Chapter Thirty-Five
Jackson
D eath had found … an alternative option.
War's words play over and over again in my mind like a cyclone. Death had stopped perfecting his device because he'd found another way. The ravens had followed my words. The Ghouls had responded to my commands. I didn't know what it meant, but I knew one thing. Those were Death's powers. And if I had some of his powers, maybe I had more? I swallow uncomfortably, the hard lump in my throat growing. The thought is as frightening as it gets, but I can't ignore it.
Our footsteps ring painfully through the stairwell, bouncing off the concrete steps and metal handrails. Strip lights overhead throb down on us. War had Brian show us to his private staircase. It was quicker than the slow and busy lifts, but we were about halfway down and apparently, all my hours in the gym hadn't quite given me the cardio fitness I thought it had.
Millie is one floor below me. I see her dark curls bouncing as she strides down the steps. Hear her rough breathing. She looks up at me, hesitating, before looking back down. Her eyes aren't cold or angry, just conflicted—like I'm a question she hasn't found the answer to. She continues her way down, and I watch for a moment, slowing my steps.
What if I could stop all this?
I pause. Millie doesn't notice; she keeps going. I grip the handrail hard enough for my knuckles to turn ivory. My body is stiff, and heat rises through my skin. I don't know how to do this, even if I can. With the ravens and the Ghouls, I did nothing. I just felt it. It came from nowhere. Maybe we don't need Death’s time device; maybe we just need me …
I stand there, close my eyes and just try to feel. For what, I don't know. But I need to try. My thoughts become too loud, like every tiny noise in that staircase. The air feels thin, the scent of car fumes from the garage turning to acid on my tongue. Millie's footsteps, her rapid breathing, the echo of gravel scattering down a dozen floors after being nudged by Millie's foot. The overhead lights buzzing, the flickering light—it all seems to grow, to throb.
And then I can feel it. Nothing. Everything. An entire universe of darkness flows through me like a black river, like ash passing through my fingers. And each tiny fragment is another second, another minute, an hour, a decade.
I'm on a rollercoaster, and at first, the speed is manageable, even pleasurable. Then it's too fast, more than my mind and my body can handle. I'm soaring through existence, hurtling through, like a comet soaring through the solar system.
I see my past. The good, the bad. I see my mother. Smell her food as she bakes, hear her laugh, see the cloud of white filling our warm kitchen as she throws flour playfully at me. I don't want to leave that place, those moments, but I keep moving. I can't stop it. I see Camille: her sweet laugh, the soft flick of her ebony hair. I see myself, the boy I was before I died. I see the future I thought I'd have with her, a gold band I never gave her. And the fire, I see its rage and fury as it tears apart her small village, turning everything to black. I feel the rough ground beneath my knees as I watch my future burn. I feel red hot tears scolding my cheeks. And then I'm surrounded by filth, half-buried in the dirt. The world around me is hell. There is no other word. No language I speak has a word that can convey it. I hear guns spitting their venom. I smell smoke and hear the cries of boys like me. Our lives sinking beneath the mud. I feel my death surging closer.
It's too much. I reach out with my mind, trying to hold on to something, anything. But everything just passes through. I can't control time. I can't control whatever this is.
I don't want this. I never wanted this.
“Jackson,” Millie's voice is faint—far away—but it breaks through the darkness. It's so distant, but I cling to it, use it to ground myself, pull myself back to her. It's hard, but that velvety blackness is so easy.
“Jackson!”
The terror in her voice shakes me. And I hate it. I've already hurt her so much. Dragging myself back, I claw my way through the darkness towards her. I follow her voice like a beacon.
I'm back in a body I didn't even know I'd left. Opening my eyes slowly, I’m aware of the growing throb that I've hit my head. The back of my skull is on fire. Millie is above me, her skin stripped of colour, her eyes peering out from a face lined with dread, her dark curls around her face like a halo. She's leaning over me, blocking out the bright lights from far above. Millie's fingers are clawing at my shirt. I'm lying on my back, the cold concrete hard and uncomfortable. I'd dropped over a dozen floors to the bottom of the stairwell. No wonder my head hurt …
“Hey, gorgeous,” I croak.
She squeals and tugs harder, leaning down till her forehead touches my shirt.
“What the hell was that? You … you fell. You dropped over the railing, you … and then you wouldn't wake up. You wouldn't wake up!” Millie's fear clouds her voice.
I reach up to touch her, and the moment my fingers graze her skin, it comes back to me. The strange sense of time, how it moved through me like a waterfall. And here she is, grounding me. Her smell, the warmth of her flesh.
“Where did you go, Jackson?” she whispers. Peering down at me quizzically, her hands grip my shirt. “I thought … I thought you'd left me.”
I don't feel myself move, don't notice my body jerking upright. My face is close to hers until we're sitting at the base of this dank staircase, sharing the same breath. The look in her eyes shifts from fear into something else. I don't notice my mouth sweeping against hers. She gasps and pulls away. Anger shoots across her face. I'm panting, and she's staring at me, her eyes wide and lips parted. And then she pulls me by the shirt back to her and crushes her mouth to mine, her teeth tugging on my bottom lip. Her hands slip under my shirt, her nails digging painfully into my chest. I pull her onto me so she sits in my lap, her legs wrapping around my waist, my hands gripping her hips. She whimpers when my hands find their way under her dress, up her thighs, her hips, feel the delicate lace of her bra. I moan into her neck.
“Jackson?” She exhales, her voice breathless, her lips swollen.
I can't take it. I seek her mouth again. Back into the kiss. She moans but pulls away from me. I kiss her collarbone, my hands slipping under that soft lace, finding even softer skin.
“Jackson, we can't …”
She pulls herself up and off me, leaving a growl caught in my throat, and harder than I've ever been in my life. She's standing above me, panting. Her dress, dishevelled from my touches, is riding a little too high up her thighs. I can’t drag my gaze away.
“This is all crazy. And I need to keep things steady right now. You make me … you make me forget myself. And I'm still mad at you, OK? I'm still mad and what was that? One second, you were walking down the stairs, and the next moment, you toppled over, and you were here. I thought … I thought …”
“I can't die, Millie,” I say as I sit up straighter, groaning. “I'm already dead.”
Millie looks down at me as if she's only just realised this. Then she shudders, leaving the thought behind. Her face turns serious, the flush from her lust fading.
“Why did you fall?”
“I tripped,” I say too quickly.
Millie watches as I try to haul myself up. Her arms folded across her chest, her lips pursed. Whatever that was, it wasn't anything like controlling ravens or Ghouls. It was more, so much more than I could control. We needed the device. It was unavoidable. Where we were going next was not a place anyone sane liked to visit, but I'd left sanity behind the moment I'd given my heart to a mortal girl who was currently looking at me like she wanted to strike me down.
“Try again.” She throws her arms wide. “The lights, they were flashing. The light bulbs exploded. And you were just standing there like nothing was happening. And then you fell. So. Try. Again.”
I swallow, the pain in the back of my head returning with force. I rub it and glance at my fingertips. No blood. That was something, at least.
“I'm sorry. I didn't mean to scare you.” Pulling myself upright, I brush down my clothes. My eyes flicker to her face as she backs away. Millie's not afraid, at least not of me. She's afraid of losing control again. She needs her anger right now. And that's OK. I want to hold her, take away her confusion and her fear. And more, so much more. But I lost the right to be that person, for now, at least. I understand that. But the lust I still see simmering in her eyes gives me hope. “I had a run-in with a few of Scythe's heavies before I came for you. The blow to the head was worse than I thought.”
I make a point of running my hand over the lump on my forehead. It's tender to the touch. Between that and the pain still shooting along the back of my head, my brain is scrambled egg right now. Her lips remain pursed as she watches me. Her eyes are narrow and then she sighs, adjusting her dress.
“We need to go.”
Without glancing my way, she walks towards the fire exit. She struggles with the metal bar and I rush over, feeling lightheaded as I do. My back is pressed against her chest when I push down on the bar, and she inhales sharply. The door swings open. The metal shrieks against the concrete. She turns to look up at me, the heat in her eyes returning, and it takes more willpower than I usually possess not to turn her, press her into the wall, and finish what we started. But she tightens her lips, her eyebrows knitted in determination, and moves into the car park.
I follow her through, but my steps slow and become heavy. My pulse throbs in my ears. When the words come, they are uttered from a throat as rough as sandpaper.
“You can trust me, Millie. No more secrets.” Is it a lie if you don't even know what the truth is?
“Don't make promises you can't keep, reaper.”