* * *
Everything hurt, and he felt as if he were underwater. Something pulled at his hand and helped give him center. He turned toward the touch and saw a blurry image of a woman’s face.
“Mom?” he said, his voice sounding foreign to him. His mouth was thick with blood, the metallic tang of it filling his nose as well.
The face pulled a bit closer and his vision settled somewhat. “Wy’?”
He tried to move, but something stopped him. He couldn’t be sure of what it was. All he could feel was the pain and the hand grabbing his own. He blinked and squinted, trying to see her more clearly. His mother tried to smile, but a grimace stole over her face instead. It was a sheet of blood. Her hair was matted, hanging in wet clumps.
“Mom? What happened?”
“You,” she said, her grimace shifting into a frown. Her eyes narrowed, oblivious to the torrent of blood that ran into them from a gash across her forehead. “You self-centered little asshole. You happened.”
Wyatt started and tried to pull back, but the hand that held his tightened and pulled him toward her instead. The edges of his vision were a kaleidoscope of blood and flame, smoke and shadow. But the face in the center was clear.
His mother snarled and gnashed her teeth like a crazed beast. “I should never have had you, you worthless devil spawn. I should have cut you out as soon as I knew. You were never anything but a burden, a plague upon my life. And now this.”
She turned and spit a mouthful of blood. As she did, Wyatt could see a sizable portion on the back of her head was missing, as if it had been bitten away by a dragon. When she turned back to face him, she was smiling. Some of her teeth were missing, but the empty spots filled with curved fangs as she grinned. Her eyes crackled like fire and a sharp-pointed tongue snapped at him. He recoiled and this time broke away, falling backwards onto a cold and polished tile floor.
“You bastard,” said a vaguely familiar voice.
For a moment, Wyatt thought it was the bloodied face of his mother speaking, but then he recognized it, just as he did his surroundings. He sat up with a gasp, taking in the image of the dimly lit hallway at a glance.
The Bad Man looked down at him and smiled, the edges of the grin reaching the limits of his head, splitting it into two pieces. Then it turned back to Julia. No, Wyatt thought as the voice echoed in his mind. It wasn’t Julia that had spoken.
“Lucy, no,” Wyatt said. He had meant to shout it, but his throat felt like the Bad Man still gripped it, and his entire body trembled.
“You’ve been a naughty girl, Lucy,” the Bad Man said, moving away from Wyatt. “I told you not to involve him, now didn’t I? I told you to stay away.”
Wyatt made to stand, but faltered and fell back to his knees. He couldn’t stop shaking. He could still smell the blood. His tongue still tasted it.
Lucy shifted away from the wall, but kept her distance. “It wasn’t me. I didn’t want him here. And I don’t want him here now.”
“But here he is,” the Bad Man said, pointing a misty finger at Wyatt.
The Bad Man took a step toward Lucy, and she took a step away. “It’s time to play, Lucy. And it’s time to punish you for disobeying me.”
Lucy took another step back and fell to the floor. “It wasn’t me,” she sputtered. “It was the other shadows. And Julia. They told her to find him.”
The Bad Man slammed a fist into the wall and the entire hallway shook. Wyatt brought a shaky hand to his chest, searching for strength, and finding none.
“I told you to stay away. I told you not to listen to the others. You, Lucy, you!”
Lucy held up a placating hand. “It wasn’t my fault.”
Wyatt fell forward onto his hands and knees and tried to crawl toward the open office door. If he could find his amulet, he could save her. He could save both of them. He only made it a foot before the Bad Man sensed the movement, whirled on him, and lifted him from the floor again.
The Bad Man held him in front of Lucy and shook him. “This is what you disobeyed me for? This…this…failure?”
Lucy shook her head. “It was them. Them. Not me. I don’t want him. I told you.”
“I don’t believe you,” the Bad Man said.
“Please,” Lucy begged. “I didn’t do anything. Please just leave us alone. I don’t want to see—”
“US?!” the Bad Man screamed. “Now you’re an us? You and this thing?” He shook Wyatt again.
“I’m not a thing,” Wyatt managed to say. “I’m a Druid.”
“Oh, have you found your false courage again, thing?” the Bad Man snarled. “It’s a shame Lucy interrupted our playing before. Perhaps you’d like to resume.”
The scent of blood and burned flesh returned with a vengeance and Wyatt vomited onto the floor, splattering Lucy, though she seemed not to notice.
“No,” she said, wiping away her tears. “Leave him. Take me. I’m ready now.”
The Bad Man held Wyatt at its side, allowing his feet to touch the ground once more, but still maintaining its grip. It was the only thing keeping him upright.
“There you are again, protecting this one,” the Bad Man said, eerily calm. “No. Before we go and play this night, you shall prove what you’ve told me. A reaffirming of vows.”
“What?” Lucy said, her bottom lip trembling.
The Bad Man stepped aside, dragging Wyatt with him, and pointed with its free hand at the guard. “A shame, really,” the Bad Man said, then shrugging in a far too human manner, continued, “be a doll, Lucy, and grab that man’s flashlight.”
Lucy stared at the guard without moving. Wyatt wiped at the vomit on his face. I need my amulet, he thought. Then I can defeat this thing and take both Julia and me far away from here.
“Now!” the Bad Man shouted suddenly. “Lucy, now.”
Lucy jumped and went to the guard, stepping in the growing blood pool and retrieving the fallen flashlight. She moved back to her original place, clutching the heavy object in both hands, eyes betraying her nerves.
“Good,” the Bad Man said. He dragged Wyatt to the front and kicked in the backs of his knees, forcing him to kneel. He still had Wyatt by the neck, not that he had the strength to fight. Not without his amulet. Not without his power.
“Now,” the Bad Man continued. “I want you to strike him.”
Lucy took a step back, holding the flashlight to her chest the same way Julia cradled Bearsy. “What?” she asked, in the same stupor as she had before.
The Bad Man growled. “I want you to strike him with that flashlight as hard as you can.”
“But…”
“Lucy!” the Bad Man shouted. “Do as I command. And maybe, just maybe, we will play a different game tonight.”
Lucy looked up at that. “Different? You…I won’t have to remember?”
“Now!”
Lucy looked at Wyatt and stepped toward him, holding the flashlight more like a weapon than a stuffed bear.
“Don’t,” Wyatt said. “Julia, if you’re in there, don’t listen to him. Whatever he’s done to you…we can beat him. I just need my—” The Bad Man shook Wyatt, silencing him.
“Lucy…” the shade growled.
Lucy took another step toward him, now within striking distance. She raised the flashlight over her head like a club. The light was still on, pointing directly down at her, transforming her into an angel.
“I’m not Julia,” she said. “My name is Lucy. And I don’t want to remember anymore.”
“Remember what?” Wyatt asked, hoping to stall her for a moment. To what end, he couldn’t say, but the gleam in her eyes told him she meant every word she was saying. And it terrified him more than even the Bad Man, and more than what he had been shown.
Wyatt could see every muscle in Lucy’s body tense at once. “You,” she said. “I don’t want to remember you.”
And then, with all the force a small girl can muster, she swung.
Chapter Thirty-Seven
“WELL
, GOOD MORNING, sleepy head,” said a voice from the haze.
Wyatt couldn’t tell where it had come from and when he tried to move, pain ran through his head like a hot lance. He grunted and released the tension in his body. The pain subsided and fluorescent lights came into focus. Then came the smell of fresh rain and pine. After another moment, he could hear distant voices, and the clatter of activity. Something gripped his wrist and he turned toward it with a grimace.
Ms. Abagail looked back, the pink strand in her hair hanging over her left eye. She squeezed his wrist again and sat back in a padded chair. A magazine was opened across her lap and a colorful can of energy drink sat on the nearby table. She smiled and put the magazine aside.
“How you feeling?” she asked. “And I know that’s a bit of a dumb question, but it’s what I’m supposed to ask, yeah?” She smiled.
Wyatt flexed his fingers and shifted his legs. His eyes roamed, his mind trying to piece together what had happened. He couldn’t have traveled between worlds, for Ms. Abagail and the artificial light confirmed he was still on Earth. He brought a hand to his chest, reminding himself of having lost his amulet. He turned away from Ms. Abagail, looking toward the open window. He couldn’t see the forest, but the scent of it hung thick in the air, masking the scent of disinfectant. So, still at Greenwood then, he thought. A stack of medical machines pulsed with different colored lights next to the bed he laid in.
He twisted his head back to Ms. Abagail. She was still smiling and brushed the strand of pink behind her ear.
“What happened?” he asked, his tongue feeling too thick for his mouth.
Ms. Abagail frowned. “You don’t remember? Wyatt…you and…you and Julia—”
Wyatt lurched upward with a start, his head exploding both in pain and realization. It came back like a single wave, crashing into his consciousness. Ms. Abagail jumped up and put a hand to his back and grabbed his arm. She eased him back against the metal headboard.
“Julia,” he said, his voice now rasping. He continued repeating her name, knowing it sounded mad.
“Wyatt, relax,” Ms. Abagail said softly. She pressed a plastic cup of water into his hand.
He drained it in one pull and gasped for another. Ms. Abagail refilled it and he drained it again. Water ran down his chin as he stared straight ahead, replaying the events over in his mind. The room began to spin as he reached the moment Lucy had struck him.
“Wyatt,” Ms. Abagail said. Her voice drew the room to a halt and settled his panic.
Grounded once more, he set aside the cup and looked at her. “Where’s Lucy?”
Ms. Abagail wrinkled her brow. “You mean Julia?”
Wyatt shook his head. “No. Well, yes. Where is she?”
“She’s all right,” Ms. Abagail said, her eyes jumping away for a moment when she answered. “Do you remember what happened?”
He nodded. “All of it.”
Ms. Abagail looked at the open door of the small room, then stood and closed it softly. When she returned to her seat, her smile was gone.
“The police are going to want to talk to you now that you’re awake,” she said quietly. “But I maybe you can tell me what happened first?”
“Police? You said Julia was all right.”
Ms. Abagail grabbed her can of soda and brought it to her lap with both hands, but didn’t drink from it. “The guard, Wyatt. What happened?”
“Wait. The guard…is he…”
Ms. Abagail nodded. “A night nurse found you lying unconscious next to his body.”
“And Julia?”
“She was there too, holed up in the office, hiding under a desk.” Ms. Abagail looked away again.
“What? Ms. Abagail,” Wyatt pleaded. He tried to inch closer to her atop the bed, but every motion dimmed his vision and paralyzed him.
“They said she was covered in blood, holding a big metal flashlight, repeating your name over and over.”
Wyatt slowly put a hand to his head and felt a thick bandage that went all the way around the top of his head.
“Did Julia hit you? And the guard?”
“No. Lucy hit me. But only because the Bad Man made her. And he, or it, killed the guard.”
“I want to help you, Wyatt,” Ms. Abagail said. “But you gotta be straight with me. They want to know how you two got out of your rooms and what you were doing by the main entrance.”
“I am telling the truth,” Wyatt said a little too loudly. He winced and slumped down into the bed, closing his eyes against the pulses of pain. When he had caught his breath, he said, “We were trying to get back my amulet. They stole it from me and put it in the office.”
When he opened his eyes, he saw Ms. Abagail nodding slowly, as if putting something together in her mind.
“What?” he asked.
She shook her head.
“You don’t believe me, do you?” he asked when she didn’t respond.
Ms. Abagail sighed. Suddenly, she looked tired. “Wyatt, honestly, I don’t know what to think about any of this. I just…I just wish I could help you.”
Something in the corner of the room caught Wyatt’s eye. A flicker of a flame had lit the corner of a waste basket. His eyes grew wide as he watched the small flame grow, until it danced wickedly around the entire perimeter.
“Wyatt?” Ms. Abagail asked, leaning toward him, trying to catch his gaze.
The basket was in the corner behind her and Wyatt continued to stare over her shoulder at it. He thought it an illusion of some sort, perhaps brought on by the blow to his head, and he almost dismissed it, but then the air filled with a scent that turned his spine into a flagpole. Burning flesh.
“Wyatt?” Ms. Abagail repeated, this time grabbing his forearm and shaking it gently.
He raised his other arm and pointed at the small blaze. Ms. Abagail turned, and as she did, the flame guttered out. She turned back and frowned.
“You all right?”
Wyatt shook his head. The flames had vanished, but the smell remained. And somewhere in the distance, wafting along the night breeze, through the open window, he could hear his mother ask him the only question she cared to pose.
Wyatt grabbed his head with both hands and brought his knees to his chest. Flashes of the Bad Man’s nightmare pulsed in his mind with each panicked beating of his heart. Was it near? Had the wicked creature left Lucy and latched onto him? He squinted against the pain at his temples and looked around the room, expecting to see the shadowed head split in an impossible grin. But he saw nothing of the sort.
Ms. Abagail stood and grabbed him by the shoulders, nearly falling into the bed with him. She leaned into his direct view. It took a few tries, but at last, Wyatt was able to get his senses to focus on the bright pink stripe of hair and the concerned grimace facing him.
“Ms. Abagail?” he whispered.
“Yeah, Wyatt?” She relaxed some, let go of his shoulders, and sat on the edge of the bed.
“You’ve read my file, right?”
A flicker of a smile flitted across her face. “You know I have.”
He nodded slowly, trying to decide how far he was willing to go. Even the memory of the memories the Bad Man had shown him, however convoluted, were haunting. The air still smelled of death and it paralyzed him. I’m not afraid, he told himself, though he knew it was a lie. Something told him that was what the Bad Man wanted; for him to be afraid. He tried to remember what it had felt like battling the Fae. He tried to recall the rush he had gotten when he had felled the pine just outside of Greenwood. And he tried to envision Athena’s smirk and Maia’s laugh. He thought of Rozen and the way she danced with her blades, Julia and the wonder with which she prowled through the night. Desperately, his mind searched for the moments of bliss and acceptance he had found across both worlds. He let out a deep sigh, feeling his body relax. The fear was still there, but so was his determination.
“I need to know,” he said quietly.
“Know what?”
Wyatt turn
ed and locked eyes with Ms. Abagail. “I need to know what…I need to know how I killed my parents. I want to know what happened. All of it.”
Ms. Abagail started and she broke eye contact, quickly looking everywhere in the room but at Wyatt. He thought she was going to up and flee the room, but after a moment, she turned back, eyes still jumpy, and nodded.
“All right,” she said.
He hadn’t expected her to acquiesce so easily, but he wasn’t about to question it. They sat in silence a time, each looking away from each other. A cool breeze infiltrated the open window, banishing the remnants of the smell Wyatt would rather not think on any longer. He breathed deeply.
“How’s Athena?” Ms. Abagail inquired, startling Wyatt.
“So, you do believe me?” he asked, though it wasn’t a question. He knew she had seen him cross worlds before, though she had still to admit it.
Ms. Abagail returned to her chair and grabbed for the can of energy drink. “It doesn’t matter what I believe.”
He frowned. “Then why ask?”
She shrugged. “Because you believe it, and whatever is really going on, whether real or not, got you to a point of remembering, or at least wanting to remember. And maybe that makes it all worth it.”
Wyatt thought of the slain guard and felt a tinge of bile form in his throat. Up until that point, Wyatt wasn’t entirely sure himself that what he experienced was real. But for that guard to die…he shuddered.
“I guess,” he said.
“You don’t think so? Look, you’ve been through a hell of a lot, pardon my language, but you have been, and it’s a lot more than I’ve ever had to deal with, but if you’re remembering what…for you to ask about your past, well, I don’t know, I think that’s a good thing.”
Wyatt thought about her assertion for a long moment. It brought back the memory of the guard smashing into the wall. It brought back the red of his blood on the floor and the savagery of the Bad Man. He grunted and dismissed it.
“She’s good,” he said, tracing back to Ms. Abagail’s original question, if for nothing else then to distract himself from darker thoughts.
The Druid's Guise: The Complete Trilogy (The Druid's Guise Trilogy) Page 55
