Chapter Twenty-Six
Lilith
One Week Later
“Oh shit, oh fuck, oh… piss,” Raymond Lincoln mutters into both his palms, as he paces the length of the small dwelling he brought us to.
He called it a safehouse, and it’s in the middle of the Bleed.
Like most of the hovels out here, the building is poorly constructed.
Corrugated steel sheets line the walls like patchwork armor, and it contains a mess of ratty furniture.
But there’s no point in buying nice things, or putting much effort into a building, when a construction crew might arrive at any moment to tear it all to rubble.
He acquired the lot from a poor family who came to Midnite City from Omaha. They sold it to him for a steal, because they were tired of waiting for their ticket to be called into the city.
When his investigation into Alistair began, he wanted to have a place he could run away to, if he needed to disappear in a hurry.
Well, we haven’t been found yet, if they’re hunting us, that is, but his logic still doesn’t track.
Why wouldn’t they look in the Bleed? There might be a thousand shanty buildings and a thousand more faces to scan, but it would be the most obvious place to lie low.
“It’s going to be alright,” I say, in the most reassuring way I can. Both for his sake and for Mom’s.
Ever since she didn’t have to put on a brave face for me, Mom has withdrawn into herself. She has become terrified of this world and its cruelty. A week ago, she wouldn’t have set foot in the Bleed for longer than the drive in and out of it, but now, she seems quite comfortable here.
She sits in an armchair, flicking through the same pages of a magazine she’s already “read” four times. Outwardly, she’s trying to appear normal, while inside she’s trapped in a horrific maze constructed of fear.
“You can’t say that.” Raymond’s pacing reaches a crescendo in the kitchenette. He slams into the breakfast nook, sending our dinner cutlery flying to the floor. “You don’t know that. What if letting you run was a momentary lapse of judgment? What if—”
Knock. Knock. Knock.
The thin wooden front door rattles from the heavy thuds driven into it.
Speak of the devil and he shall appear.
“Oh God, oh no,” Raymond starts again. This time, without reaching into his colorful stock of swear words.
No one moves toward the door, afraid of what they might find waiting outside it.
And, although I feel the same, someone has to answer the door.
It might not be Colter out there; rather someone else from behind Alistair’s Veil, but by the same measure and for all we know it’s a neighbor, come to borrow a cup of sugar.
I peek into the peephole before opening the door. The first second reveals an empty space where someone should be standing. Kids, maybe? Playing a round of ding-dong-ditch before it gets too late to stay out.
But my heart nearly launches out of my chest when Colter’s mask comes into view. He’s looking back at me through the tiny hole, and I have to clamp my mouth shut to stop the horrible screech that’s brewing in my guts.
As quickly as my fear comes, it dissipates when I realize it’s him. Even with his mask on, there’s no mistaking his magnificent proportions.
I open the door, instinctively reaching out to him for a hug, but I’m stopped short by something cold and hard poking into my belly between us.
Is that what I think it is? My teeth sink into my lip.
I’m devastated to find the answer is no. It’s not even close. It’s the suppressor on one of his guns, which is jabbed right against my belly button.
“Inside,” he orders. I stumble backward, nearly falling on my ass from how heavy my head begins to feel.
Raymond was right. He didn’t come here to save us…
He came here to mend a lapse in judgment.
Colter enters the room and slams the door shut behind him.
“Oh fu—” Raymond can’t finish when he sees Colter wielding the gun.
Mom, who finally snaps out of her daze, looks over at the behemoth hovering over me, and breaks out in a horrible scream. The sound rattles around the tin walls and she launches herself out of her chair toward us.
I half expect to see her slam into Colter and the pair of them duke it out in some grand, final-boss battle. But when she gets close enough, Mom falls to her knees, weeping loudly and tugs on his pants while she pleads with him.
“Don’t hurt her. I’m the one who brought us into this. Don’t take it out on my baby,” she pleads.
Colter, however, hasn’t raised his gun from his side since he entered the building. He hasn’t made any threats or shown any signs of an intention to kill us, apart from holding a gun. Mom’s reaction comes from his presence alone.
“I’m not going to hurt her, Maybelle. And you can rest easy, Raymond.” His voice doesn’t mimic the kind words he speaks.
“Then what are yo—” Colter doesn’t wait for Raymond to finish the question. He aims his gun at the chair Mom was sitting in and fires one bullet. He lets loose a second at the wall above my head.
“I wouldn’t do this unless it was necessary.” Colter motions with his hand for Mom and me to stay down as he walks over us to join Raymond in the kitchenette. “But I can’t be sure, they haven’t had me followed.”
“How do you know they won’t kick in the door once you’re gone?” Raymond asks. It’s a valid question.
“Because no one is willing to stand against the Ghost’s righteous vengeance.
Not even for the Head,” Colter says, although I doubt any of us understand what that means.
“I have to thank you for what you’ve done, Raymond.
” He raises the gun an inch to the side of Raymond’s head.
“And I must apologize for what comes next.”
Raymond shrinks away from him, holding both arms up to his chest. Colter’s sinister message is so cryptic even I’m not sure if he means he’s going to shoot him or not.
But I don’t interfere and, as with everything he’s done so far, Colter doesn’t shoot Raymond. He twists his wrist and flings it sideways, slamming the pistol’s handle against the bridge of the reporter’s nose.
“What the fuck wa—” Raymond starts shouting, cupping his bleeding face.
Colter slams his gloved hand over the man’s mouth, hissing shh, to enforce his silence. “Dead men don’t speak, Raymond. Continue trying, and I’ll have to teach you the lesson in a more literal way.”
He fires a third, and final bullet into the cupboard next to Raymond.
Colter doesn’t have to suggest he fall over and play dead, because Raymond’s body does so naturally.
He slides down the rickety cupboard, flat on his ass, staring wide-eyed at the man who just saved his life…
by pretending to take it. He doesn’t utter another sound, not even to breathe audibly, and if it weren’t for his twitching eyelids, I’d think Colter had missed the cupboard and hit his intended mark by accident.
“Did you really have to hit him?” I ask.
Colter waves his gun-free hand across his body, showing the blood droplets that stain his clothes and mask. He doesn’t say a word, but I understand. He needs to look like a person who just killed three people.
“A clean-up crew will arrive here in the morning. I would suggest you’re gone before they do.” Colter makes his way to the door, treading carefully around us, as if we actually were corpses.
“What about you?” I ask, fighting against my body’s natural instinct to rush over and stop him from leaving.
“There is one more matter I must see to, tonight.” He doesn’t look over at any of us.
“But when it’s done, Lilith, I will come for you.”