She could hear voices. They spoke unspeakable usurpations to her ragged mind, drawing her out of herself and into … into something that tasted sweet. Something intoxicating. Something I need.
She wanted to kill something—anything. She grasped the pillow with both hands and bit down on it, her face contorting in the darkness into a visage of rage. The world was such an unjust place. But she would make it right. Yes.
Besides, she thought, the Bloodstone is mine. She was weary, yes, but mostly she was tired of being the third wheel in this band of impossible personalities. With the Bloodstone, she could see things, feel things that had not yet come to pass, things she could not put into words.
Was it so bad?
She was strong enough. At least, when she had it in her hand. Oh, how desperately she wanted to hold it, to touch it once more. It was like sinking into the softest mattress on a lazy Sunday, curling up inside the womb of a thick down comforter, pulling the folds up over her head, muffling the world.
She would be the one to set things right. She would be the key.
It is my destiny. She had heard as much.
I will be patient. She agreed with the whispers in the darkness.
I will wait. The Bloodstone would return to her. It was irresistible, really. She would be the key to peace, a lasting cease-fire, the only one in all of history that would actually work, that would really last. There would be an end to all wars, and it would start in her flesh. She, with the Bloodstone, would be the catalyst. The spark. The first flame.
As her reward for her patience, for her labors, she too would possess long life and beauty. Like Airel, she too would be strong beyond her wildest dreams. She too would not only be able to heal her own flesh, but also the infirmities of others.
Her mind drifted once more. The Bloodstone’s distant whispering call warmed her as she slipped into a world where she was not the dumb-luck sidekick, but the hero.
***
“DESTROY IT. DESTROY IT. Destroy it,” Michael whispered a subconscious mantra, his throat catching in desperation as he stared at the Bloodstone from across the room. It sat pulsing on the television cabinet, calling to him like a potential lover, offering everything, making promises, clapping blinders on his eyes that prevented him from seeing anything but itself. It was all gratification and no consequence.
He squeezed his eyes shut. He could not deny that he wanted what it offered him. What red-blooded man could resist, anyway? Anything and everything he could imagine and then some, it was all there inside the Bloodstone. Though he knew that the life it offered was fraudulent, that the healing of which it profanely whispered was bondage, that the sensual pleasures on display were paper-thin disguises worn by ancient principalities…
It was the kingdom of the Self, and he would be master, by God, and at last. He would bend no more to anyone other than the Alexander. He would inherit the mantle of his father and surpass him. In every conceivable way. He would crush all opposition, command his thousands upon thousands. He would usher in the final war, and in that obliteration of all that is, he would captain, finally, ultimate peace. There would be stillness. He would rule every nothing under the blackened sun.
Michael pressed his palms to his head and squeezed. Destroy it.
The wound he bore, that now had spread over his whole chest, was raw and red; sickly fingers reached out in purple red spirals, enlarging its territory over his heart, grasping for more, still more. And it ached, wretchedly before, and now beautifully, now that he carried the Bloodstone.
He clawed backward desperately in his mind, but backward was forward and he was really confused. He tried to attain clarity; everything was so fuzzy, so … red.
***
RED.
Blood red.
I stood in a river of red. The color made me sick. The…water…lapped at my waist, slapping at my belly as if it was trying to beat its way through me. If I had been a pillar of stone, and given enough time, pressure, flow, the sick redness would be content to erode me away into nothing. It had a consciousness of its own.
Why was it always red? Why always this dreaming about blood? I was so angry. I wanted to pull myself up out of the dream by the scruff of my neck, a deus ex machina, but I was powerless here. The redness was cold. Thank God. I didn’t know what I would have done if it was warm. I gagged in my sleep. Yeah, me and nausea go way back.
I looked up, getting my bearings. A black sun, papier mache, was pasted onto the sky above me like a theater prop. Everything became chilly. No vegetation to speak of lined the shores of this diabolical river. There was only black rock and the putrid stench of death.
This is getting old, darn it. I’m sick of having the same stupid dream and variations. Freud would have had ample material with which to work the alchemy of his psychoanalysis on me, all up in my Kool-Aid and not even knowin’ the flavah.
I looked for my old “friend,” the inevitable cloaked figure, star of all my fantasies, but I did not see him. I then felt inwardly for She, wondering if it was her sparking these dreams … or if it was something else.
“Listen and learn. Everything has a useful purpose, Airel.”
I widened my eyes and shook my head, singing out, “Cra-zy,” like an insane person had just said something to me that was completely absurd and I was going to walk away. It echoed back to me like I was inside an empty cistern.
I tried to walk to the riverbank, but my feet wouldn’t move. Great. A river of blood with a quicksand bottom, and I’m sinking into it little by little. “All right, Sigmund,” I said aloud, really addressing She, “Have at it. Tell me what it all means.” But there was nothing.
Does anyone know how to give me a straight answer? First it was Kreios and his cryptic non-answers, and now it was She taking up the mantle of obscurity.
“I guess I’ll just stay here, then. In the river of blood. Sinking.”
I looked more closely around me, looking for whatever it was I was missing—and I knew I was missing something, for crying out loud. I was supremely irritated.
That’s when I saw it.
The black hell’s-own-kindergarten theater-prop sun was moving.
It was coming closer.
It soon spread from horizon to horizon, further blackening the dark sky. It rolled back gathering from bottom to top like a curtain.
I screamed in fright.
Revealed there was an enormous sickly eye, and it stared right through me.
***
MICHAEL SHOOK HIS HEAD, popping out of a dazed trance.
He was angry.
He wanted to hurl the Bloodstone into the depths of the Columbia River. It was, after all, only a short walk away. He walked to the window, his body containing a bundle of nervous energy. He parted the curtain on a sunset that had turned the river’s waters into a red-orange torrent of blood. He shuddered, though he knew not why.
Then, like a lightning bolt out of a pitch black sky, a simple thought came to him: Airel. Love. He breathed in deeply, but it was ragged and spastic, as if he’d just been weeping his heart out. He exhaled and a tear escaped and ran down his cheek. He wiped it away with his hand and realized that he knew what he had to do. And why.
CHAPTER XVI
I OPENED MY EYES and stared at the ceiling. For the briefest of moments I could remember everything. Then it was gone, “like a fart in the wind,” as Kim would say. What did I miss? I felt dirty, like someone or something was watching me. I knew we were being followed—I could feel it. Was it the Brotherhood? Was it right now? I didn’t know.
Kim had snuggled up with most of the blankets in her sleep, leaving me chilly and naked on the bed. Becoming more aware of my surroundings, I panicked: Is Michael in the room? I covered myself as best I could and looked around. I spied Ellie in the bed opposite. She was sleeping. Do angels sleep? I guessed so; I had seen Kreios sleeping. I crossed my arms over my chest and sat up slowly.
I looked closer at Ellie. She was out cold. I figured maybe we would
miss dinner. At least some of us would, anyway, and I was capable of getting some takeout for the rest of our little group so they could have something to eat whenever they woke up. As for me, I was hungry. Freaking starving.
But I was naked. Yikes. I looked around again. Last I knew, Ellie had been on a mission to get some gas-station clothes. Sure enough, there on the desk chair sat several shopping bags, and it looked promising. They were a big step up from convenience-store quality. They were mall quality.
Go Ellie.
I grabbed the bags and made a dash for the bathroom. I never was the kind of girl who could walk brazenly across a women’s locker room, whether anyone was aware of me or not. I didn’t know how some women could do that. I was too shy for prancing in my birthday suit—it always made me uncomfortable. But what else could I have done? I wasn’t going to get dressed right back into my filthy clothes after I had showered. Gross.
I shut the bathroom door behind me and flipped on the light, rummaging through the haul of stuff Ellie had brought back. I was stunned. It was like I had been out shopping myself. There were a couple of pairs of designer jeans, some really cute little tops, even some accessories like a little packet of hair ties. And—thank God—some high-quality unmentionables. Where did she find this stuff? Did Arlington, Oregon, have a Victoria’s Secret? It was crazy, and everything fit perfectly. The other bag had some shoe boxes inside. No way. Again, I was stunned. I pulled out a pair of sturdy lightweight hikers with an aggressive tread on the sole. They fit my feet like they had been custom made. Insane. I ran my fingers through my hair and tied it back loosely with one of the hair ties. Lookin’ good. I didn’t know what to think.
I checked my reflection one last time and then turned off the lights.
I quietly left the room and went down to the lobby.
Michael was sitting in a chair by the coffee maker, reading a newspaper. He looked clean and fresh, wearing jeans and a button-up shirt. He saw me and smiled, folding the paper and setting it down. “Hey. You get a good nap?”
I nodded and hugged him, laying my head against him. I could hear his heart thumping in his chest. “You smell good,” I said, relishing the familiar. “So you’re catching up on sports, or…?” I motioned to the paper.
His eyes sparkled. “Comics,” he said.
I rolled my eyes. “Nerd.”
He kissed my cheek, setting me afire. “Where’s everyone else?”
I pushed him away gently. “Everyone else is still sleeping. I figured why wake them.”
“Cool.”
I could tell he was going to ask me something important, something potentially awkward.
“So,” he said, “you want to try that date again?”
My heart skipped a beat when I realized what he had said, and my mind flitted back over all the—well, the Audrey Hepburn moments we’d had. The awkwardness I had felt. It was like he was asking me out for the first time. Um, again.
“On one condition, Mister. This time, no thuggish fights in the parking lot.”
He laughed, a musical sound. “No worries. So, what’ll it be? Pizza? Or pizza. That’s, like, all they have here.”
“Hmm.” I rested my chin on my finger, thinking. “Let’s see here. I’m gonna go for pizza.”
He nodded as if I had said something very wise. “Good call.”
“I could eat a whole one all by myself,” I said. I loved that I could be a pig and not worry about … about being a pig. I could be me with Michael, and I loved that.
CHAPTER XVII
WE FOUND A TABLE near the back of the small hometown pizza joint and sat down. The place was moderately full—farmers, road crew guys, fishermen, and just-passin’-through types filled various booths and tables. An ancient Rock-Ola jukebox hurled the occasional hatefully catchy earworm 80s power ballad at all of us whenever someone dropped in some quarters, which was too often for my taste. The waitresses hustled from table to table with frilly little salmon-colored aprons around their waists. It didn’t take much imagination to see them taking orders with pad and pen, lit cigarettes dangling from their lips, held fast by their filters in the bond of thick blood-red lipstick, thus completing the cliché. I mean, why not, after all?
One of them, a rough bulldog of a woman with pock-marked jowls and strands of gray hair rebelling against the bun that held most of it at bay, came and curtly took our order. She then swooshed away in a storm of polyester and Aqua Net hairspray.
“So,” Michael began, “what do you think about Ellie?”
It was abrupt; it made me suddenly cautious. I brought my guard up by taking a sip of Coke, hiding behind the glass and speaking into it. “What do you mean?” My voice tumbled out of the glass amplified. It embarrassed me.
“Well, I mean you two seem to have your differences, ya know? I couldn’t help but sense the drama.”
I huffed. It was mostly a laugh. “Yeah. Well, I honestly don’t know what her problem is. Can we talk about something else?”
He looked frustrated. “Yeah, I guess.”
I thought about how she had insisted on dividing us up along boy-girl lines at the hotel. “Look. I think she’s who says she is, okay? I mean, like her or not, she’s the real deal.”
Michael’s expression was a clear question mark, and it hung over both of us. “But what was going on back there on the train?”
I thought about it, wanting to give him my best answer. “It was crazy. I don’t even know. It’s like all this … this evil … just came out of nowhere.” I wiped beads of condensation from my glass down onto the table, spinning it counterclockwise as I did so. “I guess after the devil was done down in Georgia,” I blamed the jukebox with an accusative glance, “he decided to take a little train ride in Oregon, huh-huh.” I laughed crazily at my own pathetic joke and made a face.
He didn’t laugh or even crack a smile. “Yeah,” he said, and that’s all he said.
“What.” I knew there was more.
“I don’t know.”
“Yeah, you do.”
He acknowledged the truth with a little shrug. “Okay.”
“Yeah?”
“Just okay.”
“You’re holding out on me.”
This time he sighed heavily. “Sparkling conversation. First date.”
“Second,” I corrected him into my glass, taking another sip.
“Second,” he acknowledged, drumming his fingers on the table.
“And don’t try to change the subject. Go on, spill it,” I said. I tried to sound encouraging, optimistic. It came out too harsh.
He sighed again. “I just don’t know...” He looked like a little boy sitting there, like a little boy whose dog had just been run over and he didn’t know what to do with himself.
I reached out and touched his arm. “What is it?”
We were interrupted by the waitress. She placed a hot pizza down on the table with a couple of plates, called us both “hon,” and walked off after confirming we needed nothing else. We dug in greedily, forgetting the line of conversation for a moment. But it came back. I wouldn’t let it die.
“Do you think we can trust her?” I asked.
“Ellie? Ha,” Michael said, “yeah, we can trust her.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” I gnashed another bite of gorgeous-tasting pizza in my mouth.
“It’s Kim you should be worried about.”
“Mff?” I asked through my food. It helped me mask my shock.
“Kim. Dude. She’s the reason …”
I swallowed. “What? Tell me.”
He simply shook his head. “Can’t we just enjoy ourselves for one evening, just the two of us? Why do we have to talk about this?”
“Because it’s important?” I was a little incredulous.
“More important than taking a much-needed time-out? Come on, we’ve been running from—” He lowered his voice and came closer. “We’ve been running for almost a week now. Running, like common criminals. From … from all kinds o
f … of things. And people. Can’t we just have one night? A few hours?”
This time I sighed. I was exasperated but I took another enormous bite of my slice and began chewing it. All I could do was roll my eyes a little in expression of my frustration. “You’re worse than my dad,” I finally said.
“Compliment accepted.”
“Oh, frack,” I said, which proved I was a Battlestar Galactica nerd.
He laughed at me and then took another bite. “I’m hungry,” he said.
It was one of those things people said as they were eating; it made no sense really.
I knew he was done talking about the issue at hand, and in that sense what had happened just now was the spitting image of any number of conversations I’d had with my dad. When it was over, it was over. He could be so stubborn.
Still, though. Something Michael said about Kim rang true and deep.
There was something about her that just wasn’t sitting well with me lately, though I couldn’t place my finger on it. That was the primary reason I was going to give him crap until I finally saw it clearly and could therefore admit it. Why can he see it, and why can’t I? Was it just because I was so close with her? I ran over the hypotheticals in my head, the what-ifs.
What if you had a friend who … I mean, what if every evil thing in all creation was making a beeline to you, was bent on your destruction? What would be the best way to get to you?
A man on the inside.
I looked at Michael.
We’ve already been through this. The statement rang out in my head with an upturned questioning lilt at the end of it.
Who better to engineer ultimate betrayal, though? Who better than that person in whom there has been invested ultimate trust? I had seen a ton of movies, and in every one, the best friend was suspect number one. But this was real life, so was I just thinking this because of my movie habit?
Why is Kim here? I wondered. Why would she be so eager to come along on what amounts to the worst imaginable version of a perpetual car chase scene? I dug around in my feelings, searching for She, searching for El, searching for the truth, asking God for answers, reaching out once again for Kreios.
The Airel Saga Box Set: Young Adult Paranormal Romance Page 48
