Chapter 19
LIFE GOES ON
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Stepping back into the cabin felt surreal.
In Orson’s hands was a collection of plastic takeout bags.
There was a yellow smiley face, with the words "thank you" on the side. The bags were stretched wide, overfilled with boxes of Chinese food. One box punctured the plastic. Any moment now, the food was going to come spilling out onto the floor—noodles and sticky meat exploding in a mess. Then there’d be no meal, just a disgusting dilemma.
As Orson moved across the living room and towards the kitchen table, I wondered whether we even had the tools to clean up such a mess, or if there was nothing we could do.
Piles of spoiled food, decorated with dust and dirt, right in the middle of the cabin.
The smell would just get worse and worse, and we’d have to pretend it wasn’t.
But the bags didn’t break, and the food didn’t fall. Orson set them on the round dining table and began pulling boxes out of the bag, one at a time, in silence. Nemo settled in the chair he sat in the night before.
Orson set the containers in polite, perfectly even rows—even taking the time to go back and straighten any that got bumped as he went. It reminded me of when I snuck into his basement all that time ago—the polite rows of buckets against the wall, waiting to collect blood from strung up victims.
I walked over and sat in the same chair I’d sat last night, too. The one on my left stayed empty.
I felt numb. I knew the hurt would slip in slowly.
When? I didn’t know. For now, I stared dazed at Orson rearranging the Chinese takeout.
He’d decided they should be in a particular order.
However, once he finished, he reached out in frustration to fix the boxes again.
They weren’t perfectly uniform; some were bowing out with densely packaged food.
It ruined his ability to make them line up just right.
“Fuck,” Orson cursed, grinding his teeth.
His eyes snapped up to Nemo and me, expecting us to call him out for emerging psychological symptoms. But neither one of us reacted, just watched him like anesthetized patients as he began to fall apart.
I wouldn’t have guessed he’d be the first to start breaking.
Funny how there was no predicting these things.
Nemo finally reached out, tossing us all a utensil bag. Orson pulled his hands back as Nemo snatched up containers and peeled them open. He set one in front of all of us.
“Sit,” he told Orson.
“But it’s out of line—”
“Sit,” Nemo commanded. Orson took a deep breath, relaxed marginally, and settled into the chair.
“Eat,” Nemo told us both, starting to dig into his own food.
“I’m not hungry,” I said.
“You’re always hungry.”
“Not for this,” I said, pushing it away. It fell over, and lo mein spilled onto the table. Orson’s hands twitched as he glared at the food.
“You can both eat normal food,” Nemo said.
“I’m not hungry either,” Orson responded.
Nemo looked at both of us. “You need to listen to me—”
Orson’s head snapped up. “I’m not his replacement. You don’t tell me what to do.”
“No one is his replacement,” Nemo growled.
“I’m not your mate, then,” Orson said. “We’re nothing.
” My eyes swept between the two of them, and I realized this was the beginning of the end.
Oh, god. I’d known since the motel, hadn’t I?
There was a reason I woke up having an anxiety attack, desperately slapping together fantasies of shoving them all in a locked basement.
“That’s right.” Nemo smiled cruelly. “You aren’t anyone's mate. The only one here who is, is her,” Nemo said, jerking his head towards me. Did the basement here have a lock on the outside? I needed to check.
Orson’s eyes narrowed. “Are you trying to— You think some animalistic instinct allows you to claim Bree over me?” My eyes drifted over his shoulder to the hall.
There had definitely been a lock on the outside of the basement.
Something digital. I needed the number combination.
But, if I managed to get both Nemo and Orson down there, would they kill each other?
I chewed my inner cheek as I weighed the possibility.
“You wanted to abandon Baz and me as soon as we left the asylum.”
Orson’s face drained of any color it still had from his last feeding.“I—”
“You what?” Nemo spat in disgust. Orson looked at me, then down at the mess on the table. Feverishly, he began to pick up each small piece of lo mein, from greasy noodles to slender strips of cabbage, shoving it back in the box.
“After we ran from the asylum, I was in charge, whether it was planned or not. And so I…”
“You what?” Nemo repeated, shoving his food aside as well.
“Panicked.”
“Oh, please.” Nemo rolled his eyes. “Over what? A dead driver?”
“Over why was I helping you two,” Orson said in absolute annoyance.
Nemo took a deep breath and began massaging his temples. “Without hesitation, you fought an immortal assassin who attacked Baz. Did that not indicate anything to you?” Nemo asked.
“I didn’t know she was immortal,” Orson spat. “Inside, we were thrown together out of necessity—” My attention snapped back to them.
“No, we weren’t,” I seethed. They both jerked, as if shocked I was sitting right there with them. Tentatively, they went back to their fight.
“The only person here who wants me around is Bree,” Orson continued. “Baz himself asked me to help him leave.”
“What?” I asked. My voice sounded thick. Oh no, the numbness was wearing off, and the pain was beginning to seep in.
“He told you what his plans were?” Nemo asked in dismay. Orson scoffed, finally getting all the spilled lo mein in the box. He stared at the grease on his hands.
“He thought I’d care the least, that’s why.”
“Makes sense. You wanted us gone,” Nemo grumbled.
“I didn’t want you gone,” Orson said. He got up and went to the kitchen sink to wash his hands. A look of confusion crawled over Nemo’s face.
“I refused to help him when he asked. Baz was furious,” Orson said over the running water.
“Baz was furious?” I asked.
“As much as he allows himself,” Orson said. “That’s when I went to the both of you with the idea to leave the country ASAP. When I knew he was actually building an idiotic plan, I tried to stop him.”
“Why didn’t you tell us everything?” Nemo asked.
“Because that’s not how I work. I work alone. Or I did, for hundreds of years.”
“Then why are you telling us now?”
“I don’t know,” Orson said in irritation. Sixty-forty, they wouldn’t kill each other when I locked them together in the basement.
Nemo looked over at me and then, slowly, his eyes settled on the empty chair beside me. He appeared to shrink as he slid down in the chair and pulled his shoulders in. Then, he pulled a syringe dart from his pants and set it on the table.
“Baz dropped this when he ran.”
I reached out, twisting the syringe around until I saw the note. There was a phone number and a name. I pressed on my chest, massaging a sudden ache. Supra hadn’t caught up to us, and Baz hadn’t suddenly panicked and run. He’d called them.
Orson came over and looked at the note. He cursed and dropped into a chair.
“This was Damien D'Bolique’s plan all along,” Orson said. “We thought his endgame was using Baz to kill us, but he never cared about us at all. He wanted Baz and played into his weakness.”
My lips pressed together in a thin line, and I flicked the dart. It spun in a circle on the table. Damien knew that if Baz thought he was a danger to us, he’d turn himself in.
“But, why not kill us?” I asked. “If they want to keep Baz and don’t care about us at all, we’re just a risk. Do they really believe we’re incapable of finding him?”
“To control him,” Nemo said.
“What?” I leaned away from the table. I didn’t like that answer.
“He was willing to give himself up to protect us. They’re exploiting that,” Nemo said.
“It’s only logical,” Orson commented.
Nemo leaned back in his chair, covering his face with his hands and groaning. “I failed him,” he said. “I’m not even worthy of having mates.”
I felt dizzy. “Don’t say that.”
Nemo’s eyes were red when he removed his hands. “You should go with Orson.” My throat felt thick.
“Nemo, please,” I begged. “I need you.”
“I fucked everything up. He put faith in me—”
“No, he didn’t,” Orson said. “You know he didn’t. He was telling you what you wanted to hear to make you happy because it was the last time he planned to see you.”
“I could have protected him better.” Nemo’s throat bobbed.
“Baz wanted to be locked up. This was inevitable,” Orson said. I glared at him.
“He was just concerned about leaving Verfallen again,” I said.
“He chose to come to the asylum. No one sent him there. He naturally wants to be kept separate from people. He believes, without a shadow of a doubt, that he’ll hurt every person who’s close to him. He was going to leave eventually.” Orson looked at the boxes on the table, his hands twitching.
“Are you implying he would have left us even if he hadn’t transformed?” I asked.
“Yes,” Orson said.
“Bullshit,” Nemo growled.
“Why are you lying?” I asked. Orson folded his hands in his lap. They were raw from scrubbing. Even though he talked with a steady voice, Orson was as distraught as the rest of us.
“In his mind, he’s an abomination whose only point in living is to kill.”
“So, what? He’s gone. That’s it. He got what he wanted, and we should move on?” I snapped. “And now you two want nothing to do with each other. Nemo wants to be abandoned. Do you want to fuck off as well, Orson? You do things alone, right? Always had before me.”
My eyes went between the two of them. Both men looked away. A strange laugh bubbled from my mouth.
“Oh my god, is that really what’s happening?” I fell back in my chair and covered my face. “But what about Baz?” I asked with choked words. “Verfallen has him.”
“Damien D'Bolique has him,” Nemo practically whispered. When had Nemo ever mumbled?