armor has been permanently ruined.
I’m vaguely aware of Brand going to the kitchen area as I try to comfort Jered with my words, letting him know that he’s safe and with friends. Brand comes to stand beside me. In one hand, he’s holding a glass bowl filled with water and in the other a folded washcloth. After he sets them on the table in front of me, I dip the towel in the warm water and gradually begin to wash the blood from Jered’s face.
“Where are we?” Jered
asks in a hoarse voice, looking around the room with his eyes but keeping his head still as I tend to it.
“We’re in the headquarters of the resistance here,” I tell him. “It’s safe.”
“Where’s Tristan?” he asks urgently.
I hesitate before answering, because I don’t want to cause Jered any more pain or distress. When he turns his head to look me in the eyes, I know I have to tell him the truth.
“I don’t know where he is,” I say. “He wasn’t in the room with you when we got there.”
“The other me took him somewhere just before I passed out,” Jered says, rolling his head back straight and closing his eyes. “I wasn’t exactly in any position to help him at the time.”
“Did you happen to hear anything that might help us figure out where they took him?” Mason asks.
Jered shakes his head slowly from side to side. “No. I didn’t hear anything before I passed out.”
“We’ll find him,” I vow, having no doubt that we will. “Right now, we need to get you cleaned up, and I don’t think this washcloth is going to be enough to get the job done.”
“Give me a minute to regain my strength,” Jered sighs wearily, closing his eyes.
“When you’re ready, I can take you to a room you can stay in while you’re here,” Sophia offers. “You can take a nice long shower there.”
“Thank you,” he replies, opening his eyes to look at me. “I’m afraid I lost my bag, and, obviously, the clothes I was wearing.”
“I can give you some of my clothes to wear for now,” Brand offers.
“Thanks.” Jered sits up straight on the table. He looks over at me with a guilty expression. “Looks like I’m not the only one who will need a shower and change of clothes.”
“Don’t worry about me,” I tell him. “I’m a big girl. I can take care of myself.”
Jered swings his legs over the edge of the table and stands, keeping the blood-soaked blanket around his hips to maintain a little dignity.
“I’m ready to go to my room,” he tells Sophia.
Without being squeamish about the blood still covering Jered’s body, Sophia places one hand on Jered’s right shoulder and phases him away.
