by Platt, Sean
The portal closed and Jacob disappeared, taking the weather with him.
John continued reciting the spell, holding his hand over Hope’s chest, trying to summon the energy, but nothing came. He was too weak, drained by Jacob and the drugs before that.
“Please, God!” he screamed into the heavens.
John tried healing her again, repeating his incantations which hit the charred and still slightly purple air as only words.
Suddenly, Skinner was standing beside him, staring down at Hope, his black ringed eyes filled with sorrow.
“Here,” he said, holding his hand out to John. “Take my soul.”
“What?”
“Take my soul. You are the only one who can save the world. I have family here. If Jacob returns, they’ll be slaves or cattle. Please. You can’t allow that to happen. Take my soul, save her, then go slay the monster.”
“Thank you,” he said, meeting Skinner’s eyes.
John reached out to take his hand.
Skinner’s soul followed.
Forty-Four
Larry
Larry paced the house, waiting for Abi.
He’d driven all over town searching for her. He’d even put out word to Tiny’s crew, after telling them that their boss was dead, a fact they were none too happy to hear.
Larry didn’t know what to do. John and Abi were gone, and he couldn’t take a chance that one or both might appear at the house in need of his help.
Still, he felt helpless.
Larry looked at his watch for the hundred-thousandth time, wanting to punch something hard, or kick something harder.
“FUCK!” he screamed to no one.
The sun would be up soon, and Abi might be dead when it was. She had no way of protecting herself out there, wherever she was. John might be a dead man, too.
Larry shuddered.
“FUCK!”
He imagined Abi injured, lying in a gutter as the sun came up. Or …
Then Larry realized with a disturbing certainty — maybe she was chasing death, out there waiting for the sun to come and put an end her misery. Katya had been such a happy part of Abi’s life. It must’ve been an accident, just like the neighbors.
He remembered when he asked to join Johnny and Tiny on the trip to Cromwell’s. Abi had begged John not to go, said she was scared.
What if she killed again?
That’s exactly what happened. She can’t control it.
Jesus, I’ve got to find her.
A voice in his head: “Larry!”
It was John.
“Larry, I need your help, now!”
Forty-Five
Hope
There was light, sound, and some sort of memory, but everything mingled into a muddy sludge. The white light turned brighter, until it was almost painful, then softened to a kiss.
Hope saw something impossible — a monster who looked like a tree with way too many eyes — and the tall skinny German, then …
Nothing.
Then she saw John. Standing in front of her. They were on a roof, up high. She called out his name, confused. Then she saw the bald man in black robes, somehow floating behind him.
She remembered him, too.
She flashed back. He’d called himself a detective a long time ago, had come to her house, asking questions. He’d wanted to talk to John. And when she told John, he freaked out. That’s when he told her everything — what he was. And what he had to do.
She remembered.
Everything.
Suddenly, she felt a hot pain in her chest, looked down, and saw a red glowing in her skin.
What the hell?
Then unimaginable pain, worse than anything she’d ever felt. Her chest an explosion turning everything to black, until the white light finally returned, bringing with it her true name.
“Hope … ”
Again and again it repeated.
“Hope, Hope, Hope … ”
She opened her eyes to John’s hazy face staring down at her.
“It’s you,” she whispered, remembering both her past decade as Hannah, and her life before, when she lived in Florida with John.
She remembered their parting, and what he had told her — that he was a vampire, and that her memory would have to be erased.
She sat up, her head spinning, in pain.
“You? You did this to me?”
He looked wounded or confused, she wasn’t sure which. Then he spoke, “Oh, God, I’ve missed you so much, Hope.”
She swallowed, tears welling in her eyes. She missed him, too, even if she hadn’t realized it until now. She reached out to John, to touch his face, but he pulled back as if horrified.
“If we touch, you’ll die,” he said.
“What?”
John explained that he fed through his touch, without any control. She remembered something, vague from before, but the memory didn’t make it any easier to believe.
“What happened here?” She sat up and looked down at the ashen corpse.
“It’ll have to wait,” he said. “Right now, we need to get out of here.”
“Hannah!”
Hope turned and saw Greg slowly approaching, his pistol out but not aimed. Beside him was Mike Mathews — the man who had wanted to cut her open. There were another three men behind them, all dressed in black gear with weapons drawn.
Greg screamed at John: “Get away from her!”
Forty-Six
John
John stood and placed himself between Greg, Mathews, and Hope.
“You’re too late,” he shouted over the screaming wind. “Jacob got the crystal and he’s gone back to Otherworld.”
“Bullshit,” Greg said then fired a shot.
It ripped into John’s chest.
“Stop!” Hope screamed, running to put herself in front of John.
In John’s mind he saw Greg fire his second shot, then watched the bullet sing through the night in slow motion, sailing past its intended target and finding Hope instead. Another wound so soon was a risk he couldn’t allow.
No fucking way.
John reached inside himself, gathered every bit of his Darkness, then screamed, unleashed it in a giant blast of energy directed at the huddle of men, sending them stumbling like trees ripped from the ground in a hurricane.
Two of the men sailed over the roof as John raced towards the remaining three, quickly disarming the final man in black, reaching into his visor and sucking his life in a quick spurt.
John turned to the last two men on the rooftop, Greg, still doubled over in pain, and Mathews, aiming his gun at John, rage boiling his face into an ugly shade of red.
Mathews fired three rounds. One hit John in the jaw and blasted part of his cheekbone off.
The other two bullets sank into his chest and shoulder, but John was too amped on adrenaline and raw energy to feel anything other than anger, hate, and a bottomless thirst for vengeance.
John flashed back on Mathews shooting the poor woman, Emilia, who had lost her daughter. He felt her memories, the pain of losing Kayla, and the betrayal of a man who had sworn to protect the nation. John locked his eyes on Mathews. He wanted no part of the man’s vile recall, or any of his destructive past. He only wanted him dead.
John grabbed Mike’s gun, breaking free before his touch could kill the man, then turned the weapon back on Mathews, aimed straight between his eyes. He pulled the trigger twice, blowing Mathews’ face and brain to bits.
“Fucker.” John dropped the gun in disgust and turned to the last man standing: Greg, the liar who had been sleeping with Hope. And he’d brought her here to do what? Turn her over to Mathews and his corrupt regime?
Greg dropped his gun, sliding it past John, and pled for his life. “Please, please,” he begged, hands up, palms out in front of him. He turned to Hope. “Please, Hannah, I love you.”
John looked back at Hope, having almost forgotten her presence in his moment of rage. He felt like a kid caught killing
a bird. Her eyes were wide, scared, and filled with tears, many falling freely down her face.
John could only imagine what she was thinking about him right now, wondering what sort of monster she’d been stupid enough to love. He wondered if she would beg him to spare Greg.
He didn’t want to. John wanted to sap the man’s life to nothing, to pluck the memories from his head, memories of a life stolen with Hope, so he could live through those lost years, even if only vicariously.
“Please, Hannah, I love you,” Chris cried. “I’d never let them hurt you.”
Hope approached them, her eyes locked on John as if trying to reconcile the man she loved with the monster he was, staring as if seeing inside him, right to the Darkness, the part of himself he’d buried for so long.
She’d never seen this side of him. His creature unleashed, the feeding frenzy, the destruction, the horror. Yet, here he was, raw and exposed as the monster he was. John felt more vulnerable than he’d ever been, as if a single word from Hope could destroy him.
“Please,” Greg begged again.
John, having heard enough of his whining, turned to Greg and yelled, “Would you shut up?”
A gunshot punctured the pre-dawn.
John turned to see Hannah holding the pistol Greg had dropped to the ground. John turned from Hannah and back to Greg, just in time to see the bloody hole in his face.
Greg fell to the ground.
“My name’s not Hannah,” Hope said, then fell to her knees, staring at what she’d done, stunned and silent.
John stood still, uncertain, wanting to comfort his love, but not knowing if she was disgusted by him, or maybe by what she’d done.
John looked around, waiting for more men, either Omega or Harbinger to storm the rooftop, but no one was coming. He looked down at the bank building. They had to make a run for it, and soon. He prayed that Hope would come with him.
He closed his eyes and tried to feel Larry was nearby, hoping his friend would arrive.
Epilogue
John watched in the predawn darkness as Hope slept in the queen-size bed. He sat in a chair beside the bed, where he’d also spent the night before. A blue nightlight in the corner cast the room in a somber, cold glow.
He longed to be beside her, to touch her, hold her, kiss her, but he couldn’t so long as he was cursed. Nor did he even know if she would want him to touch her. She was still hurt by his betrayal more than a decade ago. He’d lied to her, had her mind wiped, never giving her a choice to stay and fight alongside him. He’d tried to explain things, but his words all felt stupid, and her patience was thin.
So they’d spent most of the past day in silence interspersed with moments of small talk. He wanted to reach out, to make things right, to find the right words to say, but part of him was too distracted by Abigail’s disappearance.
Though he couldn’t feel her, which concerned him deeply, he knew Abigail was out there, somewhere, hurting.
It had been two days since any of them had seen the child.
Hope, John, and Larry were staying in one of Larry’s safe houses in east Washington. It was slightly too small, but far enough from the Guardians, or anyone in Harbinger who might be left looking for them.
The world hadn’t ended, yet. The FBI had buried the story of the Building’s destruction. As for how the Agency was going to recover from their ample losses, John had no idea. Nor did he particularly care.
He only cared about being with Hope and finding Abigail.
Hope had remembered mostly everything, though John didn’t dare tell her she wasn’t from Earth. Not while she was trying to sort out her life. A decade of false memories, ten years of a new life built, all of it now meaningless.
She stirred in the bed and opened her eyes “You all right?”
“Yeah, just thinking.”
“About what?” She turned toward him and pulled the comforter tighter around her body.
“You. Wondering what’s next.”
“Ah,” she said, not offering more.
“You know you can’t go back to Hannah’s life, right? There will be people looking for you.”
“Ye. Though I’m not sure I was ready to live a lie, anyway. So, what’s going to happen?”
“With us? Or everything else?”
“I can’t even think about us, right now,” she sighed. “I mean with Jacob. What will he do with the crystal? How did it even get inside me?”
“I don’t know.” John hated lying to Hope, yet again. But if he told her that she wasn’t even who she thought she was, wasn’t even human, it might be too much for her to handle.
Hell, it’s too much for me to handle.
“But as for Jacob, I don’t know. He’s stronger than ever. The Guardians felt that if he got all the crystals he’d be too powerful to stop — that he might come back to our world and bring the vampires with him. It will be open season on humans.”
Hope swallowed and sat up, visibly shaking. “I wish I could go back to thinking I was Hannah. The world was so safe then.”
She swiped at her welling tears. He thought to ask her about Greg, wondering how she was coping with killing a man she’d loved. Ending anyone’s life had to be devastating for her, but killing a man she’d known, trusted, and had been intimate with — it had to be soul shaking, the kind of thing you may never recover from. But he didn’t dare take that dark road. He wished he could wipe her mind of the past 24 hours, or maybe everything since they’d left Florida.
A strangers’ silence stretched between them, and every minute felt like an hour.
He wanted to break the silence, but didn’t know how, or what to say.
She spoke, instead, “I dreamed of you. I’d gotten into an accident and began remembering you.”
He smiled.
“I really loved you, you know?”
“Loved, as in past tense?” he asked.
She was quiet. He looked down at his hands, unable to meet her eyes. He heard her swallow.
A knock on their bedroom door shattered the silence.
“John?” Larry said in an urgent whisper. “You awake?”
Hope looked up at John and nodded, giving permission for Larry to enter.
“Come in,” John said.
Larry burst into the room holding his MacBook Air, open and bringing its bright light to John’s side.
“You have to see this! I got this from one of Tiny’s men, who have been sitting watch on the portal in Anchor Harbor.”
He handed the laptop to John and pressed a button to start the movie.
The video showed the portal, or at least the surrounding tent , with four armed soldiers standing guard.
A timestamp on the recording read one night ago, 2:31 a.m.
John watched, waiting to see what Larry was so excited about. He glanced up at Larry.
“Just keep watching,” he said.
Hope stood, came to their side, and looked down at the screen.
Dark blurs raced by, and the soldiers were down in seconds, never having a chance to fire their weapons.
It was a massacre, over in seconds, four vampires attacking four guards. Seconds later, the tent came down, as if ripped away by thought alone. The portal swam bright in the darkness and the four figures started toward it.
As they drew closer to the portal, the light illuminated them better so John could finally make out their shapes — three women and a man.
No, correction: A man, two women, and a child.
“Abigail!” John stared at the screen, trying to will what had already happened from happening.
Who is she with? Are they Harbinger?
The woman and man entered the portal and vanished. The other woman, who John now realized wasn’t much older than Abigail, held out her hand for Abigail.
She took it, and they disappeared into the portal.
John’s heart sank.
“What was that?” Hope asked.
“That’s the girl we’ve been looking for. And
she just went to Otherworld with people I don’t even know.”
“Oh, my God,” Hope said, the gravity of what they’d seen sinking in.
John began watching the video again, trying to glean something useful. Larry looked down at John, “We have to go after her.”
John looked up at Larry, and then at Hope. He couldn’t bear to be apart from her again. But at the same time, Larry didn’t need to argue on Abigail’s behalf. The girl was in more danger than ever, especially if she was with Jacob’s people.
“Yes,” John said.
“I’m going with you,” Hope said.
John shook his head. “No, it’s too dangerous. I’ll come back for you — I promise.”
“No,” Hope snapped, her voice firm and eyes serious. “I’m tired of running. I’m tired of hiding. I’m tired of not knowing what’s happening.” Her eyes welled up, but she fought back the tears. “You asked me before if I loved you, as in past tense, or still love you. I love you, John. And always will. But you can’t do this again. I can’t lose another decade living a life that isn’t mine. I want to come with you.”
There was no way John could allow her to come.
“It’s too dangerous. God only knows what lays on the other side of the portal. Jacob is there. My father, the king of the vampires, and my brother, Caleb, who has turned to the Darkness, if Jacob is to be believed. It’s a suicide mission if I go alone. I can’t even fathom what would happen to you.”
“If you die,” Hope said, “then we die together.”
“Make that three,” Larry said. “Let’s take a trip.”
Prologue
2011
Caleb came to. The world was upside down, his feet knotted in an ancient tree’s twisting, gnarled branches, the ground five feet or so beneath him.
He struggled to look up at the tangled mass holding him prisoner, trying to figure out how he’d wound up in this trap, and whether it was manmade or natural. The darkness was absolute, save the two fat moons hanging bright in the sky.
