A Touch Morbid
Page 16
“Unbelievable!” he yelled, his tailbone screaming.
A shadow darkened across him. “If I’d known you were my competition, I could’ve waited for Sullivan to wander back on her own.”
Jarrod knocked his hood back as he raised his head to whoever was above him. The guy could have passed for a Sopranos bit player, built wide like a jock, slicked-back black hair. Douche bag, Jarrod decided. The guy didn’t offer him a hand up. “That makes you Vaughn,” Jarrod guessed. “You got some balls showing up in Manhattan, man.”
Vaughn snorted a laugh. “Yeah, you’re a real hard-ass.” He leaned against the brick wall on one broad shoulder, looking amused. “See, I can tell by the way you’re sitting in the snow there.”
Jarrod got to his feet, not giving Vaughn the satisfaction of looking away. Don’t slip. Please don’t fall, he begged. A victory grin curled up the corner of his mouth when he made it without so much as a stumble. “Eden know you’re trespassing? You know how she deals with people she doesn’t like?”
Vaughn’s smirk faded.
“I’m just here for a few words.” He spread his hands wide with a smile. “Where is Sullivan? Did you leave her alone?” Jarrod didn’t react. “Because if there’s anything sharp in the room, she’s probably bleeding out.” Vaughn’s cheek twitched, his expression unreadable. “Anything she can get tied around her neck?” he went on, his hand in a fist at the side of his throat yanking at an imaginary noose.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Jarrod said.
“Or did she start you off slow and go for a roof?” Vaughn went on. “You feel like a hero?” His face went hard. “How’re you gonna feel when you have to shove your finger down her throat because she swallowed a couple bottles of pills?” He held up his hand, his finger hooked.
Jarrod didn’t say anything for half a minute, the silence broken only by the steady plop of drips from above like a metronome.
“Yeah, I thought so,” Vaughn sneered.
Jarrod moved to duck around him, but Vaughn didn’t budge. “Maybe you shouldn’t have given her Touch in the first place.”
Something changed on Vaughn’s face. Dropping his attention to the snow, he pressed his boot into the edge of the drift, trampling it down. “What’s your name?” he asked.
“Jarrod.”
Vaughn nodded as if deep in thought, his eyes still downcast. “Listen, Jarrod, I’m done here. I want my girl back.”
“She’s not your girl,” Jarrod ground out.
“She is.” Vaughn’s head snapped up. “You’ve known her a week. Sullivan’s been mine since we were both fourteen,” he roared. “You wanna know pain, Jarrod? Watch your girl smiling the day after you die. Walk up to her on the street. Have her look at you like you’re a stranger.”
Shock broke Jarrod’s anger. “You knew her before you were a Sider?”
“We were together three years before I went Sider. I thought she was cheating on me; turns out she was forgetting all about me.” Vaughn winced. “I stayed away. I tried. For a year, and then I ran into her at a club. She didn’t even look at me.” He tipped his head back, staring up into the rush of snowflakes. “One of my crew hit her friends with Touch the weekend before. She was looking for it. And I thought maybe … maybe we could start over.” He sighed. “I never should have given it to her.”
Jarrod’s voice came out a whisper, not the calm demand he’d been shooting for. “She’s done with you.” He looked toward the end of the alley. He knew he wouldn’t be able to go to work now. Not after what Vaughn had said. Was there anything sharp in his room? She’d been sleeping when he’d left. What if she woke up? He took a few steps back toward the apartment.
“Listen, you little shit,” Vaughn started.
Jarrod turned back as Vaughn’s fist cracked into his nose. He dropped to his knees, hands cupped over his face for a split second before he dove forward and slammed into Vaughn’s legs.
Vaughn caught him on the way down, ending up on top, pounding his knuckles into Jarrod’s face again. Jarrod coughed out a spray of blood, fought to turn his head away. Vaughn’s knees pinned his arms into the ground, the next punch cracking a bone in Jarrod’s cheek.
Wrestling an arm free, he grabbed Vaughn’s ear and twisted with everything he had.
“Son of a bitch,” Vaughn yelled, rocking enough to the side so that Jarrod could free his other hand and punch into Vaughn’s throat. The cry choked off. Jarrod bucked, throwing Vaughn into the wall. Before Vaughn staggered to his feet, Jarrod was already up. He didn’t hesitate, palmed Vaughn’s face, and slammed his head against the wall.
Vaughn crumpled.
Gasping for breath, Jarrod dropped his elbows to his knees, his nose dripping crimson onto the snow.
“Dick.” He straightened and retched, spitting a glop of bloody mucus. Wiping his face with the sleeve of his coat, he cupped a hand under his nose. His face was already swelling; he squinted to see the way back home.
“Jarrod!” A frantic call from the head of the alley. Eden ran toward him.
He slipped as he stepped toward her and went down on one knee. She got to him in time to grab his elbow and keep him from falling flat.
“Jesus Christ,” she said, tilting his head up. The taste of the blood that streamed down the back of his throat made him gag. She looked down at the body in the drift beside them as she slung an arm around Jarrod’s waist, trying to help him. “Madeline met me, but halfway through she spotted Vaughn’s Second. Freaked out thinking I was setting her up and then had us confront him. Someone told him we have Sullivan.”
“And where he could find me?” Jarrod’s head snapped up. “Little convenient that you were tied up in that conversation while I was getting my ass kicked.”
Eden’s eyes flashed back to the entrance to the alley closest to Milton’s. “No. Not on purpose. I mean, Madeline, she helped me look for you the other night. She wouldn’t....” Eden’s hands dropped from Jarrod’s jacket. “But Ali said someone called Vaughn and tipped him off you’d be here.”
Jarrod coughed hard and dropped his hand, a palmful of blood coloring the snow. “You think it was Madeline? She know about Sullivan?”
“She watches us, Jarrod. She could have seen you with her. And she wants Vaughn dead. She could have thought I’d get pissed off enough to do it.”
Jarrod paused. “You gonna?”
“It’ll send him Downstairs.” In the snow, Vaughn didn’t stir. Utterly helpless. One breath, and Eden could end him. Jarrod cupped his nose again, pinching it off.
Finally, Eden grabbed for Jarrod’s arm. “I can’t do it.”
He nodded and leaned heavy on Eden’s shoulder. As she headed them back toward the apartment, he couldn’t help but wonder at the trail of blood he left behind, leading directly to their door.
CHAPTER 26
Luke wrapped his arm around Kristen’s. Their shoulders bumped until their steps evened out and they moved down the sidewalk as one. Kristen couldn’t seem to shake her paranoia, the feeling they were being watched, followed. They’d never been in public together, never risked being seen. Or rather, she’d never risked it. Not like this. His hands on her felt treasonous.
She snuck a glance at Luke from the corner of her eye. He looked confident, carefree. Himself. Fear swelled in her as they walked, knowing at any moment they could be seen by the wrong eyes.
She wondered what it felt like to not care. To not depend on others for sanity. To be herself, instead of the caricature she’d created, everything amped up to intimidate. Frighten. Turn away.
She caught her reflection in the windows they passed. The dress fit perfectly. The deep brown hugged her curves as if it were made for her. Is this who I am? she thought.
Luke leaned in to her ear. “You haven’t passed today.”
“Oh,” she said, realizing he was right. She wondered how much of her nervousness was Touch building.
She held out her hand to him. He snagged a finger of her glove,
pulling it off and tucking it into his pocket. She kept her hand low and to the side, fingers searching out rare snatches of bare skin. Kristen kept her eyes ahead, trying to hold in her sigh with each release.
“You don’t pick your victims?” he asked, seeming amused. He kissed her cheek before she could pull away. “How wicked.”
“No, that’s not how it is. I don’t want them to be victims.” Don’t forget who you are, a voice whispered in the sound of traffic passing. She hadn’t given it a thought when she’d touched them. Her voice betrayed her confusion. “I’m normally so careful.”
Luke’s fingers laced tighter with hers. “I don’t judge. No need for guilt.”
Her eyes were drawn away, pulled to a figure ahead in the crowd. He didn’t seem much older than she was, clean shaven and smiling, but the words coming out of his mouth didn’t match the tranquility in his face. He ranted, standing on a box, a sandwich board draped over him.
“What’s going on?” she asked Luke.
“Doomsayer.” He rolled his eyes.
Kristen picked up a few words of the rant the closer they came. The deepness of the voice drew her in, gravelly and ancient, spouting from the young body.
“And then all shall perish! And the fires shall consume! Lucifer is battering down your door, people. He is wearing you down! Trying to work his way inside you!” Luke let out a laugh. The zealot turned to them, his eyes full of fervor, on Kristen. “You doubt this, but it is the truth!” He turned back to the rest of the crowd, the ones still ignoring him, turning their eyes away.
“Well,” Luke said amiably. “He wasn’t far off this time.” He pulled Kristen suddenly into his arms, staggering them a few steps together. Kristen felt heat rising to her cheeks.
She shrugged him off, embarrassed by her reaction.
“Maybe we should go?” she started, but Luke seemed caught up in the scene the doomsayer made.
“The end times are near!” The man picked up a bell, swinging his arm up and down. The sound grated on her. She moved toward Luke, but the ground seemed to quiver. Was that an earthquake? She glanced around. Everyone else seemed unfazed. She raised her head to the doomsayer. Her jaw dropped open.
Around his head was a thick ceramic crown of thorns, chips the size of BB gun pellet holes marring the surface. His face wobbled in and out of focus as she watched.
“No,” she whispered. She squeezed her eyes shut, the doomsayer’s scream burning into her.
“Fragile minds are easily broken!” She looked up to find he’d zeroed in on her, as if his message was for her alone. Kristen couldn’t tear her attention away. Luke fixed me. I’m not seeing this.
His eyes rose to the heavens as he touched a finger to the crown. Blood ran down his face in sudden rivulets. “God will help those who…” His shoulders jerked back, his voice shuddering like a skipping record. “Help those who God will help those who… God will help those who help.”
She was dimly aware of Luke’s hand tightening around hers, his words whispered in her ear. “Downstairs, we just help ourselves.”
“To what?” she murmured.
He tilted her back against him. His hands wound around her, coursing across her hips, down her thighs. “To whatever we want.”
Kristen’s breath caught. She bit her lip, closed her eyes, slowly rocking back into him.
A scream erupted from around them.
Her eyes snapped open, flew upward.
The blood, the crown, the thorns. They were gone. Kristen stared, confused. The man standing on the box was boney and unkempt, a scraggly beard hanging down his chest. The doomsayer stabbed a finger at her. “A scarlet letter for whores!” he bellowed. A gob of thick spit hit her cheek.
Kristen gasped. Luke stepped in front of her, wiping her cheek with his sleeve, his eyes burning maroon.
“Say the word, and I’ll end him. He’ll never say such things again.” His voice shook with barely contained anger, waiting for a signal from her, a nod, a word, anything, to break loose. She pictured it, Luke tearing him limb from limb, the crowd screaming. Part of her wanted it. So badly wanted it.
She swallowed, trying to push the images away and shook her head slowly. “He … he changed. He didn’t look like that before.”
Luke turned his glare on the man.
“There’ll be Hell to pay for that when the time comes. Rest assured.” He grabbed her arm. “Come on,” he snarled.
The doomsayer’s eyes never left Kristen as Luke dragged her off though the crowd. She stumbled along, certain if she looked away the man would shift and she’d miss it.
When she couldn’t see the doomsayer anymore, she finally forced her eyes forward, miserable. Another episode. Hallucinations. It’s starting again. One morning of sanity, enough time for her to actually believe in the possibility, and already her tenuous hold had slipped away. What if I can’t be fixed anymore? Kristen’s heart sank. She should have known better than to get her hopes up.
Beside her, Luke’s fury hadn’t dissipated. “The gall of them astounds me.”
“He couldn’t help it. He’s not well.” She fought for composure, her voice fading to a near whisper. “He’s not well like I’m not well,” she said quickly. “I thought I was better, that you made me better, but I saw—”
Luke yanked her suddenly to face him. “The crown of thorns? The blood?”
Part of her wanted to weep. “You saw, too? I’m not crazy?”
“They’re so dramatic Upstairs,” Luke added with disdain, and her relief drained away.
“He was Bound?”
“A lower-ranking messenger. They can only come here when they’re called.” Luke gripped her arm, stepping them out of the way for the pedestrians streaming past. “What did you do, Kristen?” he sneered. “You say your prayers? Beg them to save you from me?”
He ran his fingers through her hair, a few strands ripping loose when he caught a snarl. She winced. “I was frightened.”
“And instead of helping, they only played with you, exploited your weaknesses.” He lifted his hand again, but this time his fingers were gentle. He stroked her cheek and then leaned close enough to her lips that her breath caught. “At least now it’s clear who you should fear,” he said.
CHAPTER 27
Eden unlocked the door as quietly as she could. She wanted Jarrod to make it to the bathroom and get his nosebleed to stop before Sullivan saw him. Before Eden could scope out the room, Az’s voice came from the couch.
“Everything go okay?” Az turned toward them and saw the blood. He jumped up from the couch, instantly on alert.
Eden pressed a finger to her lips. “Where’s Sullivan?” she whispered.
He nodded toward the kitchen as Sullivan came into the living room.
Jarrod’s sigh ended in a gurgle. “It looks way worse than it is,” he said, tilting his head up to pinch the bridge of his nose. The blood that had pooled in his hand rolled down his face, dripping onto the floor. Sullivan screamed.
Eden turned to Az. “Ice? Grab a wet towel, too.” He was in the kitchen before she finished.
“My God, what happened?” Sullivan asked, rushing to him.
He sucked in a bubbly breath. “It’s just a broken nose.”
Eden almost laughed at the look Sullivan shot him. The girl gave good glare.
“And a split lip and one hell of a swollen cheek. I can see that. I didn’t ask what it was; I asked what happened,” Sullivan said. She touched his face gently.
Az bumped Eden from behind.
She grabbed the wet towel from him when Sullivan reached out. Her eyes met Eden’s.
“I’ve got this,” Sullivan said. “What happened?”
“You have to stop the bleeding first,” Eden cut in. She held the towel on his nose and clamped Sullivan’s hand down on top of it. “There,” she said. “Tight.”
Jarrod winced at the pressure. “I made a friend who wanted my wallet. I decided not to be his friend after all,” he deadpanned.
“Don’t be too hard on his ego. It was a setup.” Eden saw Az startle and turned toward him. “We think. Madeline.”
“Wait,” Az said. “Madeline set up Jarrod to get beat? Why?”
Eden’s eyes strayed to Sullivan. “Because she wants me to kill Vaughn. And I guess I seem like the vengeful type.” She wondered if it was as obvious as it seemed.
“Did you?” Az asked.
The opportunity had been right there to end two problems, kill Vaughn and get Madeline off her back. Eden shook her head. “I can’t do that anymore.”
She glanced up, and Az smiled consolingly.
A buzzer sounded. They all spun toward the call box beside the door.
Sullivan’s hand dropped. “It’s not him, is it?”
Without the pressure, a stream of red flowed out of Jarrod’s nose. Sullivan reached for his hand, but he pulled away. A hurt expression clouded her eyes as she went back to holding his nose.
Jarrod caught it. “I’m sorry. I’ve got no gloves on,” he said softly.
Az pressed the button on the intercom. “No entry without appointment,” he said in a formal voice. They waited through the long pause. “Probably hit the wrong—”
“I wasn’t aware. Please forgive me, but it’s an emergency.”
Eden swore as the voice came through the speaker. “Buzz him in, Az.” He paused for a second, confused by her reaction. “It’s Sebastian. Let him in. Now.”
“Kristen’s Sebastian?” Az pressed the button again. “Identify yourself.”
“Az, stop fucking around.” Eden pushed him out of the way and hit the buzzer herself. “He hardly leaves the house. And Madeline said Kristen’s been acting bizarre.”
A knock sounded on the door. Sebastian had obviously run up the stairs. Something was wrong. Eden prepared herself for the worst, and swung it open.
Sebastian looked much the same as Eden remembered him from the day she’d left Kristen’s, his black hair buzzed short. But usually he carried himself almost like he’d been through boot camp. Now he looked uncertain, his broad shoulders heaving.