by Aaron Hodges
Only to be torn to pieces an instant later.
Liz shivered as she recalled watching the video of Mike’s execution, in the days after the prison break. A chill had spread down her spine as Chris stepped up and pressed the deadly jet-injector to the Texan’s neck.
A moan built in Liz’s throat and she was filled by a desperate yearning—to twist in the air and race back to Chris’s bed, to grab him by the shirt and shake him until he roused.
She needed an explanation, a reason for all of it. It was as though some part of her was still waiting for Chris to wake, to tell her none of it had been real, that he hadn’t really done the things she’d seen.
That he loved her.
Wings cracked next to Liz as Ashley drifted into formation. She smiled as her friend’s broad white wings struck the air, sending her spiraling ahead, red hair whirling.
Ashley had recovered well in the last week. With proper food and sleep, she’d put some weight back on her skeletal frame. Fresh down was sprouting where her wings had molted, and life had returned to her amber eyes. There was a joy to her now, a freedom in the way she moved. But there was also grief, long silences during which she would stare off into the distance, remembering some moment lost in time.
Ahead, the Golden Gate bridge loomed, its red pillars rising up from the harbor. Angling her wings, Liz aimed for the pillar furthest from the city. As she dropped, her wings beat faster, slowing her descent. She eyed the red beam cautiously as she approached, but clear skies and warm nights meant its surface was dry, and she landed easily. Folding her wings, she watched as Ashley followed her down.
Turning, Liz sat on the edge of the beam and hung her feet over the seven-hundred-foot drop. A car rumbled across the bridge as Ashley took a seat alongside her. Then without warning, Ashley embraced her. So taken by surprise, Liz almost toppled from the ledge—only her firm grip on the girder kept her in place.
When she recovered, Liz managed half a laugh and hugged Ashley back. Disentangling themselves, Liz eyed her friend. “What was that for?”
Ashley smiled. “Because you’re here.” She sighed, her eyes creeping inexorably out towards Alcatraz, “Because for the first time since they took me, I feel like I’m really free.”
Liz’s heart clenched and she gave Ashley’s shoulder a squeeze. “I’m glad, Ash.”
Her friend wiped away an unspilt tear. “I just wish the others were here to enjoy it with us.” The howling wind seemed to steal away her words.
Liz swallowed the sudden lump in her throat. Images flashed through her mind—Richard, collapsing beneath a hail of gunfire…Jasmine, the light slowly fading from her eyes…and poor, sweet Mira, engulfed by the blossoming flames. Her grip on the girder tightened until her arms shook.
It was a long time before she found the strength to speak again. “Jasmine…she missed you. She told me…she hated how she never put things right with you.”
Ashley’s eyes were distant. “I miss her too. We never should have let them drive us apart. We were all forced to do despicable things, but they don’t define us.”
Knowing Ashley was talking about more than just Jasmine, Liz bit her lip. An image of Mike flickered through her mind, of the Texan convulsing in the chair, strapped down, dying in agony as Chris watched on.
Ashley might be right—they had all done despicable things. But what Chris had done, that hadn’t been a fight to the death. His life might have been on the line, but it had still been cold-blooded murder.
And then…then there was the kiss he’d shared with the Director.
Her gut clenched as she forced the image from her mind. It shouldn’t matter—not beside his other crimes—but it did. At least to her. Her insides turned to liquid every time she thought of him. The passion, the love of just a few short weeks ago, was gone. In its place was an empty abyss that threatened to drown her.
In her heart, she knew that whatever he said, whatever explanation he offered, it wouldn’t be enough. There was no coming back from what he’d done—not for them.
“Did you ever think it would end like this?” Liz asked suddenly, still staring out over the harbor. “The last time we were up here…did you think this was how things would be? That we’d…that we’d lose Mira and Jasmine and Maria? That Chris would…” She swallowed, barely able to get the words out. “That Chris would betray us?”
The wind shrieked again as it passed between the wire supports of the bridge. For a long time Ashley did not speak, did not move. She sat looking off into the distance, hair curled around her elegantly shaped ears, her soft white wings resting on the scarlet pillar.
“Don’t give up on him, Liz,” she said finally. “You don’t know what it was like for him, locked down there with her, without any hope. You don’t know what it was like to be her prisoner, to have her slowly crush the life from you.”
“But she didn’t crush you,” Liz replied.
Ashley pursed her lips. “I had already been broken,” she said, then shook her head. “No, not broken. But I had survived the worst Halt could throw at me, and walked out the other side. Thanks to you, Liz.”
“Me?” Liz asked, frowning.
“When we last sat up here, you reminded me who I was, helped me find the courage to pull myself back together.” She looked away, her voice growing sad. “Maybe you can do the same for Chris.”
Liz swallowed. The past week, she had felt as though a vice were closing around her heart, crushing the love from her. She didn’t have much left to give. “I don’t know if I can, Ash,” she murmured into the breeze. “I’m not sure he can come back from this. I’m not sure if…if I can forgive him.”
Ashley’s hand settled on her shoulder. Looking up, Liz found herself trapped by her friend’s amber gaze. “Maybe you can, maybe you can’t.” Ashley’s voice was soft. “But at least give him a chance. Let him explain. And give yourself time to heal.”
A sigh escaped Liz’s lips. She wanted more than anything to follow Ashley’s advice, but she wasn’t sure if it was possible, if she could find the strength. Watching the replay of the news broadcast, it had been as though her Chris had been in that chair with Mike, as though the boy she loved had died with the Texan.
Liz didn’t know what kind of man remained now, but she didn’t think she wanted to find out.
Before she could put her thoughts into words, the radio on her belt crackled. They both looked down as it started to squeal, then Sam’s voice whispered from the old speaker.
“Hey girls, you there?”
Liz’s heart lurched. There was only one reason Sam would be calling them. Hands trembling, she unclipped the radio and lifted it to her mouth. “Yes, Sam…we’re here,” she said, pressing the button on the side.
“Great!” His voice came again, stronger now. “Well, wherever you are, I suggest you get back here pronto. It looks like sleeping beauty is waking up.”
The radio went silent. Liz sat staring at Ashley. Her friend’s eyes were wide, shining with the light of the noonday sun. For a long moment they sat there, frozen by the news, by what it meant.
Suddenly Liz felt as though she were suffocating. She gasped, sucking in great lungfuls of air. A fire lit in her stomach and every hair on her body stood on end. Her mind raced, searching for some way to escape the coming confrontation, to cling to the illusion of the past week, if only for a moment longer.
“Liz,” came Ashley’s voice, calling her back. A firm hand gripped her by the shoulder. “Liz, it’s going to be okay.”
Liz blinked and looked at her friend. She nodded slowly, though the movement felt detached from her mind. A passenger in her own body, she stood as Ashley took her hand and drew her up.
“Come on, Liz,” Ashley whispered, holding her on the edge of the girder. “Let’s go see what he has to say.”
33
Chris’s wings beat harder, hurling him through the sky. The dense clouds churned, enfolding him in their cold embrace, until he could see nothing but the whirling bl
ack. His heart raced as he fled the unseen creature behind him. Its howls whispered in the darkness, chasing after him. Its stench filled the air, putrid, decaying, death.
A shadow flashed at him, dark claws extended towards his throat. His wings twisted instinctively, sending Chris spiraling sideways. Pain seared down his back as something struck him. Screaming, he slammed his wings down, rising higher.
“Chris!” a voice screamed.
Choking, Chris spun, seeking the source. His wings beat the swirling clouds as he hovered, spinning, searching. The voice was filled with warmth, with love—but also a desperate fear. It was a voice Chris had never thought he’d hear again.
“Mom!” he called as the clouds closed in.
His throat contracted as a figure took shape. She strode towards him, her bare feet seeming to float on open air, green eyes aglow. Her curly auburn hair swirled in the breeze, though where Chris hovered, the air was still. She drew to a stop in front of him, a ghost from the nightmare of his past.
“Son,” Margaret Sanders whispered.
“Mom,” Chris choked. Hot tears streamed down his face.
He drifted towards her, arms outstretched, desperate to hold her again, to be held. She smiled as he approached, a gentle warmth that reminded him of cold winter nights, of dinners by the fireplace, of the safety of childhood.
Yet as he reached out to take her hand, her smile faded. Her face seemed to change, her lips turning hard, her eyes flickering to hazel, her hair growing straight, fading to blonde. And suddenly it was no longer his mother standing there, but the Director. Rage glinted in her eyes as she caught him by the wrist.
“Christopher,” she growled. “You failed me!”
Then Chris was falling, his stomach rising into his chest as he plummeted through empty air. Screaming, gasping, he tried to stretch his wings, only to find them gone. Helpless, he fell. All his old fears came rushing back, and Chris found he could do nothing but scream and scream and scream…
“No!” Chris shouted as he sat bolt upright.
Chains rattled as he thrashed, trying desperately to cling to some impossible ledge. Eyes shut tight, he fought the darkness that still held him, pulling him back down, drawing him into the abyss. He opened his mouth to scream again.
“Chris!” a voice called, only this one was a man’s. A hand grasped him by the shoulder.
A trace of sanity trickled into Chris’s consciousness. He realized he was no longer falling. Panting, he cracked open his eyes and was met by the harsh glint of fluorescent lights. Pain lanced through his skull and his vision flashed red. The strength went from him in a rush. He collapsed back on the bed.
An ache began in his back as he landed on his wings, followed by relief that they were still there. Taking another breath, he tried opening his eyes again. This time it was almost bearable, though the light made his head pound like a drum. The room slowly came into focus, and he saw a familiar face staring down at him.
“Sam?” he croaked.
For a moment he was confused. His thoughts were a mess of splintered memories. He looked around, surprised to find himself in a hospital bed. Chains rattled again as he found his hands cuffed to the steel rails along the side of the bed. A trail of wires and tubes led from his arm to a host of machines behind him.
He frowned, trying to piece together the memories. They returned slowly, as though trickling back through a sieve. He saw again his hellish captivity with Ashley, felt the slow dwindling of hope, the ghoulish deaths of the Director’s experiments. He remembered Ashley raging down the corridor, feral, unstoppable—then Ashley on the ground, helpless, being dragged to her death. And the Director, offering him her hand, pulling him to his feet, stripping the buttons from his shirt…
He choked, trying to resist the flow now, but the memories continued to come. He saw the night he’d betrayed his heart, and the morning after, as he took the jet-injector and placed it to the Texan’s neck. He watched as Mike thrashed in his chair, saw his last agonized throes of death.
Then Liz was there, and his grandmother—only for her to be stolen away forever. And Jonathan was speaking, revealing how he’d tricked them all, had exposed the truth to the world. And the Director was fleeing, escaping…until little Mira stepped up behind her, a grenade clenched in her tiny fist.
Squeezing his eyes shut, Chris felt the tears streak his cheeks.
“You remember?” he heard Sam ask.
Shame welled in Chris’s chest, and for a moment he wanted to deny it, to pretend he couldn’t remember, that it had all been someone else. He couldn’t bear to look in his friend’s eyes, to face Sam’s judgement, not after what he’d done. He wanted to flee, to run and hide and escape the truth.
Instead, Chris nodded. “I remember.”
Sam exhaled loudly.
Chris looked up at his friend. “Where are we? How am I alive?” His hand drifted towards his neck, to feel for the collar he had worn for weeks, but the handcuffs brought him up short.
Sam’s eyes shimmered as he sat in the chair beside the bed. “Mira…” He swallowed. “The grenades…they incinerated everything. The Director’s watch was destroyed before it could activate either of your collars.”
“Either?” Chris whispered. “Ashley…?”
“She survived,” Sam said, though he didn’t smile. “And Liz. Jasmine didn’t.”
“How?”
“She was shot, when soldiers raided our safe house,” Sam replied. “It’s just the four of us left now.”
“I shouldn’t be alive.” He looked up at Sam. “You know what I did.”
It was not a question. Sam nodded.
“The whole world saw,” Sam said. “You really messed up this time, buddy.”
“I know…”
“But I’m glad you’re okay.”
Sam gripped Chris’s wrist. Their eyes met and Chris quickly looked away again. His vision started to blur. He didn’t deserve kindness, didn’t deserve anything but a bullet in the head. His stomach churned, and a dark gulf filled him, a sickly guilt that threatened to engulf him. He jerked his hand back from Sam.
“I shouldn’t be alive,” he repeated, tears in his eyes. “I told Liz to end it, to kill the Director and end it,” he choked.
A strained silence filled the room as Chris started to sob. He had killed a man in cold blood, had given himself to the woman who’d tormented them, then watched as that same woman killed his grandmother. In that instant, Chris had truly been lost, had lost his will to live. After everything he’d suffered, he could go no further.
“Liz didn’t want to lose you, Chris,” Sam said finally, his voice soft, sad.
Chris blinked the tears from his eyes. “Lose me?” His heart gave a little flutter, before the yawning gulf consumed it. “She already lost me, Sam.”
Before Sam could respond, the door clicked and swung open. Chris shrank in his bed as Ashley stepped into the room, followed a second later by Liz. Their wings were still half extended, but they tucked them neatly behind their backs as their eyes found him in the bed.
“Chris…” Liz’s voice was strained, her hands trembling at her side.
Sam stood abruptly, looking from Chris to Liz to Ashley. “Why don’t we get some fresh air, Ash?”
Without waiting for a response, Sam took Ashley by the hand and fled. Chris watched as they departed, begging silently for them to stay. Then they were gone, leaving him alone with Liz.
Chris forced himself to look at her. “Liz…” he whispered.
34
The moment Liz saw Chris sitting up in bed, whatever doubts she’d had about her feelings for him vanished. Stepping across the threshold into the room, it was as though some veil had been lifted, and the fog impeding her judgement was swept away.
She saw Maria again, Chris’s own grandmother, defying the Director to the death.
And Mira, sacrificing her short life to end the woman’s evil.
Then she saw the video of Chris, meekly following the
Director’s commands, submitting to her power, murdering his own friend to survive.
And Liz knew she could never love him again.
“Liz…” he started after the others had left.
“Don’t,” Liz spoke over him, her voice sharp as a knife. “Don’t speak. Don’t talk. Don’t try to explain, Chris.”
She stalked across the room, her knee-length boots thumping loudly on the linoleum. Chris’s gaze dropped to the floor as she stopped beside his bed. He couldn’t even look at her. It only enraged her further.
“Look at me!” Suddenly she found herself screaming, unable to contain her fury.
Until this moment, Liz had clung to the hope Chris could somehow explain everything away. But now the thought of him even speaking made her tremble. She knew anything he said would only add gasoline to the flames of her rage.
He had murdered Mike, had given himself to that vile woman, and done God only knew what with her. Whatever Ashley might have hoped, Liz could never forgive him for it.
Still chained to the bed, attached to the whirring machines pumping him full of drugs, Chris slowly lifted his face to look at her. Tears brimmed in his hazel eyes. His face had grown thin and haggard in captivity, but it was still the face Liz knew, the one she had kissed, had loved. Now, it only made her sick to her stomach. They might share the same face, but the Chris she had known was gone, betrayed by the coward now lying before her.
“Liz…” he tried again.
“I said don’t speak!” she shrieked. Her vision blurred and instinctively her wings snapped open, beating down to send air swirling. A magazine someone had left on the coffee table shot across the room.
Chris shrank down in his sheets, though with the cuffs chaining his wrists to the bed, there was nowhere he could go. She leaned over the bed, her wings casting him in shadow, until there was nothing but him and her and her rage.
