Chapter 25 #2
“You wouldn’t dare.”
“Oh, I absolutely will,” he bites back.
“Maybe you should speak to me instead of running away.”
He throws his hands in the air, and I watch his silver eyes return. “I’ve tried. Don’t you get that?” His fingers slam into his temple twice. “But you are so angry that you can’t even have a conversation without trying to kill me. You are the problem here, Mara, not me.”
“Because I don’t know if you killed my dad, but I know you were there.”
He moves his face inches from mine, and I blink. “If you’d get your head out of your ass, you’d let me tell you everything instead of trying to murder me.”
“I’m fucking trying,” I shout. “I’ve been trying to talk to you since this morning.”
Rage dances in Crew’s eyes. “I told you I didn’t kill your father, so stop saying that bullshit, but I was trying to stop who did.”
“What did you say?” I step forward, the alcohol causing my legs to wobble.
“You fucking heard me.” He looms over me. “I was there that night. I stumbled upon something I never meant to, and after I watched a man I didn’t know die, I went after the guy I saw covered in blood.”
“You didn’t—” I begin to speak, but he cuts me off.
“No,” he says, voice raised over mine.
I start to argue back, letting the memories hit me, but a loud blast fills my ears and rattles the concrete walls of the alley. I stumble forward, almost falling into Crew, and a numbness immediately spreads to my legs.
Crew’s eyes widen as they scan my torso, and a dull pain takes over my stomach.
I sluggishly move my gaze down to my lower abdomen and see blood leaking from a bullet wound that went completely through me.
I clasp my hands over the hole, and my chest heaves as the panic sets in.
I begin to hyperventilate, feeling my body going into shock in a failed attempt to stop the blood gushing from my stomach.
“Fuck,” Crew says.
“H— help,” I whisper, as my hands begin to tremble.
His eyes turn black, and a scream louder than the gun pierces my ears from his throat.
He turns to see the first man I shot, holding a gun in his other hand, shaking as he fires it directly at us.
Crew flies forward at a rate I can’t keep up with, and I hazily watch as his hand goes into the man’s chest. A low growl leaves his throat as he rips the heart clean out of the demon’s body.
I swear I’m dreaming—I’m back in the mental assessment, watching Crew rip the heart out of Shaw’s body—but it’s not Shaw, and this isn’t a dream.
I become more frantic as I struggle to take a good breath, and my vision blurs as I begin to choke on my own blood.
I step back, feeling the warm liquid coating my hands, and I realize I’m going to die, shot in an alleyway, just as my father did.
The thing that makes it worse is that I watch Crew disappear around the corner, leaving me to die alone. Again. Just like my father.
I try to speak, but the words get trapped, and my breath becomes more rapid and shallow.
I try to cry, but I can’t. I reach for him, but he vanishes, leaving my bloody fingers reaching for someone I’ve pushed away.
A numbness takes over my arms next, and I crash to the ground, covered in my blood.
I watch as the last light from the glowing sun fades behind the horizon and the stars shine in the night sky.
I manage to cough out a single word as darkness overwhelms my trembling body. A weakness moves through me, and my hands can no longer grip my blood-soaked torso. My body convulses, a sob gets confined in my throat, and my arms fall to my sides with a wet thud as I lie in the filth of the alley.
“…Crew.”
Ithink I’m dead.
A man stands before me.
Dark hair, a towering posture, and a sly grin that paints his face with otherworldly beauty and madness. I reach forward but can’t touch him. I sit up, expecting unbearable pain to move through me, but I’m met with nothing.
My vision sharpens, and the person before me is the embodiment of emotional absence. He’s void, he’s numb, and he’s entirely lacking in all aspects that define humanity.
He is haunting, yet familiar in ways I cannot express. He’s gravitating but terrifying, and although I want to reach out and let his arms wrap around me, I feel myself pulling even my soul away from his dark grip.
It doesn’t take long for me to realize I’m before the Grim Reaper himself. But this time, instead of fear, I feel something that settles into my core—peaceful yet hurried. I feel broken yet whole. And for some reason, everything within me tells me to turn around and run in the opposite direction.
His large frame looms above me like a black cloud of despair, and I gawk at his beautiful, demanding presence. He opens his mouth to speak, but only darkness fills my ears—like a sweet lullaby of doom.
An ethereal glow spreads around me like newfound wings, and I look to my stomach. No wound meets my eyes, and although fear runs through me like chilled water, I’m at peace.
“Hello, child,” the Grim’s deep voice echoes in my brain.
I stare at him. A dark yet bright glow floats around him like an enchanting light, and I focus on his massive scythe.
“You can see me,” he whispers. “Not many can outside their time of death.”
“I’ve seen you for years,” I respond.
He smiles, and a darkness curls his lips. “I know, and there is a reason for that.”
A tear rolls down my cheek.
“Are you going to tell me?” I hesitate to ask.
“Because we are similar,” he responds.
The massive figure leans forward, shaking his head. I inhale deeply, unable to shake the feeling that something draws me toward him.
“Are you ready?” His long arm reaches forward. “If something doesn’t happen immediately, your time is now, Mara.”
I sit back, pressing my back against the cold concrete wall.
“No,” I whisper, and grab onto my necklace as if it’s the only thing keeping me in my right mind.
The Grim smiles, placing his scythe before his nearly invisible body. “I know what journey you are on.”
I stare, unable to move.
“You have been assigned to kill me by your Elder.” He lowers his head toward his scythe. “Is that right?”
Unable to speak, I nod.
“One cannot kill me, for I am not an embodiment of life and death. However, should one get so lucky, I can be replaced by very few. To hold the scythe is to impute your own soul into the job of death itself. Are you asking for that, Mara?”
I shake my head.
“I am darkness and light. I am everything that embodies both and nothing all the same. I am fate and destiny. I am the Reaper. I am the decision you will face one day. I am the harsh and beautiful consequences of life—the results of your actions—and one day you will meet me again.” The shadowy figure steps backward.
“I very much look forward to the destiny disposed for you, Mara Castten. You will do amazingly terrifying things.”
A tear rolls down my cheek as I watch him begin to fade into nothing.
“Do not fear the demon man,” he whispers.
“I don’t fear him.”
“Trust him,” the voice hisses.
“Why?”
“You were meant to.”
I blink lazily.
“Fear the ones who mock the power.”
A searing pain jolts through my sides as I watch the man walk away, straight into the void of light and dark.
A scream pierces the air, and it doesn’t take me long to realize that it’s my own. I’m screaming, and I’m still alive.
For now.
Another shriek rips me from unconsciousness, but I can’t see. It’s dark, and the pain is what blinds me. I attempt to claw at my side, but my hands are held down by a familiar warm touch that I fear threatens to tear me apart.
A sob erupts from my throat, rattling the space around me into pieces, as I return to my broken body. Blood and sweat coat the sheets, and although I’m firmly placed upon a soft bed, my mind feels as if I’m back in the alleyway fighting for my life.
But I’m not. I’m trapped.
It’s dark, and my body and mind are telling me I’m back in that cold prison cell. I’m back in confinement. I’m dying, and I’m going to fade into the darkness alone.
Another scream burns my throat as I realize my worst fear is coming to life. I thrash against the thought, and a new crippling panic threatens to take my life from its own fragile hold.
“Mara!” a deep voice shouts, accompanied by a plea. “Mara, please.”
But I can’t determine to whom the voice belongs. It’s neither familiar nor foreign. It’s both distant and close to my ear at the same time. It’s lovely and haunting simultaneously, and with another thrash, I open my bloodshot eyes.
The room comes into focus, and I realize I’m back in the musty old apartment miles outside of town.
I’m in the small bed, and Crew sits nearly on top of my entire body, pinning me down.
My breathing is so rapid that I fear my ribcage might crack, and the terror reflected in Crew’s silver eyes pulls me back to reality.
“Goddamnit, Mara, stop thrashing,” he begs. “Please.”
I slowly regain control and stop the movement in my arms and legs. However, the pain settles in worse than the burns that have newly scarred my back. Against my will, I reach to touch the hole that sits upon my lower left side, and feel another gasp leave my lips from the pain.
“Calm down,” Crew says. “I am begging you to listen to me this time.”
My quick, darting eyes slow, and I meet his gaze. He appears serious yet frantic, and with his pleading words, I pause and listen.
“You are in Locke’s apartment,” his voice calmly says. “You are safe. I’m here. But you need to stop moving.”
I can’t control my breathing, as if my body knows each gasp is precious.
“Every time you move, the wounds open, and your body starts the healing process all over again.”
“This—This isn’t real.” I gasp for air.
Crew’s hand moves to my face, directing my eyes toward his. “Look at me.”
I try to find his face, but I can’t through the haze.
“I’m here,” Crew says, gently.