Oblivion (Broken City #3)

by Jessica Sorensen

  “Well, we were kind of hoping you could help us figure that out,” Ryder says, skimming his thumb along the back of my hand. “You were in there with him; did anything happen where he … I don’t know, just went poof.”

  I nod, guilt scratching at the inside of my flesh. “Yes, it did.”

  Ryder lifts one of his hands to my face and cups my cheek. “Can you tell us what happened?”

  Hot tears bubble in my eyes. “This is all my fault.”

  “I doubt that,” Ryder says, grazing his thumb along my cheekbone.

  My eyelashes uncontrollably flutter, but I lean away as shame scalds my skin. How dare I react to his touch like that while Blaise is lost?

  “Maybe you should wait to hear the story before you start making assumptions about whose fault this is.”

  Ryder sighs, yet a playful glimmer sparkles in his eyes. “Fine. I’ll wait until you tell me what happened before I convince you this isn’t your fault.”

  A shaky breath fumbles from my lips, and then I tell them what happened while I was in the Oblivion, starting from when we first arrived all the way up until I saw the copies of Blaise and me watching me. The worst part is that, to explain how I vaguely knew the time traveler, I have to divulge the other memories he made an appearance in, which means confessing that I may have killed someone.

  “You saw yourself and Blaise watching Lex carry you into the channels?” Scratching his head, Ryder looks at Reece. “Have you heard of anything like that before?”

  “No, but …” Reece rubs his hand across his jaw, dazing off into empty space. “It could be …” He drifts from the bed without finishing.

  “I hate it when he does that,” Ryder mutters with a frown.

  “Does what?” I ask, uncertainty weighing on my shoulders.

  “Walks off mid-sentence,” Ryder replies with an exhausted sigh. “It’s like he thinks people can read his mind or something.”

  “I’m sure he’ll come back and tell us what he was going to say.”

  Ryder rips his focus off Reece. “Yeah, after he paces a hole in the floor.”

  I turn my head and peer back at Reece, who is pacing the back of the room while yanking his fingers through his hair and muttering under his breath. “Does he talk to himself a lot, too?”

  “All the time. But so do I.”

  I recline back against the propped-up pillow. “I do, too.”

  “Yeah?” The corner of his lips quirk in a lopsided smile. “Then I guess the three of us were made for each other.”

  “What about Blaise?” I whisper, staring down at my hands.

  He chuckles softly. “I think Blaise might be the worst. He probably talks to himself more than he does anyone else.” His laughter dissolves as he sketches a path down my jawline with his fingers then angles my chin up, forcing me to carry his gaze. “What happened in the Oblivion isn’t your fault, and I have no idea why you would think that.” He pauses. “No, actually I do.”

  Even though I know he’s right, his words are hard to hear. “I know … And I’m so sorry. I really am. I wish my memories weren’t so dangerous. If I’d known, I would’ve begged Blaise not to go in with me.”

  “No, you wouldn’t have, since you were unconscious when you guys went in there. I’m sure, if you’d been awake, you would’ve begged him not to go with you even without knowing the dangers.” He releases a heavyhearted sigh as I stare at him in puzzlement. “I think you misunderstood what I was saying. I didn’t mean that I understood why you were blaming yourself because I thought it was your fault. I just know you’re the kind of person who would blame themselves.”

  I shake my head, causing one of the wires to fall off my head. “I don’t think that’s true.”

  “Of course you don’t.” He leans over me to pick up the fallen wire, reattaching it to my temple. “I don’t know if this will upset you or not, but I think I’m going to say it, anyway, because it needs to be said.” He rests a hand on either side of my shoulders and levels his gaze with mine. “I think, all that time you spent in the cell, getting”—a shaky breath eases from his lips—“abused, might have messed up your self-confidence.”

  “No, I don’t think that’s it.” Is it?

  Pity fills his eyes. “It might take some time, but one day, I’m going to convince you that’s true, and that you’re better than you think you are.”

  “Ryder …” I start, wishing I could believe him and knowing I can’t, not when I don’t know what I am. “You heard everything I told you, right? About what the time traveler said to me?”

  He waves me off dismissively. “I don’t really care about that.”

  “Really?”

  “Yes, really. I mean, seriously, this guy just shows up out of nowhere and declares he’s a time traveler—whatever that is—and that he knows you. And we’re, what? Just supposed to believe him?”

  “I don’t know.” I scratch the back of my neck. “He seemed to know things about me. Like how I can’t die.”

  “Actually, you can.” He scoots closer and the mattress concaves with his weight. “If we hadn’t put you in the Oblivion, the Kiss of Death would’ve killed you.”

  “Oh.” My thoughts ravel into a jumble of confusion. “Then why did I die when I was shot …? And in the memories when the guy killed me … he said I always come back to life.”

  He threads his fingers through mine again, something he’s done at least five times since I came back. “Reece isn’t sure yet, but I know he’s been looking into this.”

  “I’ve actually come up with a few theories.” Reece moves up beside my bed, his hair sticking up all over the place. “One being that the Kiss of Death was made by the Grim to injure the Grim. But since you’re not entirely Grim, it can kill you, just like it would kill one of us.”

  My lips form an O. “So, the Grim can kill me if they want to?”

  “I think so.” He sinks down onto the bed. “I don’t think they were trying to kill you, though.”

  “You don’t?” Ryder questions with a crook of his brow. “It sure looked like that’s what they were trying to do.”

  Reece shakes his head. “I think, if they would’ve gotten ahold of her, they would’ve administered the cure.”

  “They have a cure, too?” I ask, rubbing my hands up and down my arms as goose bumps sprout across my flesh.

  I almost died. I can die. Whether it makes me sick or not, I find a little reassurance in knowing that.

  Reece’s eyes glint mischievously. “Where do you think I got the instructions for the cure?”

  A spurt of dizziness overcomes me as I gape at him. “You stole them from the Grim?”

  Reece nods. “There’s a place in the city where the Grim keep all of their little files and books about their history. And they keep some stuff on computers. I’ve never actually been able to hack into that particular system before now, but apparently, with the right motivation …” He shrugs.

  “He means you being on the verge of death,” Ryder clarifies as he picks up the cup of water on the table next to my bed and hands it to me. “Now drink up. You look like you’re about to pass out.”

  Offering him a small, grateful smile, I take the cup and down another full glass of cold water. The icy cold temperature causes my body to convulse with shivers.

  Wiping my mouth with the back of my hand, I return the cup to Ryder. “So, now what do we do? I mean, how do we get Blaise back?”

  Ryder and Reece exchange yet another undecipherable look then simultaneously stand up from the bed.

  “You are going to get some rest.” Reece draws the blanket up to my chin and tucks me in.

  “But what about Blaise?” I move to sit up, but Ryder carefully pushes me back down.

  “We’ll figure something out.” Ryder backs away from my bed and toward a stainless steel door, stuffing his hands into the back pockets of his pants.

  “But I want to help,” I say, rotating onto my side.

  “Then get some rest.” R
eece walks around the foot of my bed and follows Ryder. “You won’t be able to do much if you’re tired.”

  I trust them—I wholeheartedly do—but watching them head toward that door, about to leave me alone in a room, unleashes an old fear.

  “You’ll come back, though, right?” I ask, clutching the blanket.

  Ryder pauses near the door. “Of course we’ll come back. We’d never just leave you.”

  “And you won’t lock me in here?” I whisper, feeling silly for being so afraid, but I can’t seem to get rid of the fear as memories of my time in the cell consume me.

  I stare at the door for hours, but no one ever comes. Days pass, and still I remain alone. Weeks. Months. A century …

  Ryder shakes his head, sympathy masking his expression. “In fact, we’ll keep the door cracked.”

  “Thank you,” I whisper, pulling the blanket higher.

  He smiles. “And when I come back, I’ll bring you something that I think will cheer you up. How does that sound?”

  I yawn. “Good.”

  Reece opens the door and motions for Ryder to follow. “Make sure to get some sleep,” he says. “We’ll be back soon.”

  I nod, and then they exit the room, leaving the door cracked open. I start to shut my eyes when their voices drift through the crack.

  “What do you think about what she told us?” Ryder whispers. “I don’t think she’d lie or anything, but I’m not sure what this time traveler thing is she’s talking about. The name seems pretty self-explanatory and everything, but is it even real?”

  “I’ve heard of them before,” Reece assures him in a hushed tone.

  “You have?” Ryder asks in shock.

  “Once. While I was observing someone’s memories from the Oblivion … a time traveler was mentioned. Although, when the person came back, they had no recollection of it and couldn’t explain to me what it was.”

  “Who was this person?”

  A beat of silence skips by before Reece finally answers quietly, “Blaise.”

  “Shiiiit.” Ryder drags out the curse word for several seconds. “Well, that can’t be a coincidence, can it?”

  “It’s hard to say for sure. I’m not a big believer of coincidences, but … it seems a little strange that the only two people I’ve ever crossed paths with who can outrun death—well, except for the Grim—have heard of this strange time traveler.”

  “You think Allura and Blaise are connected somehow?” Ryder doesn’t sound too thrilled about the idea.

  “I don’t know.” Reece draws out a pause. “They both have missing memories and don’t know much about their past, so maybe the answer is hidden in the holes of their memories.”

  “Why don’t you just look into those holes, then?”

  “Easier said than done.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I mean, sometimes accessing erased or repressed memories can be dangerous. Plus, Blaise isn’t even here to try.”

  “We’re going to bring him back, right?” Ryder asks uneasily. “We’re not just going to keep him lost.”

  “Of course not,” Reece says. “But getting him back is going to be difficult.”

  “So, you know where he is?”

  “I have an idea. I’m going to need at least a few days to figure out how we’re going to get to him.”

  After that, their voices fade away, and I’m left alone with the beeping of the monitor to fill up the silence, their words echoing in my mind.

  They think they can save Blaise?

  They think Blaise and I are connected?

  Does that make me a Forbidden?

  I lift the blanket and peek at my body. I’m wearing a black tank top and grey shorts that give me a view of the smooth, pale flesh of my legs and arms. I glance down the front of my shirt to double-check, not knowing whether to be relieved or not that not an ounce of bronzed metal is on my body.

  At least, if there was, I’d know what I am.

  Lowering my shirt back down, I rest my head back against the pillow. Sleeping seems impossible, yet one second I’m looking up at the ceiling, and the next, darkness pulls me under.

  Chapter 12

  The Un-Stranger

  The throbbing of soft piano music vibrates against my eardrums as I blink my eyes open. Then my jaw virtually slaps the hardwood floor.

  I’m no longer lying in bed at Leviter Station, but standing in an unfamiliar room lined with shelves containing bottles of moonshine.

  Where the heck am I?

  I move forward to get a better look around. Copper chandeliers hang from wooden beams, a swinging door frames the far back wall, and chains secured to gadgets and levers run perpendicular from the ceiling to the floor. To my right, a polished bronze counter borders the edge of the room, along with a row of barstools where a few men sit. Most of them are wearing leather vests, button shirts, trousers, and lace-up boots, but the one at the end has topped off the look with a long leather trench coat.

  “To freedom.” A man with coppery red hair and ghostly white skin raises his glass.

  “To freedom,” all the other men, except the one sitting at the end, murmur then lift their glasses in sync. Then they tip their heads back, guzzle down the shots, and set the empty glasses down.

  “So, now what do we do?” a younger man with chin-length black hair asks, resting his arms on the counter.

  “We wait until the time is right, and then we make our next move.” The man with reddish hair stands up, leans over the counter, and snatches up a full bottle of whiskey from off the shelf.

  A pudgy man slants forward, adjusting his glasses higher on the crooked brim of his nose. “You think just waiting will work?”

  The coppery-haired man nods, unscrewing the cap off the bottle. “If we want to eliminate the Grim, we need to be patient. If we strike too soon, we’ll all end up dead.”

  The man sitting at the end of the bar who didn’t participate in the toasts laughs hollowly. “You think you can eliminate the Grim? Just how stupid are you?”

  His back is turned to me so I can’t see his face, but the striking familiarity of his voice has me inching forward to get a better look at him.

  The redhead narrows his eyes at him. “Why do you always have to be so negative?”

  “I’m not being negative.” He collects the shot glass, brings the brim to his lips, and downs the whiskey in one gulp. Then, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, he begins to turn around in the barstool. “I’m being realistic. Sure, you might have scared off a handful of Grim, but killing them is an entirely different …” He trails off when he spots me.

  My lips part in shock. “Blaise,” I whisper then run across the bar toward him. I don’t care why he’s here, how, or how I found him. I just care that he’s alive. “You’re okay.”

  His brows scrunch together. “Who are you? And how do you know my name?”

  The rest of the men wheel around and spring to their feet, their hands wandering for their holsters strapped around their waists and shoulders.

  I skid to a startled stop as four guns are aimed at me and look helplessly at Blaise. “It’s me. Allura … The girl you rescued from the …” I bite down on my tongue as the red-headed man cocks his gun and steps forward.

  “We haven’t rescued any girls for a very long time. Wish we could, but the Grim have upped their security lately.” The hardwood floor creaks as he cautiously approaches me with the barrel pointed at me. “We know you’re lying.” He stops as the end of his gun touches the center of my chest. Then he tips his head to the side. “The question is: Why?”

  “I …” I throw a desperate glance in Blaise’s direction, hoping he’ll come out of whatever forgetful trance he’s obviously entered.

  He only slants back, resting his elbows on the countertop, staring me down like a hawk.

  The man in front of me slides the gun up to my chin, and the cold metal bites into my skin as he turns my head back toward him. “Answer the damn question. Why are
you lying?”

  My breath leaves my lips in a gasp. “I’m not lying … I don’t …” I want to look back at Blaise, but I fear the guy in front of me might shoot me if I do. “I’m not lying … I’m just confused. And lost.” My eyes start to water, but I fight back the tears, not wanting to crumble in front of strangers.

  “Fredrick, would you back the hell off?” The younger guy with black hair steps forward, lowering his gun. His alarmingly silver eyes are tinted with kindness. “You’re scaring the poor girl half to death.”

  “How do we know that for sure?” Fredrick doesn’t take his eyes off me. “She could be lying. Remember Eva? Besides, she knows Blaise’s name. How is that?” He shakes his head, putting more pressure on my chin with the barrel of his gun. “Look at her eyes. She has secrets in there.”

  The younger man who spoke up on my behalf sticks his gun back into the holster. “Everyone has secrets, Fredrick. You should know that better than anyone.”

  Fredrick shoots him a lethal look from over his shoulder. “Zander, no one asked for your opinion.”

  “Well, I always offer it,” Zander quips with a devious grin.

  As they continue to argue, I clasp on to the opportunity to send Blaise a pleading glance. The instant my eyes fall on his, I realize a few minor details I somehow missed during my celebration of first seeing him. One, his head isn’t shaved on one side. Two, he has no facial piercings. And three, that intense look that’s usually in his eyes when he looks at me isn’t present.

  “Blaise!” Fredrick shouts, causing my muscles to spasm. “Get over here for a second.”

  With his eyes glued on mine, Blaise rises to his feet and ambles across the bar. When he nears us, he stuffs his hand inside the front of his open trench coat and withdraws a gun. He doesn’t aim it at me, just simply holds it. But the fact that he would consider using it on me wounds my soul.

  This isn’t my Blaise, yet he looks exactly like him.

  “What do you want?” he asks Fredrick as he stops just short of us.

  “I want to know if you recognize this girl,” Fredrick answers, using the end of the barrel to shove my face in Blaise’s direction.