Pandora's Key

by Nancy Richardson Fischer

  “If you really saw your mom helping kidnap Evangeline, then she deserves to go to jail.”

  Raphe sighed. “Okay—okay—you win.”

  He shook free of Dr. Sullivan and they pushed through a thick clump of briars. Glimpsing a building through the foliage, they crept forward. It was a greenhouse. They approached it cautiously, catching sight of the Hopkins’ house only twenty-five feet in front of it.

  A light from the second floor blinked on. Instinctively, Raphe and Dr. Sullivan crouched behind a tree. Even from such a distance, they could make out a figure walking past the illuminated window, then turning and pressing their hands against the glass, staring out into the night. It was Evangeline.

  Raphe leapt to his feet and bolted toward the house.

  “Damn!” Dr. Sullivan ran after the kid.

  Chapter Thirty-six

  Evangeline moved away from the bathroom window—there was no escape that way. She splashed cold water on her face. The bruise on her cheek was purple and her lower lip was crusted with dried blood.

  “Who are you?” she whispered. But the girl reflected back was a stranger and only the black key responded—glinting in the light with a conspiratorial wink. What did it matter, anyway? Whether she was the fantasy descendant that Samantha and Melia believed in, or just a kid whose mom was dying and who’d been kidnapped by a cult, she was still standing in this bathroom with a guard waiting outside the door to lock her up again.

  Drawing Malledy’s revolver from where it was tucked against the small of her back, Evangeline looked for the safety. She flipped it off, just as Melia had instructed. “Point and pull the trigger easy-peasy.” But was it that easy to kill someone?

  There’s no other way out of this place, Evangeline told herself. And the longer she waited, the harder it’d be. Can I pull the trigger? “I guess we’ll find out,” Evangeline said to the bruised and battered girl staring at her from the mirror. And then she opened the door.

  Chapter Thirty-seven

  Raphe was well inside the house before Dr. Sullivan had stepped through the back door into a mudroom filled with coats, boot, and shoes of various sizes. The light was murky, but the doctor could just see Raphe as he crept into a large, empty kitchen. There was nothing he could do but follow, wincing as he stepped on a creaky floorboard.

  Glancing over his shoulder, Raphe held a finger to his lips. Then he turned and walked beneath the arch leading into the front hall. There was a room to the left and a curved, wooden staircase to the right. Raphe was starting to climb the stairs when the doctor caught up to him, reaching for his shoulder.

  And then the entire room was suddenly flooded with light.

  “Welcome to my home,” Melodie Hopkins said from a seat in the living room.

  Raphe and the doctor whirled around to see fifteen women sitting calmly on an assortment of velvet chairs and floral sofas. There was a collection of guns, knives, and tasers among the group.

  “I know Raphe from school, of course, but who’s this man?” Melodie asked.

  “He was Olivia’s doctor,” Samantha said, gesturing toward a couch. “Please, Dr. Sullivan, come in and sit down.”

  “I’m still her doctor,” Dr. Sullivan said, not making a move toward the couch. “She’s not dead yet—no thanks to you.”

  “Semantics,” Sam replied.

  “Mom?” Raphe was staring wide-eyed at a woman who stood beside a large picture window.

  “I can’t help you, Raphe,” Beca Petersen said to her son, her voice heavy with emotion. “No one can help you now.”

  “You’re right, kid, she is a heartless witch,” Dr. Sullivan put an arm around Raphe’s shoulders. “We’ll be going now.” He turned Raphe around and began walking out of the room.

  “One more step,” Samantha warned, “and you’re both dead.”

  Chapter Thirty-eight

  Evangeline walked out of the bathroom. “That was quick,” Stephanie said. “After you.” She gestured down the hall toward Evangeline’s room.

  “No,” Evangeline raised the revolver. “After you.”

  Stephanie’s gasped, deep-set eyes widening. “You don’t want to do this, Evangeline. You’re a sweet girl, not a killer.”

  I was, but your freakish cult killed that girl; Malledy killed her; Melia’s death killed her.

  “Turn around and go.” Evangeline pressed the revolver into Stephanie’s back.

  The woman turned and walked down the hallway. “You’ll never get past them all.”

  “Shut up!” I’m terrified enough without you talking.

  They descended the steps one by one. Each time Stephanie hesitated, Evangeline jammed the gun harder into her spine. Am I really doing this? There was light filtering from the first floor hall and Evangeline hoped that it’d been left on by accident and that all the freaks were safely asleep and out of the way. They descended the final steps. Peering into the front hall and living room beyond, Evangeline saw that she couldn’t have been more wrong.

  “She’s got a gun!” Stephanie called.

  Evangeline took in the faces staring at her. There were at least a dozen Sect members in the living room, including Samantha, Mrs. Hopkins, that Goth Girl, Lacie, and Raphe’s mom. Who isn’t in this cult? Some of them had guns. Evangeline’s breath caught in her throat when she saw Dr. Sullivan. “What’re you doing here?”

  Dr. Sullivan looked up from the couch, his glasses slightly askew. “I keep asking myself that same question.” He nodded toward Raphe. “He brought me.”

  Evangeline looked at Raphe, who appeared confused, scared. Nice act.

  “How can she have a gun?” Samantha demanded, face flushed, tone furious. “Where the hell is Juliette?”

  “Still burying the bodies,” Dawn replied. “Evangeline lied—she told us the boy threw his gun into the woods. She must’ve hidden it—”

  “Really?” Samantha snapped. “You think so?”

  “She’s talking about Melia and Tristin,” Evangeline peered at Raphe, feeling her anger spark, ignite, and then burn bright. “Melia’s dead and it’s your fault! Do you get that? And,” she nodded at Dr. Sullivan, “how could you involve him in all of this?”

  “E, you’ve got it all wrong,” Raphe said, trying to stand up. Roughly, Dawn pushed him back down. “I didn’t know. When I saw that picture in Sammy’s loft, I was as shocked as you were. I got Dr. Sullivan to drive me here because Mrs. Hopkins was in the photo. I thought she’d know where you were—Melia’s dead? I can’t believe it!” He reached for his inhaler, but Dawn grabbed his wrist.

  Evangeline rounded on Samantha, her anger a living, breathing creature that was giving her courage. “Is this all part of your plan, too? Get me to trust Raphe again? Fool me once.” She edged the revolver up from Stephanie’s back to her temple.

  “You can believe whatever you want,” Samantha said. “But put down that gun!”

  “Athena gave me the strength to kill,” Evangeline reminded her godmother. She tightened her index finger against the trigger. “Don’t make me show you how well I can do it. Let Dr. Sullivan and me walk out of this house, and I’ll let Stephanie go.”

  Samantha stood up. “Stephanie and every member of Pandora pledged to protect the descendant and the artifacts with their lives. If Stephanie has to die, that’s acceptable.”

  Goth Girl took a few steps toward Evangeline. “Don’t you understand that Tristin wasn’t the first to try to kill you?”

  “Because I’m so special, Lacie, is that it?” Evangeline snapped.

  “Yes, that’s right,” Lacie replied without hesitation.

  “Whether you accept it or not,” Samantha said, “you’re Pandora’s descendant, Evangeline.”

  “I don’t know what the hell is going on here!” Dr. Sullivan held up his hands. “But it’s gone too far.”

  “You’re right,” Samantha agreed and nodded toward Melodie Hopkins, who immediately raised her pistol, aiming it at Dr. Sullivan’s chest.

  Outside the
house, someone was watching the drama unfold, and waiting for just the right moment…

  Chapter Thirty-nine

  “No!” Evangeline shouted. “Leave him alone, he’s not part of this!”

  “Your dear Dr. Sullivan knows too much,” Melodie responded. The doctor just sat there. He seemed to be in shock.

  There’s only one thing I can do to save him. Quick as lightning, Evangeline shoved Stephanie hard, sending her stumbling across the hallway floor. She quickly turned the revolver on herself, pressing it into her stomach.

  “I’ll kill myself,” she said in a steady voice. “If you hurt Dr. Sullivan, I’ll pull the trigger. I swear it.”

  “Put that gun down!” Melodie demanded.

  “We’re not in school anymore,” Evangeline replied. “You’re not my teacher here. If you don’t let Dr. Sullivan go right now, Sam, I’ll do it.” Am I really doing this?

  “Don’t!” Dr. Sullivan stared at Evangeline, horrified. “For what it’s worth, I don’t think Raphe knew anything about whatever it is that’s going on here!”

  Evangeline’s hands were slippery with sweat. There’s no way out of this. If I live, Dr. Sullivan dies. If I die, Dr. Sullivan dies, and if he’s right about Raphe, my friend dies, too. If I live, both of their deaths will be my fault. If I live, I’m never getting out of here. Evangeline began to press the trigger—

  A single gunshot rang out.

  Instantly, a barrage of gunfire volleyed, filling the room with smoke and the stench of burned gunpowder. Seconds later, two people lay on the floor bleeding out from their wounds.

  Someone screamed.

  Chapter Forty

  “Who the hell is he?” Samantha demanded, looking down at a young man in a shiny leather jacket writhing on the floor, his slick purple intestines spilling out of the bloody gash in his stomach.

  Stephanie crouched beside the man, a blood-covered blade in her right hand. “Not sure, but I think I’ve cut him too deeply to get any answers from him now.”

  “I know him.” Lacie said in a flat voice. “He told me his name was Ivan. I met him at a coffee shop on 23rd Street. We were dating.” Ivan moaned. A few seconds later, he was dead.

  Evangeline tried to yell, but even though her mouth was moving, no words came out. Only moments ago a man had burst through the front door, gun in hand. And then a body was racing across the living room, rocketing through the hall and launching into the air. Raphe. He’d seen the man running toward Evangeline—he’d burst off the couch, sprinted, and then dove between them. Now Raphe lay sprawled with blood saturating his T-shirt and staining the beige carpet beneath his still body. His head was turned sideways, awkwardly, eyes closed, hair tousled like he’d just stepped off his skateboard. Raphe just saved my life. He really didn’t know about any of this! He’s going to die because of me, too.

  “Help,” Evangeline whispered, looking desperately at Dr. Sullivan, who was still on the couch. His glasses were gone, but he hadn’t been hurt—he was just frozen in place.

  “Dr. Sullivan,” Evangeline said softly, “please help. HELP!” Her scream managed to wake the doctor, who tried to stand up. One of the women shoved him back onto the couch.

  “Dammit, I’m a doctor! Let me help the boy!”

  “Let him,” Samantha said, glancing over at Beca. Raphe’s mother stood motionless, her face as white as a ghost’s.

  Dr. Sullivan rushed to kneel beside Raphe. He pulled up the T-shirt. There was a bullet hole in his lower abdomen.

  “Help me roll him,” Dr. Sullivan commanded. No one moved. “Evangeline, help me.”

  Evangeline put down the revolver and joined the doctor. They rolled Raphe onto his side and Dr. Sullivan wiped away the blood on the boy’s back so he could see more clearly. There were two bullet holes in Raphe’s back.

  “One bullet is still inside. We need to get him to the hospital. There isn’t time to call an ambulance—we’ve got to drive there ourselves. Now!”

  “No,” Samantha said. “Try to make him comfortable—that’s all we can do for him now.”

  “How do you expect me to do that?” Dr. Sullivan lashed out. “I took an oath to save lives. That’s what I do.”

  Samantha didn’t reply.

  “Look, lady, there’s no telling the amount of damage that’s been done to Raphe’s bowels, colon, kidney, or liver, but this is a lethal injury. He needs to be rushed into an OR where surgeons will have to open him up and attempt to suture myriad organs that may or may not be vital enough to save. This is no longer some little sorority game—”

  “You think that’s what this is?” Beca Petersen shouted. “You think I’d let my son die for a game?!” She was spraying spit with every word. “This is as real as it gets!”

  Stephanie slapped Beca, her palm leaving a bloody smear across Beca’s cheek. Raphe’s mother slumped onto a couch, sobbing and moaning. Stephanie sat down beside her, an arm around her shaking shoulders.

  “Let Dr. Sullivan take him to the hospital,” Evangeline begged her godmother.

  Samantha shook her head.

  “He won’t tell on you,” Evangeline said, looking at Dr. Sullivan. “Right? You won’t tell, right?”

  “Of course he will,” Samantha said. “He’s the kind of man who’d have to tell.”

  Dr. Sullivan’s hands were covered with blood, his face grim. “So what now? We all watch this innocent boy die and then I’m next? At least have the decency to make Evangeline leave the room when you shoot me.”

  “No,” Evangeline said, tears running down her cheeks. “No—no—no!” She pressed her hands against the wound on Raphe’s stomach, trying to staunch the blood. There’s too much.

  “You’re all hypocrites!” she shouted. “You say you exist to protect the world—to protect living, breathing people from Annihilation—but you’d throw away Raphe’s life without a second thought!”

  “And you’d rather kill yourself than believe,” Melodie fired back.

  “I’m sixteen! I have my whole life ahead of me. I have plans that don’t include your voodoo magic and people that want to kill me!” Evangeline’s head was throbbing. “I want to have a boyfriend—go to college—figure out a career—eventually get married—have kids—live until I’m an old woman! I don’t want the freaking job you nut-bags keep trying to shove down my throat!”

  She pressed her hands harder against Raphe’s wound, but the blood was gushing out, hot, slippery, and endless.

  “Dr. Sullivan?” She looked at him.

  “It’s no use, Evangeline.” The doctor sounded defeated. “Better to let the blood flow, so the poor thing can die quickly. I’m so sorry.”

  “Evangeline was ready to shoot herself,” Lacie pronounced. “How can she possibly protect the box when she doesn’t even care about her own life?”

  Evangeline glared at her classmate. “Go to hell, Lacie. I care about things that are real.”

  “You are the only person standing between mankind and Annihilation,” Samantha said.

  “F-you!”

  “Is that the best you can do?”

  “What do you want from me?” Evangeline half-shouted, half-moaned.

  “Everything,” Samantha replied. “There’s more to Pandora’s history—an addition to Zeus’ Curse. It was so devastating that the first members of Pandora decreed that it should never be written down. Instead it’s been passed solely by word of mouth from leader to leader. Evangeline, if you die before having a daughter, then anyone can take the key you wear and open Pandora’s Box. All they have to do is kill you.”

  “For God’s sake, give the kid a break,” Dr. Sullivan said, utterly revolted.

  Samantha met the doctor’s eyes. “Evangeline is the only impediment the Gods gave us to provide a degree of separation from the devastation of Annihilation. It’s not much, I admit that, but it’s all we’ve had for thousands of years. And Pandora has sacrificed countless women to make it enough.”

  “E?” Raphe’s voice was so quiet that
she almost didn’t hear him.

  Raphe’s eyes fluttered open and Evangeline tried to smile at him. “Raphe, we’re going to get you to the hospital. It’s going to be okay.”

  He struggled to breathe and began to cough. Evangeline pulled him onto her lap so that his head was raised. “I didn’t… know…any of…it.”

  “I know that now,” Evangeline said, trying to sound strong. “I’m sorry I ever thought that you were part of this. I should’ve trusted you.”

  “S’okay.” Raphe winced and a moan escaped his lips. “Hurts, burns…a ton…was going to ask you…prom.”

  “Yes,” Evangeline said. “I’ll go to prom with you. But first we have to get you fixed up.”

  She knew she was crying, but she couldn’t stop and her tears fell onto Raphe’s face, mingling with his own. The intensity of Raphe’s golden-brown eyes seemed to be fading and his breathing sounded just like Melia’s had—wet, hitching, temporary.

  “Don’t try to talk,” Evangeline said. “Everything’s going to be okay. I’m okay—you saved me—and you’ll be okay, too.”

  And then she started to hum—the tune that was always floating somewhere in her mind. She wasn’t sure why she was doing it, but maybe it could somehow help Raphe find peace—the way her mom’s singing had always soothed her. Find peace, Raphe—let me give you this last gift. Her hands were still pressed against Raphe’s abdomen, feeling the hot blood, the battered skin, the ragged hole. Her fingers started tingling and then began to throb. She didn’t withdraw them, instead closing her eyes and relishing the pain because she deserved it. All of this was her fault.

  The torment intensified. Evangeline’s hands felt like they’d been doused in gasoline and ignited, enveloped by flame, searing and charring, the agony seeping like boiling oil into her bones—red and white torture that burned, flared, and swallowed her whole.