Chapter Seventy-Five
Cade
T he night is dead, the air still, as I silently flip over the final chair. I’m a ghost in the empty pews of a celebration yet to come, behind the dormitories and on the cusp of tamed woodland. It’s a pristine set up with an ugly underbelly; My bombs attached to ninety-nine of the perfectly spaced chairs—soon to be one-hundred.
I turn to the crate and its lone holding, scooping out the last of three years of hard work, as a sleepy kind of ache sets in my bones. This is the crest of a steep mountain, and I can’t help but want to finally rest my bones. There’s nothing left to do but show up tomorrow.
I rip off a piece of putty and kneel down in the lush grass, not sure if I’m hoping someone else does or does not show up tomorrow. My darkness has invaded her, though. My pretty little angel has no wings left. Sky might be as sick as me now. I held her on those tracks and she gave up, willing to let me pull her into hell with me.
Even after, when she revealed that she knew, I stopped and waited for her to threaten to turn me in. But it never came. How she knows, or how much, I have no idea. It doesn’t matter at this point. What matters is that she does, and she hasn’t done anything about it. All she wants is to try and stop me from selling my soul to the devil. But she doesn’t know about Bobby. And that I already have.
A stubborn tear leaks from the corner of my eye and falls onto the bomb.
I love you, Cade. Let me help you.
“I love you too,” I breathe. “But you can’t help me.”
I wipe the tear away and stretch a strip of duct tape over the explosive.
We’re about to leave this place.
“I wish, angel. I wish.”
Maybe I don’t want her to come tomorrow. Maybe one of us should make it out of here. Even if that means she finds out about Bobby.
Another damn tear falls.
Right now, somehow, she still loves me, and as selfish as it is, I don’t want her to stop. I tried. I really did. I tried to get her to hate me, to be sickened by my thirst, but the poison runs deep in her veins. Would the cure be knowing I killed the most innocent person on this campus?
I sigh and flip the chair back into place. Taking a step back, I give a long, blurry look at my work through forsaken tears. The rows and rows of seats leading up to the pulpit are immaculate, glowing white in the night. There’s nothing to see of what I’ve done. Which is exactly how it’s supposed to be.
I toss my supplies into the crate and hide it under the stage, too tired to take it back to the shack. I won’t need them, or anything, after tomorrow anyway.
My eyes droop as I fumble through the quad, my hood feeling heavy, and I pause at the old sycamore in front of Lamb Hall. It would be as good a place to sleep as any, but Sky doesn’t deserve to meet the reaper in the morning, and I don’t want her getting the wrong idea. I also don’t think I’m strong enough to resist her again. I force myself to move on and head toward the faculty grounds.
I slide my fingers along the top sill of the door and frown when I find the small piece of metal. Even after pushing her away, she still leaves a key for me. Something sick fills up in my stomach as I rub my fingers on the teeth of it and I lean my forehead against the door.
“I’m so sorry, mom,” I whisper and swallow back the bile. “It’s not your fault.”
I stay still for a long moment, focusing on my shallow breaths, until the urge to throw up passes, and then I unlock the door. The space is quiet and neat, with little night lights that lead me down the hallway and over the thinning antique rug. I softly push open the bedroom door.
Tomorrow is a big day for the headmistress. A proud day. And she sleeps soundly knowing one of the bright pupils is her son, who will soon be off to college.
Yes, he’s troubled, but he’s on the right path. I imagine the thoughts she had before drifting off. I mean, he’s top of his class, after all. He can’t be that disturbed. I did a good job. He’s a good boy deep down. She convinces herself.
I stifle a sob and peel the blanket back. You did a really good job, mom. I crawl in next to her. I wish I could tell her how much I love her. When the light calls to her, I hope she knows she’s not responsible. I wonder if I’ll get to say goodbye in the moments before our souls are sorted. Will all the faces of those I’ve condemned be there as well, scornful and bloody?
I squeeze my eyes shut against the idea, and make myself small, as if I’m a little boy again, and curl into my mother. She doesn’t wake, but her hand finds my shoulder, warm and nurturing. And for one last night in this world, I fall asleep in my mother’s arms.