by Amo Jones
“Well, long story short, a friend threw a party here.”
“A party?” he asks again.
I pause with my hand on the door handle. “Yes, you know….” I gesture up to my mouth as in drinking, and then boogie in my seat as in dancing.
He looks at me, bored, not catching any of my hints.
“Well this is going to be a long chat then,” I mutter, getting out of the car. He follows, shutting the door, and I lock it.
I’m just about to walk toward the clearing, when he grabs onto my arm, tugging me back. I look down at his grip and then back to his face. “What’s wrong?”
Shaking his head, he whispers, “You should not have been here, Madison. This isn’t your place.”
“My place?” I step toward him. “What do you mean? It’s beautiful here.”
“Something is wrong.” He searches the forest and then looks back to me. “Get back in the car and do it slowly.”
“What?” I look around the area but don’t move my head—making it less obvious. “What do you mean?”
“Don’t ask questions. Just do it.”
Searching his eyes, I can see him pleading with me. “Okay.” Slowly, I sidestep and walk toward the driver door, beeping the alarm system and sliding in. Daemon stays in the same spot, his shoulders square and his stance in fighting mode. It sends chills down my spine, and my fear kicks up to inhumane levels. Pulling the door open, I’m about to slide in when it hits. A sharp sting stabs me right in the head, and I’m falling.
Looking up, the tips of the trees are coming in and out in a distant view. Ringing starts piercing my ears, and I tilt my head as the sun blares right down on my face. Daemon is there, but his face is blurry, and he’s yelling at me. Why’s he yelling? Why am I on the ground? Am I on the ground? Daemon’s eyes are furious, almost black. There’s spit flying out of his mouth as he screams at me, but I can’t hear anything because I’m deafened by the ringing in my ear.
I laugh because this is the first time I’ve ever seen Daemon out of control. Why is he so intractable? He wouldn’t be like this unless something was extremely wrong. Metallic liquid floods my throat, and I start to panic. My heart launches in my throat as my airways start to slowly clench, making breathing damn near impossible.
Daemon is like this because something is wrong. So terribly wrong. I look back at him, bringing my hands to my throat, wanting to rip off my skin to give myself air to breathe, but it’s no use. Daemon looks down at me, his eyes pained and his face strained.
Why’s he got blood all over him?
Is that my blood?
That’s when it hits me.
I’m dying.
THE VOICES.
One.
Two.
Three.
Four.
Five.
Six…
Six…
Six….
“She belongs to us. To the dark. Don’t put her in the light. She’ll burn there, Demon. Don’t put her in the light. It’s bad for her. Bad, bad, bad. She needs to be where we are, in the dark. Hidden, where it’s quiet. Where no one can hurt her.”
“Kill her!”
“No, don’t kill her! She’s special… so special. Look at her. She’s beautiful.”
“Shut up!” I roar, banging my fists against my head. “They… they won’t stop!” I look down at Madison. Sweet Madison. My sister. My twin. The only person I’ve ever felt for. The only human I’ve ever felt a connection with.
“Connection?” The voice snickers. “The only connection is you know you’re supposed to kill her. You know it, so do it. Kill her. She’s already dying. Hell, she might even be dead.”
Sucking in a breath, I look down at Madison’s body. Her tiny frame unmoving and still. What have I done?
I did this.
She shouldn’t have been here.
Grabbing the mobile device Madison gave me, I dial 911. I’m not completely clueless, it’s a part of my job as a civilian to know emergency services number. I do not care about the Kings right now. She needs medical help, and I don’t know who they use. I trust no one. “Trust no one. Trust no one….”
“Nine-one-one, what is your emergency?”
“Trust no one.”
“Sir?”
I clutch my phone tightly, pressing it against my ear. Biting down on my fist, the metallic tinge of blood hits my taste buds, and I recoil. I’ve done bad things. Very bad things in my lifetime. Unspeakable things. But they’re all I know. I’ve swum in the blood of innocents and drank from their soul without flinching. But this is Madison. My sister. My twin. I care about her.
“You don’t care about her,” the voice laughs. “You care because you want to kill her. Imagine what it would be like slicing into that delicate skin.”
“Shut up!” I scream, slamming my eyes closed.
“Sir?”
“I need help,” I speak, though my English is not very good. “My sister. She’s hurt.”
“Okay, where are you?”
I look around. “I’m at the clearing on State Highway 50.”
“Okay, sir, I have someone on the way. Tell me what’s wrong with your sister.”
I look down at her and freeze. Her skin is pale, the blood still oozing.
“She’s hurt so very bad.”
“Okay, I get that, but is she breathing? How is she hurt?”
“She….” I lean down, pressing my two fingers to the side of her neck. A faint pulse taps against the pads of my fingers. Distant, but there—only just. “Her pulse is slow… so very slow.”
“Finish her,” one of the voices snarks.
“Tace!” I order. My shoulders square, the dark spell coats my flesh, and my lip curls. He’s here. It’s here. “Ego sum magister vester!”
The voices, all five of them, run, slithering in fear. “Yes, yes you are our master.”
Reality gets sucked back into view, and I’m standing there, clutching my phone while the paramedics are working on Madison. Everything goes in slow motion, and I drop my phone, falling to my knees and clutching my head. What happened?
What happened?
Why do I feel like this is my fault?
Stretching my arms wide, an earth-shattering scream erupts out of me as tears pour out of my eyes. I’ve never lost control. Never. I’m always in control. Nothing touches me. I don’t feel. I don’t feel anything. But seeing Madison motionless on the ground, it’s like I suddenly feel everything.
“Sir!” A paramedic comes rushing over, blood on his hands. “What happened?”
My chest heaves as I take in deep breaths, my head hanging between my shoulders in defeat. I slowly look up at him and snarl, “She shot in the head.”
BEEP.
Beep.
Beep.
Pain.
Beep.
Feels like a thousand bricks are weighing down on my head.
Beep.
I try to wiggle my toes, only they don’t move. I don’t think they move. Where am I?
Beep.
I strain to open my eyes, but not sure whether they’re opening.
“No.”
A voice! Whose voice is that?
Beep.
I’m so tired. Like sinking sand, I feel my consciousness slowly detach itself from wherever I am. The beeping sounds distant now.
Beep.
“Did you try to kill her?” is the last distant thing I hear before the depths of nothingness envelop me completely.
My throat throbs, like I’ve swallowed gallons of sand. Moving my head slightly, I groan. My head pounds like a bass line is vibrating directly through my brainwaves. It’s almost too painful to bear. Wiggling my fingers, this time I feel them respond and someone grabs my hand beside me.
“Madison?”
Who is that? Slowly, I open my eyes. Heavy and tired, like glue has set on my eyelashes, but I stubbornly fight it.
“Water,” I urge, still not knowing who that is. There’s a straw pressing against
my lips, hitting the cracks. I open my mouth a little, enough to fit the tiny straw in and suck. The water is warm, but it slides down my parched throat perfectly. Moving my head back after drinking all of it, I wince.
“Hurts.”
“I know, babe.”
“Who is this? I can’t see.”
“Open your eyes, babe.”
I fight for it, God knows I do, and when my eyes finally open, my eyebrows pull in. “Tillie?” She looks the same from what I remember, only I’m seeing three of her, and her voice is echoing in and out.
“It’s me, but I can’t stay long.” Her words reverberate, and I can slowly feel the familiar sinking sand slide out from under me.
No!
“Tillie….” I want it to come out excitedly, happy that she’s here, but it comes out more like pain.
“I’m sorry, Madison.” She kisses me somewhere on my head. “I had to make sure you were okay, but I have to go now.”
“Go?” I mutter. “No! You just got here.” I peel my eyes open a little wider, but she’s still blurry. “Please don’t leave.”
“I have to. It’s not safe for me here.”
“Tell me, Tillie,” I croak out. “I can keep secrets. Please.”
“I know you can, Mads. But I can’t. I just can’t. I have to go. I love you.”
“Tillie!” I groan, and as she snatches up her hoodie and heads to the door, she turns over her shoulder to face me. “I’m sorry.” Then she leaves. I rest my head back, ignoring the excruciating pain.
“Madison?” Bishop murmurs, but I can’t see him.
“Bishop?” I gasp, looking around the room for him. I look to the corner and see the outline of his body, the tip of his white sneakers glowing from the moonlight peering in. He’s leaning forward, his elbows resting on his knees. “Did you see that?”
He chuckles. “It’s amusing you think I’d let any motherfucker near you. Of course I saw that. I allowed it.”
“Oh,” I murmur, wincing at the pain. I want to ask why he allowed Tillie in, but I sense he won’t tell me anything right now.
“You okay?” He gets up from his chair and walks toward me. He’s in his usual clothes, looking like he always does—perfect. But when he leans down and places a kiss on my head, I see him closer. He has bags under his eyes like he hasn’t slept in days.
“What happened?” I whisper, confused by my choppy memories. “All I remember is… pain.”
I wince again, and he pushes the button on the side of my bed. “Stupid fucking Daemon called the paramedics,” he mutters, almost to himself.
“Daemon?” I go to sit up, but it feels as though someone just launched a knife through my head. “Ahh.” I reach up to rub it, and Bishop shoots toward me.
“Lie down. Don’t try to act like a warrior. We all know you’re tough; now just lie down.”
The nurse walks in, putting her hands into her front pockets. “Hi, Madison, you’re awake.” She pulls out a little flashlight, hooking a stethoscope around her neck. Leaning forward, she smiles at both Bishop and me. “I’m just going to run a quick check before I give you more pain meds.”
“No,” Bishop interrupts. “Give her the meds now. The general practice bullshit you usually do will not fly in this room.”
She goes to argue with Bishop, but then runs her eyes up and down his body, squaring her shoulders. “Very well.”
She moves one of the drips around and turns the nozzle. “This is morphine. You will feel better soon. Can you tell me any other pain you are feeling aside from your head?”
“No,” I murmur. “Just my head. It hurts really bad, almost unbearable, and I like to think I have a high pain threshold.”
She smiles sweetly, but it doesn’t reach her eyes. “Understandable. Your injury is severe.”
“What is it, by the way?”
She looks to Bishop before looking back to me. “You were shot. Please, try to get some rest.”
I was shot? Holy shit! How ironic is it that the one thing I love doing is the one thing that almost ended me… that ended my mom? Feeling tired, I close my eyes.
“Bishop?” she continues quietly.
My sleep can wait. Why does she know Bishop’s name? I act like I’m unfazed anyway, keeping my eyes closed but kicking my hearing up a notch.
“These people have to leave.”
“I know. But they’re not going to.”
People? What is she talking about?
“Well, it doesn’t matter. They can’t be sleeping on mattresses on the floor. Not only is it not sterile, but they’re getting in the way.”
“Jessica, leave.”
“Bishop,” she whispers, and I can almost feel the sadness in her tone.
“Leave!” he snaps at her.
Okay, I sense history there. I put that in the box of “will ask him one day.” Once I hear the door close, I let my tiredness take over and drift into a deep sleep.
The next morning, I wake up almost instantly, and though I feel no better pain-wise, I feel a lot more alert than I did last night. I guess the Tillie thing is going to get ignored until I bring it up—and I will bring it up. I want to know why Bishop let her in. He must trust her to a certain extent. Usually, I would think maybe she has something to blackmail him with in some way, but this is Bishop. No one has anything on him, and if they did, he would just kill them. Problem solved.
“Sis,” Nate murmurs, getting off the mattress on the floor. Now I know what the little nurse was talking about last night. Nate and Tatum had obviously been sleeping out on the floor. Or more, wrapped around each other.
“Hi,” I mutter, sitting up in my bed slightly. Bishop walks through the door, coffees and a bag of donuts in hand, just as Nate stands.
“Sorry, baby, you can’t eat.”
“What do you mean I can’t eat?” I snap, my stomach growling on cue at the donuts he’s holding.
“If they need to do emergency surgery, you have to be prepared, so you can’t eat solids.”
“Oh?” My eyebrow quirks. “Well guess who else isn’t eating.”
“What?” he growls.
“Drop them, Bishop.”
“Fuck no! I’m hungry.”
“Then you should have eaten them before you came back.”
“I’m not dumping them.”
I look at him.
“Fine, fuck. I’ll leave them over here.”
I look back to Nate. “Hi.” He smiles, but his eyes are crinkled around the edges just like Bishop’s. “Have you slept?” I look to Bishop. “Have any of you slept?”
They both shake their heads. Then Nate takes a seat on the bed. “We…. I need to tell you something.”
“Okay?”
He grips my hand, his thumb caressing my palm slightly. “Daemon is currently locked up for questioning.”
“What?” I go to shoot off the bed, but then wince when my head takes the beating.
As I lean back, Nate scolds me. “Do that shit again and I’ll fucking kill you myself.”
I roll my eyes, because only Nate can get away with threatening to kill me right after I almost got killed.
“But he didn’t do anything!”
Nate searches my eyes. “You don’t know that.”
“Fuck you, I know that.”
I see Bishop take a seat on one of the hospital chairs out the corner of my eye. Even from here, I can see how much he wants the donuts.
“Madison, you don’t know Daemon. Yes, I know you guys are twins and I know you have that bond… but he’s a very, very dangerous guy.”
“Not to me.” I look back at Nate. “I’m serious, Nate. He didn’t do shit that day. He told me…. I remember, he told me to get back into the car and that something didn’t feel right.”
Nate doesn’t flinch. Like he already knew I was going to say that. “Exactly, Madison. He knew something was going to happen.”
“What does that mean?” I scoff, my anger reaching the boiling point. “You’re not ma
king sense.”
“Fuck.” Nate clutches his hair.
“Madi!” Tatum screams, launching off the mattress on the floor and diving onto my bed.
“Jesus fucking Christ, Tate!” Bishop jumps off his chair. “Get the fuck off her!” She climbs up my bed.
“I’m sorry! I’m sorry! It’s just—” She bursts into tears, digging her head into my chest and curling up into a ball on top of me.
I pat her softly. “I know.”
She swipes her tears angrily and slaps my arm. “Don’t ever fucking do that again!”
“All right.” Bishop wraps his arm around her waist and picks her up with one arm, removing her from my bed and putting her back down at the end. “Enough of that shit. I’m feeling unstable.”
Tatum evil-eyes Bishop, brushing off her clothes snobbishly. “Don’t you caveman me, Hayes!” Her eyes dart over his shoulder and her face lights up. “Oh!” She claps her hands and dives for the bag of donuts, pulling one out and biting into it. “Yum, donuts.”
I can’t help it; I laugh. Bishop gives me a dirty stare. “What? So she can eat a donut, but I can’t?”
“Exactly.”
He rolls his eyes and comes back up to my bed, sitting on the other side of me. I open my mouth, about to tell Nate to go on about Daemon, when the doors swing open and my dad and Elena walk in.
“Madison!” Elena wipes tears from her cheeks. “Oh, good Lord.” She rushes near my bed and pulls me into a hug. I can hear Bishop growling beside me, the over-the-top male that he is.
“Hi,” I whisper into her hair softly, looking up to my dad. His eyes are bloodshot red, wrinkles more prominent, and his suit looks a few days worn. “Hey, Dad.”
Nate pulls his mother’s arms off me. “All right, let her dad have a turn now. Ya stage five.”
My dad leans down and kisses me on the head, leaving his kiss there for a beat longer. “I’m sorry, baby girl.”
Closing my eyes, I exhale. All the stress and pain, somehow he takes it all away. “It’s not your fault, Dad.”
He steps backward, his eyes searching mine. “You say that, Madison. But—”
I shake my head, and by God, it hurts to do so. “No. It is no one’s fault.”
His face changes, morphing into anger. “Madison,” his voice turns into the firm one he uses whenever I’m in trouble, “you do not know anything about Daemon.”
