by eden Hudson
“No!” I’m crying again, shaking my head.
“You’re so cute when you struggle,” the angel says. “Gives me some great ideas for when it’s just you and me. Lots of tight spaces, heavy restraints—”
There’s a gunshot. Then two more.
The angel pitches forward. Her face is an inch from mine, dripping blood. I have a split second to see that her cheek is torn open before she rolls behind the bed and up to her feet.
A thin, grayish-brown wolf—no, a coyote—leaps onto the bed and launches itself at the angel. Its jaws clamp down on the angel’s left wing.
Beside me, Danny’s waking up.
“Sword,” he mumbles. He turns onto his side and tries to get to his knees. “Get her sword!”
As soon as he says it, the angel’s fiery sword disappears. She slams backwards into the wall, trying to scrape the coyote off. He yelps, but holds on.
Danny’s friend, the black Hulk, levels a handgun at her. She kicks the hospital bed at him. It flips and smashes him into the far wall.
“Noah?” Danny yells.
There’s no answer.
Danny stumbles to his feet and grabs my arm. He’s trying to move me. I can’t help him. All I can do is stare.
The coyote growls and digs in harder, ripping at the angel’s wing. She grunts and grabs for his snout. A wet, black clump of feathers smacks the floor and my brain flashes back to that police photo of Charlotte’s hand clutching those feathers.
Charlotte fought back. I know I can’t know that, but somehow I’m sure it’s right. It’s like something is whispering in my ear that she didn’t bargain or beg or take a deal for more time, not even to save herself. Not even when that’s all Dad and I really wanted—for her to live. My baby sister fought the angel of death and she won because she didn’t give in. And now she’s at peace.
Danny’s dragging me through the water toward the overturned hospital bed. He wants to help his friend, but he doesn’t want to leave me. And I realize that even if the angel had killed Danny a few minutes ago—even if she still ends up killing him—he won, too.
Maybe that overdose left me brain damaged. I mean, Charlotte’s dead. Danny might still die. What the fuck does it even mean, they won?
Danny trips and drops me. I land on my ass on top of that gun the black Hulk was carrying. It must’ve gotten knocked out of his hand when the bed hit him.
I snatch the gun. Shoot at the ceiling, twice to make sure I have everyone’s attention.
Danny flinches away from me. The coyote stops tearing at the angel’s wing and holds perfectly still, watching me with wild eyes. Even the angel stares.
I put the gun to my head.
“Shannon—” Danny starts.
“No,” I say. I hope the damn thing still has some bullets left in it. And if not, I hope nobody realizes it’s empty. “They need me alive.” I look at the angel. “Isn’t that right?”
Her pretty lips twist into a scowl. Maybe I really do have brain damage. It kind of feels like this might actually work.
“See, Danny, I’ve got the biggest, baddest motherfucker of all riders in my new contract,” I say. “If a single track from Bullet Proof is released without my permission—now or after my death—my team of incredibly well-paid, rattlesnake-testosterone-bloodthirsty lawyers will sue the shit out of my label. And only I can nullify the terms of the rider, in person. I’m no good to them dead.”
The angel flips her wings and that catches the coyote by surprise. He’s thrown off her back. Without even looking over her shoulder at him, she stomps backwards and snaps one of his hind legs. He yelps. A second later, the coyote morphs into that blonde guy from the concert, holding his leg and gritting his teeth.
The angel takes a step toward me. I stop staring at the coyote and get a better grip on the gun. Then—very, very carefully—I slip my finger into the trigger guard.
“Move again and I’ll shoot,” I say.
“You won’t,” she says. “You’re too much of a coward. All you’ve got waiting for you on the other side is Hell, Shannon.”
It takes every ounce of strength I have to shrug. “I kind of don’t give a fuck as long as you lose.”
The angel’s black eyes narrow.
There’s a moment where everything feels clearer than it’s ever been and I think I see streams of glowing blood surrounding her in all directions. Then I blink and the streams are gone.
She leans in until I can feel her breath on my face, but she doesn’t pull that fiery sword out. She doesn’t even reach for me.
“After everything you’ve done, you think you can leave us and go crawling back to him?” she says. “That he’ll accept you with open arms? You’re not just a whore, Shannon, you’re a disgusting, selfish murderess. You destroyed lives, entire families—even before you took the deal with us. The things you’ve done are unforgivable. He will never take you back.”
At first I think she’s talking about Danny and I know she’s right.
Then I feel Danny touch the small of my back. He whispers in my ear, “He will, Shannon. That’s what He does.”
And I get it. Him. With a capital H.
My arm is starting to tremble, but I force myself to keep the gun up a little bit longer. Hopefully the shaking makes me look desperate, not like I’m about to collapse.
“Try to make me your little love slave now,” I say. “See if you can do it before I pull the trigger.”
The angel takes a step back. Her scowl turns into an awful grin.
“You’ll regret this,” she says. “You think you’ve already lost the people you loved most? That you can’t love anyone more than you loved your parents or your sister?” She laughs and shakes her head. “Just wait, Shannon. Just wait.”
The room skips like a bad jump-cut in a movie and she’s gone.
“Bitch,” I say.
Then I pass out.
Danny
I catch Shannon before she hits the floor, carefully twist the gun out of her hand, then ease her the rest of the way down. Her eyelids flutter and she mumbles, “Just a few more minutes.”
“She okay?” Clare asks, crawling over.
“Yeah, I think so,” I say. I put the safety on, stick the gun in the back of my jeans, and flip the hem of my t-shirt over it. “How’s your leg?”
“Already starting to heal,” Clare says.
There’s a splash and the hospital bed rattles. Clare and I both jump.
“Anybody going to help get this bed off me?” Noah’s muffled voice asks. “I can hear you guys, so I know you’re still alive.”
“Coming,” I say.
I leave Shannon with Clare and go help Noah out. The bed’s a lot heavier than it looks—all that mechanism underneath weighs a ton—but between Noah and I, we manage to turn it over.
Noah sheets water off his arms and backside.
“Anything broke?” I ask.
“Nothing,” he says. “What about you? You look like you got your face kicked in.”
I lick some blood off my lip and feel a spot where my teeth cut most of the way through.
“I did,” I say. “Took you guys long enough to get up here.”
“Three words, dude,” Clare says. “Per. Im. Eter. Or did you want to have to deal with security?”
“I shot a gun in a hospital, Country,” Noah says. “Do you have any idea how long a judge would put a black man away for—”
“A gun he wouldn’t even have had—” Clare shakes his head and points at me. “—and a katana you wouldn’t even have had if I hadn’t been packing. You humans just run around empty-handed like this is—”
“Easy guys,” I say, putting my hands up. “I was kidding. I’m thankful to God that you guys showed up when you did.”
“Hey, so, another thing we’re going to have to deal with pretty fast,” Clare says. “This isn’t the usual back alley clean-up. Once I take the perimeter down, somebody’s going to notice water seeping out from under the door.”
It Shannon’s manager, Corey. He looks at the flood, the turned-over bed, broken machines, shards of porcelain, pipes, and the katana lodged in the floor.
Corey rubs his hand across his mouth, then steps inside and shuts the door behind him. After a few seconds, he points at Shannon, asleep on Clare’s lap.
“Just tell me she’s not dead.”
“She’s not,” I say.
Corey nods. “Okay, I can work with this.”
Shannon
When I wake up again, I’m dry and lying in another hospital bed. At first I wonder if I dreamed everything. Then I reach for the IV line taped to the crook of my elbow and my hand pulls up short.
“What the hell?” There’s a padded cuff around my wrist, tying me to the railing. I try twisting my arms and squeezing my thumb flat against my palm, but I can’t slip through. I jerk both my arms as hard as I can. No give. I’m trapped. My lungs seize up. “Oh, God—”
A chair scrapes, then Danny appears by my side.
“Hey, you’re all right.” He grabs my hand and brushes my hair out of my eyes. “It’s okay, Shannon. You’re safe.”
“Why am I tied up?” Damn it, I sound like I’m going to start crying again. I hope this emotional bullshit is just a side effect of the overdose.
“Hospital policy,” Danny says. There’s a bloody bruise across his mouth and both lips are swollen. He talks like he’s trying not to move them too much. “They think you tore up your other room.”
I lay back on the pillow. Close my eyes. Try not to think about the cuffs.
“And none of you heroes wanted to be the one to tell them what really happened,” I say. “Good job. Way to cover your own asses.”
“I didn’t sell you out,” Danny says.
“Oh, yeah? What’d you tell them, then?”
“Nothing.”
“Isn’t that the same as lying? A lie of omission?” Jesus, why can’t I stop? I’m so tired. I don’t want to be a jerk anymore, but I still shake my head like I’m disappointed and say, “If Pastor Gauge was here—”
“You want to know what would really happen if Dad was here?” Danny snaps. “He’d commit me. Mom had him halfway convinced to do it last time I was home. Remember that little argument with Bible references and slide show? Yeah, they didn’t just ‘not take it well.’ They took it really, really, really unwell. Heck, I haven’t been back to Halo in more than a year now because I know they’ll be watching me, looking for things Mom’s cousin used to do before they sent him off to the nuthouse.”
Just as fast as he went off, Danny stops. He gets ahold of the bedrail with both hands and takes a step backward so that he’s leaned over, looking down at the ground. I can hear him exhale.
“So, yeah, I’m a coward, and no, I didn’t tell the nurses what really happened,” he says. “But I can’t even convince my own parents that demons are real. Mom I understand. But Dad…” Danny shakes his head. “He’s been a preacher his whole life—he grew up watching Grandpa do snake-handling, faith-healing tent revivals—and he still thinks I’m crazy.”
Danny’s left hand is close enough to the restraint on my right wrist to reach. I pry his fingers off the rail and squeeze them.
“You are crazy, Danny.”
His head snaps up.
“Seriously,” I say. “Name one other person in the whole world who runs into a hospital room with a sword and tries to kill the angel of death. And your friends don’t count. I saw them. I know they’re as crazy as you.”
When Danny finally smiles, I laugh. I can’t help it. I was so scared that I might never see that smile again.
Danny
The overnight nurses refuse to take Shannon’s restraints off because they “have to be sure she’s not going to have another episode,” so I stay with Shannon to keep her distracted.
“You don’t have to,” Shannon says. “You’ve got to be tired—it’s like a million hours past your bedtime. And your clothes are still damp. You should head back to your hotel and get some sleep.”
“If you want me out of your hair, say the word,” I tell her. “But I’m not leaving you unprotected. I can set up in the hall with Noah and Clare if you don’t want me in here.”
She shakes her head and a tear rolls down her cheek.
I wipe it away. “Hey, it’s all right, beautiful. Don’t cry. I’ll stay, I promise.”
“What the hell is wrong with you, Danny?” she says. “Are you seriously this messed up? What are you going to do, follow me around forever, protecting me and being nice to me while I treat you like shit? You know I cheated on you, don’t you? On prom night. While you were sitting at home, pissed off that I went to prom without you, I was out by the lake fucking Adam Stillings.”
The look I have on my face must be awful because Shannon starts babbling the way she does when she’s really upset. “I didn’t mean to, Danny, I swear to God I didn’t want to do it. I never would have hurt you like that. I loved you, but I screw everything up no matter how good it is and I tried to tell him I would just walk home. I should’ve just gotten out of the truck, but—I don’t know—and then it was happening and I couldn’t stop it and I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”
Some detached, half-numb part of my brain says that Shannon’s having her meltdown. I had mine about my parents, now she’s having hers, and if we keep trading off like this, sooner or later everything we need to say will come out and we’ll be able to deal with it and move on with our lives.
“Danny?” Shannon says.
The first thing that comes out of my mouth is, “I wish I could kill him.”
“It wasn’t just his fault,” she says. “If I hadn’t been so stupid—”
“You’re going to defend that—that—” I grab the chair, pick it up, then slam it back down so I don’t throw it through the window.
The door opens. Corey’s back.
“Good, you’re awake,” he says to Shannon. “I just got off the phone with Jenny. Here’s how it’s going down—you’re giving the label all but two of your royalty points on No Warning Shots Fired, and in return, they’re paying for the damages and hospital stay. The nurses say it depends on what your doctor says, but you’ll almost certainly be out of here tomorrow with enough time to make the kickoff show in Glasgow…”
I lace my fingers over the back of my neck. Go stand at the window and act like I’m looking out.
Why doesn’t Corey have anywhere else to be at half past three in the morning? Does he have any idea what he just stumbled into? He’s still rattling off times, flight information, and conditions “the label” is putting on Shannon’s tour.
In the reflection from the window, I can see Shannon nodding her head at what Corey’s saying. She blinks a few times and lifts her hand toward her face, but the cuffs stop her from being able to reach. She leans forward until she can wipe her eyes.
Why can’t anything just be easy for us? If I really am pledged to Shannon, if I’m supposed to love her for the rest of my life, why can’t God make the path smooth just this once?
But I’m barely done thinking that before the answer hits me: Loving Shannon was easy the first time and I deserted her as soon as it got complicated.
So, I’ll go toe-to-toe with a fallen angel, swear I’d rather die for Shannon than for anything else in this world, but I won’t forgive her for something that happened almost six years ago? That isn’t love. That’s some kind of white-knight savior syndrome.
I check the window again. Shannon’s watching me, crying now, and Corey is still talking at her like she’s a kid who got hauled into the principal’s office. He doesn’t even ask her what’s wrong.
And I’m not any better than he is. I’m just standing here, glaring out the window, letting Shannon think I hate her. She can’t go back and not have sex with Adam any more than I can go back and not abandon her.
I love Shannon. I’ll always lov
e her. If I have to die for her, I’ll do it. If I have to deal with how much it hurts that she cheated on me—if I have to forgive her and Adam and anybody else—even if I have to let her go and live the rest of my life knowing I wasn’t what was best for her, then I’ll do that, too.
I spin around and blurt out, “I’m sorry.”
Corey frowns at me as if I’m the one interrupting something important. Shannon just stares. My face gets hot and I know I’m turning red, but I don’t stop.
“For all of it,” I tell her. “What happened—us breaking up—and you’re right, I did abandon you and I’m sorry. Really, truly sorry.”
Shannon bites the corner of her lip. “We’re never going to be not-screwed-up enough to make this work, are we?”
“I don’t know,” I say. “Probably not.”
But instead of feeling like I’m being dragged down by an invisible undertow while the world falls apart around me, I just feel like I can finally breathe right again. Like the last five years I’ve been choking on exhaust, but now there’s fresh air all around us. Hallelujah, my sins are washed away.
Shannon
Danny stays by my side, holding my hand while Corey lays out all of the things I supposedly agreed to do in exchange for not getting dropped from the label. Highlights include regular talks with a drug and alcohol counselor while on the Euro-tour, peeing in cups on demand, and making every single show no matter what circumstances might prevent me from performing—even death or vegetative-state-causing brain injury.
When Corey’s finished, he points at Danny. “Is he going to be your plus-one?”
“Plus-one?” Danny asks.
“A person who tours with a member of the band,” I say. “Anna and Bro don’t usually bring anybody. Terrie’s had Brandt flown in a couple times.” I look down at my feet, wishing Corey hadn’t brought it up. A few days—or hell, forever—without having to think about this whole mess would’ve really been appreciated. “Tiffani’s usually mine.”
