by J. L. Powers
Sean’s next to them on the floor. His eyes are bloodshot with worry. He rubs his forehead with his palm. “I feel sick inside.”
Me too. I have a horrid lingering uck in the pit of my stomach, made worse by the fact that I’m responsible and everybody’s going to know it tomorrow.
“Nothing like this has ever happened before,” Sean says. “Do you think it’s because we’re in Reaper territory? Do you think the Reaper Patriarch is going after soul guides, like in the old days?”
“Principal Armand says it’s La Luz,” I tell him.
“Man, the Reapers will do anything to hold onto their territory,” Sean says. “Including teaming up with La Luz.”
A few guys murmur and that uck feeling becomes even uckier.
* * *
Late that night, Jacob returns to the island. They’ve scoured the town looking for Zachary and haven’t seen a sign of him. Rock’s staying in town to meet Zachary’s dad and several important Elders of the Synod, who are already en route. Several of Rock’s friends—“goons,” Sean calls them—have joined him and they’ve been extending the search beyond town.
“Do you think there’s any possibility he ran away?” Rachel whispers.
Although I can think of lots of reasons why somebody like Rachel, or somebody like me, might want to split, I can’t think of a single reason for Zachary Angel to run away. “Do you?”
“I think they got him.”
I feel winded by the gigantic bat she just hit me with. But then she covers my hand with hers.
“Thanks,” I mutter, and remove my hand. Then I ask the most important question, one that should be keeping all of us awake at night, one that no one seems to know the answer to. “But why would La Luz want to kidnap a soul guide? I mean, assuming this is La Luz.”
“Whatever it is, it can’t be good.”
* * *
At some point, we all stagger up to bed. Two of the teachers agree to sleep on the sofa. If there’s any news, they’ll let us know.
I flop into bed, all my clothes on. Despite my fatigue, I think there’s no way I’m going to fall asleep. And for a long time, I just stare at the ceiling. I must fall asleep eventually, despite the questions, because somebody jiggles me awake.
“Wh—what?” I’m still groggy. My mouth tastes sour and my head aches.
It’s Liliana. Her face is so close, a strand of her hair tickles my cheek. A shaft of moonlight illuminates her face and I almost reach up to caress her cheek. But then she blinks back tears, flings herself off the bed, and stands by the window, looking down toward the shoreline.
“Who are you, Adam?” she asks.
I look at the clock—3:20 a.m. “Um . . . what?”
“Something’s really wrong,” she says.
“Did you hear about Zachary Angel?”
“Yes. I overheard.” Her voice is low and fierce and she’s almost hissing the words. Her shadow’s become a cobra, spitting mad, ready to strike if she hears something she doesn’t like. “What did you do this time, Adam?”
“I didn’t—I—”
“Bad things happen when you’re around.”
“Liliana—” I shake my head. “He wasn’t normal anymore. Everybody thought he was but I could tell . . . There was something wrong. In his head.”
“Oh god.” The cobra’s gone. Her feet make a soft rustling sound as she shifts. A shy deer now, looking around for the potential predator. “What do you mean?”
“I didn’t tell you that he went to Limbo with me and he got attacked by—by Her. You know who. They were sending him back to California to recover.”
A sob catches in her throat.
“I’m sorry,” I say.
“Do they think La Muerte is behind his kidnapping?”
“No.” Of course. Of course she’d be worried about that. “No, it’s La Luz.”
She moans softly in the back of her throat. “Are they sure?”
I look at her and think about lying but I can’t. She’ll know the truth eventually. Better if I just tell her now. “Yes. I saw the La Luz operatives. They know who I am. They followed a friend of mine up here and that’s how they ended up finding me.”
“Are you stupid?” There’s actually no real anger in her voice, just a sort of resignation.
“I’m sorry.”
She goes back to the window and stands there for a long time, peering out. The moon goes behind a cloud and the world gets darker for a few seconds. “Ignore me. Just go back to sleep.”
I lie back down but there’s no way I’m sleeping. I look at her figure lit up by the light of the moon. I want to get up and bury my face in her hair. I want to rest my lips on the nape of her neck. I want—
“Good night,” I say.
She doesn’t respond. Slowly, the silence becomes loud, a weight pushing on my chest, forcing my head deep into the pillow. Maybe I should say something else. I open my mouth to speak, and just at that moment somebody walks past the door in the hall. Pauses.
It’s just my mind playing tricks. Right?
I lie perfectly still, not moving a single muscle. Silently recite a mantra from my childhood: If you lie still, they won’t know you’re here.
Another rustling sound at the door.
I break out in a sweat. Should I tell Liliana to hide? My mouth is suddenly full of cement. I breathe in and out. Maybe I should jump out of bed, yank the door open, and yell, I’m here! just to break the tension or to let the person know I’m onto them, whoever they are. Probably just one of the guys.
Liliana turns away from the window.
“You hear it?” I whisper.
“Yes.” The band of light filtering under the door illuminates her silhouette. She pulls something out of her bag. Long. Cylindrical. She tiptoes into the bathroom.
The doorknob creaks as it turns. I pretend to be asleep, eyes tiny slits. Maybe it’s a teacher checking on me. Instead, somebody creeps into the room, shutting the door behind them.
A drop of sweat rolls down my cheek and drips onto my throat. My mind screams, Move! Yell! Run! But I can’t. I just lie there. Then I make the grand effort and, pathetically, the only thing I can manage is to flip on the light.
And freeze. Holy sh—is that Zachary?
“Zachary effing Angel,” I yell, and leap out of bed. “What the hell are you doing here?”
“Adam.” His voice is hoarse. “Adam, I need help. Please.”
“We have to find some teachers. Seriously. Everybody’s worried about you. What are you doing here? Why didn’t you go—”
He leaps forward with a sudden, jerky movement and clamps a gloved hand over my nose and mouth. Something sharp pricks my thigh, a sweet thick feeling spreading warmly from the wound throughout my body.
Move. Move. Move! My brain’s talking but my body’s refusing, thighs submerged in a thousand pounds of invisible mud.
I grab the first thing my hand touches, The Book of Light, which I hid under my pillow last night, but my hand won’t close over it. Green and yellow squiggles spiral through the air in front of me. Pop pop pop. Fingers like sausages. Muscles like water.
My arm flops off the nightstand. The book slides to the floor.
Zachary lets go and I follow the book, crumpling down onto the floor. The burly man from the coffee shop lumbers inside, pulling zip ties out of his pocket.
Then something flashes over Zachary’s right shoulder. Thump. The lumberjack grunts, drops the ties, and falls to one knee. Liliana hits him again. Thump. “Zachary,” she yells, “get away from here!”
Zachary advances toward her, syringe in his right hand. A single drop of liquid glistens on the edge of the needle.
“What the hell are you doing?” She backs away, looks like she’s about to bolt. “You can’t do this, Zach. Not to me. You can’t.” Tears stream down her face
His feet slow for a second. He looks like he’s pushing against a strong wind, trying to reach her. The syringe drops from his fingers and rolls across the f
loor toward her.
“Don’t screw this up, Liliana,” he growls.
“I’m your sister,” she says. “You can’t do this.”
Liliana La Muerte is Zachary Angel’s sister?
“Stay there,” he warns. He nudges the lumberjack and rasps, “Get up. Come on! Let’s get out of here.”
The lumberjack staggers to his feet, rubbing the spot on his temple where Liliana clocked him. Grunting, he heaves me over his shoulder and stumbles out the door as Zachary holds it open.
The blood rushes to my head but I catch Liliana, quick as a flash, grabbing the syringe Zachary dropped and hiding it behind her back. Good. As long as she uses it on the right person. Not me.
“Whatever you do, stay away,” Zachary says to her. “I can’t be responsible for you.”
* * *
My head bumps against the lumberjack’s back as we hurry through the woods and down the wooden stairs. By the time we reach the dock, I’m shivering uncontrollably. It feels like a snowstorm is on the way.
The lumberjack slings me into a boat. Pain climbs up my spine as I hit a sharp corner. Zachary ties a rough cloth sack around my head.
The world goes dark and the sack quickly fills up with humid air, my hot stale breath. I huddle helplessly in the darkness.
Chapter 24.5
The Grim Reaper had kept one terrible secret from her lover-husband: that she suffered from a terminal, untreatable illness.
What illness? Elder #6 asked.
It really isn’t pertinent to the story, he said. But what is pertinent is that it was killing her.
The disease she suffered from had been killing her all this time they were together. And finally, because her demise was near, she had to tell him. She felt he would take it as a betrayal. And so she was tentative, careful. He sensed the change in her for weeks before she approached him. And she set the stage carefully, a dinner strewn with roses, candles, and to eat: arugula salad, a mushroom risotto with wine, and tiramisu.
My love, she began, after they had finished the meal, and because they were one flesh forever, she did not need to speak another word. He understood instantly. He had, in fact, been waiting for it the entire meal.
He was distraught. He tore his hair. He rent his frock. He fell on his knees and beat his chest. “My darling!” he cried. “My darling! I will search the world over for a cure. It can’t be your time. It simply cannot be. It is not your fate to die . . . not yet!”
The Grim Reaper tried to persuade him that there was no cure for mortality. She tried hard but he was convinced there must be a way for her to evade the very thing everybody must face.
What a pack of lies, Her Excellency snapped. My son would never try to cheat death out of death’s fair due.
I am only telling you the story as I understand it, from the bits and pieces told to me over the years, he said. If you wish to dispute it, take it up with your son.
The son I have not seen in sixteen years, since your daughter stole him away? The son who never let me see my grandchild? The son who is your right-hand man in everything?
Madam, you mean to say that he is, in effect, the Grim Reaper? he said.
Yes, I suppose, she conceded.
Finally he submitted himself to her inevitable death. They wept together and held each other late into the night, thinking about what was to come.
CHAPTER 25
A garish light wakes me up, along with a headache the size of Canada. I rub my temples. Everything is dull morning-breath yellow. Speaking of which, I wish I could brush my teeth. My tongue runs over the thin film covering my teeth.
Hey, Dad, where are you? Aren’t you supposed to come rescue me when I’m in trouble?
“This will help.”
I recognize Zachary’s voice immediately. My eyes fly open. He’s sitting beside me, holding out a mug of something hot. Tea, maybe. More drugs, maybe, to knock me out and turn me into Mr. Mush.
“Seriously,” he says, “drink up. It’ll take away the headache, give you energy.”
I look around the room. Everything is stark white, like the world’s been bleached. White comforter, white sheets, white bed. White floor, white walls, white chair, white filmy curtains at the windows. There’s even a blank white painting in a white frame hanging on the wall. Somebody has a sense of humor.
Zachary, in his red sweatshirt and jeans, is the only color in the room.
I look down. “Gah!” They’ve removed my shirt and put me in a white gown, the kind they use in hospitals with the gap in the back. “Where are my clothes?”
Zachary points to my clothes, folded neatly and resting on top of a white chair in the corner.
“Where the hell am I, Zachary?”
He pushes the mug toward me again. “This is a hospital of sorts.”
Now I take it. Every single joint aches. “Is there a drug in here? If I drink it, will I wake up and find out a week’s passed?”
He stands and clasps his hands behind his back. “Always so suspicious. It’s just herbal tea, Adam. It’ll help you relax and take care of the aches and pains you are surely suffering from.”
I look at him closely. Something’s off. The voice is Zachary. The body is Zachary’s. The posture and the words are not Zachary.
“You’re not Zachary,” I say.
He taps his temple with an index finger. “Ah, they said you were smart. You are correct, sir. I’m borrowing Zachary’s vessel, or, as you would say, his body.”
He’s so pale, he matches the décor. That is, except for the dark, purply circles under his eyes.
“Who are you? Where’s Zachary?”
“My name is not really important. I’ve had many names. You can call me Amaros. As for Zachary, he is having—how would you call it?—an extended field trip to purgatory. You so-called soul guides call it Limbo. His spirit is still animating his body; I’ve just replaced his soul with mine. That may seem confusing to you but I’ve been at this for quite some time now, so I’ve learned how to adapt someone’s brain to fit me quite nicely.”
The light behind his eyes is older, smarter, cunning. Animallike. A wolf looking at you through the eyes of a human.
I want to vomit or jump out the window. Possibly vomit while jumping out the window.
I catch a glimpse of the chain around Amaros’s neck and start to feel even queasier.
Amaros notices me eyeing it. He pulls the medallion out of his shirt, a perfect circle with a half-circle nestled inside, lines radiating from it.
“Yeah, I’ve seen your creepy bloodshot eye,” I say. “Looks like a really bad hangover.”
He snickers. “And I’ve seen yours. A broken circle? Nobody wants broken things, Adam.”
“Maybe I do,” I reply, and don’t even realize how true it is until I say it. Life is made up of broken things.
He nods at me, as if we have an understanding. “We have a lot to talk about, Adam. But for now, why don’t you rest?”
I wonder how long I’ve been “resting.” I hope I didn’t soil my pants while I was knocked out. I intend to get them on as soon as possible.
When Amaros leaves, I swing my legs out of bed. A thin metal chain clanks against the floor. It’s locked to one of my ankles; the other end is connected to an eyebolt sunk in the wall.
The room has three doors. One opens to a hall I can step into but go no farther. That’s the door Amaros went through. The second leads to a small closet with nothing in it . . . thank god. The last door reveals a small bathroom. I have just enough length to get to the toilet.
After taking care of business, I hobble over to the chair with my clothes. It’s impossible to get my jeans on over the chain on my leg, but I search through the pockets. My cell phone’s here but a quick glance shows the battery is dead. Of course. Even if it worked, I can’t imagine we’d have reception way out . . . wherever the hell we are. My fingers close around the black card my dad made me promise to take everywhere. Fat lot of good it’s going to do me here. Thanks, Da
d. Thanks for the help. Still, I manage to get my hoodie over my head and I put it in the pocket of the hoodie. You never know. Maybe I’ll be able to use it to scrape the frost off my window so I can see outside this prison.
The hospital gown covers my legs, barely. Man, it’s cold in here. Goose pimples break out all over my legs. I’m dying for those jeans. Hospital gown à la skirt is not exactly the kind of fashion statement I like to make.
I hobble over to the window. It looks out on a snow-covered lawn, a thick clump of pine trees in the distance. I’m guessing we’re still in Maine, given the pine trees, the snow, the ocean in the far distance, and the fact that it takes so long to get from place to place in this damn state. I’m on the second floor. The window’s sealed shut. Not that I could jump out, given the chain securely attached to my leg, but still.
It appears to be afternoon, possibly the day after Zachary—er, Amaros—abducted me. How long will it take someone to look for me, much less find me? It’s not like Liliana was in a position to raise the alarm.
After what seems like an interminable period, someone knocks at the door. I put my ear against the wood and listen. Silence. I open it tentatively. Somebody’s left a tray of food on the floor. Chicken, broccoli, scalloped potatoes.
I place the tray on the chair beside my bed, wondering if it’s poisoned or drugged. It looks like perfectly ordinary food. Should I risk it?
The deep pain in my gut decides for me. I have to eat and this is my only choice. If they’d meant to kill me, they would have done it already. That is, unless this is some sick prelude. Guess I’ll have to take my chances.
I eat every bite and wash it down with more tea. Not bad. Actually, I’m feeling better every minute.
Another knock on the door.
“Come in,” I say automatically, and then feel stupid. I’m a prisoner, somebody knocks on the door, and I invite them in? Apparently, I’m not cut out for prison life.
Amaros saunters in. “How was dinner?”
“Why do you have me chained and locked up?”
He looks bored. “I had hoped dinner would put you in a more . . . agreeable mood.”
