The Undoer

by Melissa J. Cunningham

  Shaking his head emphatically, he growls. “No! I told you already. There was nothing weird going on. Nothing strange.” As he springs to his feet, his hairband slips from his ponytail and the long strands fall forward, hanging in his face. He starts pacing, his frustration a tangible energy around him.

  “We’ll find him,” Heidi whispers, stepping close to Jag and placing her hand on his arm. I can’t believe she’s brave enough to try it. I expect him the snap at her like a wounded animal, but he stops and turns his face to hers, his eyes swimming with guilt. He places his hand over hers before walking into the church alone.

  The rest of us stay on the porch, shuffling our feet, not knowing what to do. Doug kicks a rock across the street, his black Vans covered in dust, his hands stuffed deep into his pockets. The tightness in his face and shoulders knots his expression, his ebony skin glowing with perspiration in the moonlight.

  Owen is still and quiet, staring up at the moon. He doesn’t talk or offer ideas. He’s just sad. And in his black Cazador clothing, he looks like a long, thin shadow, something I wouldn’t want to meet in a dark alley. These boys really care about Dean. I can see it clearly. They’re a family, and Dean is a central part of it.

  With nothing more to say, I follow Jag into the church. He isn’t in the chapel, so I take the stairs down to the basement. He’s kneeling before his open trunk, holding a picture Dean drew of Jag and some girl. A candle flickers in the almost pitch black cellar, but I can tell the portrait is done in black and white, in pencil or charcoal, and is slightly smeared. Jag brushes his fingers over the aged, somewhat crinkled edges.

  “He drew this a few years ago. Her name was Lily.”

  I step up behind him, leaning over his shoulder to get a better look. “She’s beautiful. A friend, I take it?”

  “Mm.” Jag doesn’t nod or shake his head. I sense he isn’t reminiscing about the girl, but thinking of Dean and how he might never draw again.

  Jag will never stop searching for Dean. He will learn the truth if it kills him.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Heidi

  I’m so tired. So bone achingly tired.

  We search almost the whole night for Dean, and when we are too exhausted to take another step, we head back to the church. After an hour there with Jag, the adrenaline leaves me, I can’t stay awake for another moment. I don’t want to leave, but we’ll be no good in the morning if we don’t get some rest. I let Bret take me home.

  But sleep will not come.

  I lie in my bed, reviewing my last moments with Dean before he left my apartment, how his whole demeanor had changed when Bret came in. His expression of happiness had fallen, and the light in his eyes had disappeared. He hadn’t been able to escape fast enough.

  I should have run after him. I shouldn’t have let him leave alone. He is one of my dearest friends, and I feel like I betrayed him. I can’t even imagine what happened, but my imagination puts up a good fight. Scenarios run through my mind, one after another, each one worse than the other.

  Gangs run the streets, not just demons, and someone could have attacked him, mugged him, or even killed him. But in my heart, I know… I know what my mind won’t accept… that Dean has been taken by the one thing we are most afraid of. Otherworldly beings we don’t understand. Beings with no conscience. Beings that use and throw our human bodies away like refuse.

  What will they do to him? Has one possessed him somehow? Could he be walking around the city right now, a meat suit to some bigwig fiend? Groaning, I roll over. I haven’t slept in a normal bed for a year. My mattress has been hard cement or grass, my blanket, a coat. This bed—which should be wonderful and comfortable—keeps me awake with its plushness. And I can’t enjoy it knowing Dean is shivering in the dark, alone and frightened, or worse…

  Moonlight glows through our wall of windows. Looking over to Bret’s side of the apartment, I see the outline of him in his bed, the ridge of his shoulder and hips. He’s faced away, his breath slow and even.

  How can he sleep so peacefully? Why isn’t he tossing and turning like me? But then, he doesn’t know Dean like I do. He doesn’t have a history with Dean like I do. I’ve known Dean for a few years. Watched him grow and mature. I’ve seen him laugh and cry, pout and argue. He is my brother in the truest sense of the word. I can’t even imagine what Jag is going through right now. He’s alone at the church. There is no way he is sleeping right now.

  And since I can’t sleep…

  Slowly, I slip from my bed and pull on the clothes I wore the day before. They’re on the floor and easy to spot at the foot of my bed. The hard part will be unlocking all the dead bolts without making a sound.

  I strap on both my runed daggers—the one I stole from Jag and the one Bret gave me—and then tiptoe to the door. Quietly, while holding my breath, I turn the top lock. It clicks back with barely any sound at all. The second one is a little stiffer and takes some muscle, but it too pulls back softly. The third lock is stiff in its slot and harder to turn. I put some grit into my efforts and it clunks back so loudly that I freeze, not even daring to breathe as I wait for Bret to awaken. I stare across our tiny apartment at his still form.

  He doesn’t move.

  Now for the chain. Slowly… oh, so slowly, I unhook the brass nob and set it gently against the wall. So far, so good. Brushing a strand of hair back behind my ear, I let myself inhale for one moment, my pulse pounding in my chest and throbbing in my forehead. Surely, Bret can hear me hyperventilating. He’ll stop my flight to the church for sure. I just know it. Even though I hardly know him, he acts like a… a big brother.

  A strange rush—like chills—erupts at that thought. I glance back over at him and then shrug off those crazy feelings.

  Grasping the door handle, I hesitate. I can’t remember if it’s noisy or quiet. I’ve come so far, undoing all these locks. Will this last turn of the nob be my undoing? Will it squeal and bring Bret out of his slumber? I hold my breath and twist… It turns without a sound. The gods are smiling down on me.

  Releasing the breath I’m holding, I rest my head against the doorjamb for a moment. I can’t believe I made it this far. Pulling the door open only a fraction, I slip out silently, locking it behind me. I can’t leave Bret here without any protection at all. The deadbolts won’t be set, but there is only so much I can do.

  I have no idea what time it is, but my guess is that it’s around four AM. The moon is full, and it lights the streets almost as bright as any streetlamp. A lone girl at night is a target. Always. And just because I have skills doesn’t mean I’ll stand a chance against a group of thugs, so I stick to the shadows. I’m not stupid… but I am afraid. I don’t love being out here alone.

  All is quiet, and I arrive safely at the church. Standing on the darkened porch, I wait, not sure what to do at this point. Should I knock? What if Jag, somehow, has finally fallen asleep? He needs it, and he has to be exhausted. I shouldn’t wake him up. I try the handle. It’s locked. I glance down the street both ways, realizing what a stupid mistake I’ve made. I shouldn’t be here. What would I say to him anyway? He doesn’t like me. He probably, in reality, will tell me to leave.

  I turn around, resting my hand on one of the peeling, wooden pillars by the front door. Yeah, this was definitely a mistake. I’ll go back home and chalk this up to crazy female hormone fluctuations. Just when I’m about to step off the porch, the door opens behind me. It’s so unexpected that I can’t stop my automatic reaction of screaming and striking out.

  Luckily, Jag has quick responses too. He grabs my wrist, instantly holding it away from his face, but not letting go.

  “Heidi?” His brown eyes are wide in the darkness and shadows hollow out his cheeks, but his hand is warm on my arm and his bare chest glows in the moonlight. Seeing him like this… open, vulnerable, human… he seems… beautiful.

  Something deep in my heart lurches, and I can’t swallow. I stand there like an idiot, staring at his disheveled hair. My mouth is open and
empty, just like my brain. What would he do if I threw my arms around him, held his cheek to mine, and told him I cared and understood?

  “Why are you here?” He looks down the street before pulling me inside the church. He locks the door behind us and picks up a glowing candle that sits on the sill.

  “I… um… I was worried about you and thought… well, I thought maybe you wouldn’t want to be alone. I figured you wouldn’t be able to sleep.” I shuffle my feet on the dusty floor and glance everywhere but at him.

  He frowns, but he still hasn’t let go of my wrist. “And Bret let you come here alone?”

  I pull my arm away and rub my wrist that he was holding too tight. “He’s not my dad, Jag. I don’t have to ask his permission, and I’m certainly capable of taking care of myself.”

  He releases a tired sigh and sinks down onto one of the benches. “I don’t want to fight, Heidi.”

  Neither do I, but it’s what we do best. We can’t be in each other’s presence without bickering, competing, or wanting to throw punches. “Sorry. I just wanted to see if you were okay.”

  He smiles up at me then, patting the bench beside him. I sit, bewildered at what to do or say next. Jag and I have never really been alone together. Dean was always there to fill up the awkward silences. I don’t know how to talk to Jag. I hadn’t thought it through this far. We sit quietly for a few moments, playing with dust on the bench or invisible threads on our clothing.

  “You should probably get some rest,” I say finally. “Morning is coming, and you’re going to be too tired to function.” I smile, feeling unbelievably shy. I don’t know what I was thinking when I came here. That Jag would suddenly turn into a different person and like me? That because of Dean’s disappearance, we’d connect like never before? I guess I’d hoped these things would happen, but life never works out that way for me. Ever. I start to stand, but he stops me with a hand on my thigh.

  “Please stay.” He looks into my eyes with an expression I’ve honestly never seen on him before, the candle creating a halo of light around us. “You’re exhausted too.”

  He can aggravate me more than anyone else, and yet, I feel drawn to him in a way I can’t explain. Maybe it’s animal magnetism or the way he makes me want to be better at everything. Or just being close to him in the dark. Maybe it’s that we’re alone for the first time ever.

  The old church is silent around us, harboring deep shadows in every corner. If I were here alone, it would have totally creeped me out, but he is with me and it makes all the difference. He chases the phantoms away. Literally.

  Jag takes my hand and stands. I rise with him, wondering what we’re going to do next. He leads me down into his dark, makeshift bedroom in the basement cellar. His and Dean’s sleeping bags lie on the floor, and he draws me down next to him.

  I feel ill at ease, sitting with him on his sleeping bag like it’s normal for us, and the thought that Jag doesn’t even like me keeps screaming in my mind. The basement is even darker than the chapel, and the dusty cement walls look black in the candlelight. I keep my gaze on Jag and try to rein in all thoughts of ghosts and goblins. I’m safe with him. Nothing can hurt me here. He can protect me. He protects everybody. For some reason, the thought that I can protect myself never enters my mind.

  He sets the candle on the chest behind him and then lies down, his head resting on his hand. His face is shrouded in shadow and the candlelight shines through his blond hair, outlining the edge of his jaw. He’s smiling as he reaches out to take my hand again. “I’m glad you came over. I didn’t feel like being alone.”

  I can’t believe he would admit this to me. The great and powerful Jag doesn’t want to be alone?

  “What’s wrong?” he asks.

  He notices my nervousness. Of course he does. He notices everything. Always. I laugh, embarrassed, unable to stop myself. I don’t know how to act around him, and laughing is always my go-to reaction. And being alone like this on his bed…

  “Nothing. It’s just…” I look around at the unfathomable and haunting shadows. There are too may dark corners I can’t see. How does he stand it?

  I lie down since he’s tugging on my arm to do so and scoot a bit closer, trying not to let my eyes dart toward the monsters that aren’t there. The darkness plays tricks on my eyes, so I close them and just breathe. Some Cazador. Afraid of the dark.

  Jag whispers, “Don’t worry. Nothing will happen to you here.”

  “I know,” I say just as softly.

  “Come here.” He pulls me closer, the scent of his hair and clothes surrounding me like a comforting blanket. I lay my head on his shoulder, and he wraps his arms around me. Being with him like this feels like a dream, like I’ve finally found the place I’m supposed to be. I’m suddenly grateful Bret didn’t want a romantic relationship. It would have been a mistake. I know that now. There is definitely something strange and cool about Bret, but this feeling with Jag is different. It’s always been there at the back of my heart, hidden. I see that now. Maybe that’s why we fought so much, and why Jag resisted me too.

  The fact that he wants me now, after rejecting me for so long… What changed? Was moving in with Bret the catalyst? Maybe that’s what it took for Jag to realize he felt something more for me than annoyance.

  For me, it was Dean’s disappearance. I couldn’t stand the thought of Jag being here alone with no one to love him, and I did… oh… no… I would never admit that out loud. Ever. I have strict rules about relationships. I’ve kept myself separate and alone on purpose. Every person I love seems to either betray me or die.

  But this thing with Jag…

  Now it doesn’t matter how dark it is, or how scary the world has become. I feel safe in his arms. Taking a deep breath, I inhale the scent of him, earthy and male, still unable to believe I’m here with him… alone.

  “What are we doing, Jag?” I don’t want to ask. It will ruin the moment for sure, but I can’t stand not knowing. Am I being played? Are his feelings as sincere as mine? I just don’t think I can stand it if they aren’t.

  He’s silent for a moment. I almost wonder if he is going to ignore me, but then he releases a sigh. I expect him to pull away, the moment destroyed, but instead, his arms tighten and he holds me closer. “I don’t know. Do you want to go?”

  I pull back just enough to look him in the eyes. Our faces are only an inch apart. The fact that his lips are so close to mine is enough to send my heart pounding.

  I want him to kiss me.

  And more than anything, in that moment, it feels like something will break inside me if he doesn’t. “I don’t want to be anywhere else.”

  His eyes soften, our hearts beating in unison. He leans forward, our mouths a breath apart, and yet he hesitates. But I feel the warmth of his skin, the heat of his touch as he waits… just like I do. When it seems I can’t take the anticipation any longer, he closes the distance, his lips touching mine, feather light. So soft that I can do nothing but ache for more. But instead of deepening the kiss, which I know we both want, he groans and then rests his chin on my head, inhaling deeply. I snuggle into his chest and close my eyes, feeling safe for the first time in ages. He doesn’t try anything else, even though he could have… and I would have let him.

  ***

  I’m nowhere near rested when I wake, but finding myself alone in the basement, I quickly jump up. I have no idea what time it is, so I hurry up the stairs, feeling the stares of a thousand ghosts.

  Light is streaming in between the board-covered windows. It’s morning and late at that. With aching muscles, I fling open the front door. Jag had better not have left me here alone.

  He sits on the front steps, drinking coffee from a Styrofoam cup. He hands me a second one that sits beside him. I’m not sure what to say to him, with my chest heaving and my expression post-alarm. Good morning, and thanks for the awesome night? Why did you leave me alone in the pit of despair?

  In the light of day, it’s weird between us, and I wonder if
it will always be this way. I can’t envision a future where it is otherwise. Last night was a miraculous interlude. An anomaly.

  “Just in time,” he says, handing the cup to me.

  “Thanks.” I sit down beside him, wondering why he looks so calm, as though our moment in time has not evaporated with the dew, but lingers like a mist. “You seem calm this morning.”

  Jag sighs, staring down at his hands.

  I hurry to add, “I didn’t mean it like… you weren’t worried. I just thought you’d be panicking about Dean. You seem very relaxed.”

  He nods, taking a gulp from the Styrofoam cup in his hands. “I did wake up panicking. And I left early, searching the park until I found a demon.”

  “Really?” I take a sip from the cup he offers me. The coffee is hot and black. I prefer cream, but that costs more and Jag doesn’t have much money. “Did you learn anything from it?”

  “Not much. Only that a demon can be tortured for longer than I thought.”

  I don’t want to picture that, so I keep my mouth moving. “So you came home?”

  “I knew you’d be awake, and I didn’t want you freaked out. I know you hate it here.” There isn’t any malice in his words. For the first time ever, I see the smile in his eyes. He’s never been this easy with me. With Dean, sure, but not with anyone else. I keep waiting for the bubble to pop.

  “So, are you ready to start searching again then?” I ask.

  “No,” he answers. “Not yet. Bret will be here any moment… as soon as he realizes you’re not tucked safely in your bed.”

  But he isn’t here yet. “Maybe he’s a late sleeper.”

  “Let’s hope.”

  I steal a glance at him through the long veil of my hair, and he is watching me, smiling when he catches my eye. I still can’t believe he’s looking at me like this, so… sweet and boyfriendly.