Chapter 31
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
STAB IN THE BACK
I pull myself free from Orion’s hand. “Can we slow down? I’m wheezing over here.”
“Are you going to tell me what the demon said yet?” He snatches a hold of my wrist, making it hard for me to stop running.
I consider telling him for a second before picking up my speed again and matching his pace. I’m not telling Orion, because I know exactly what he’ll do—go straight to the source of my latest stress.
Orion means too much to me, and Bael would get way too much entertainment out of tormenting my best friend before breaking him. Probably while I’m watching.
A caw echoes in the distance, and even without seeing Bugby, his call is a part of me now. I’m pretty sure I’d be able to tell him apart from a conspiracy of ravens.
I entertain myself wondering why it’s a murder of crows and a conspiracy of ravens as we dash past Rodderick’s sheds, turning up the path to the dining hall. It’s a good distraction until it’s not.
“Please don’t!”
Orion and I pull to an immediate stop, searching for where the call for help came from.
“No!”
We turn to face the direction where the sounds of a scuffle echo. Together, we retrace our steps to Rodderick’s compound, following the small pathway I have used before.
Going closer to the party could be the stupidest thing we’ve done, considering the hunt is going to start soon, but the sound of someone in trouble overrides that concern.
Orion and I shift our communication to hand signals, both of us spreading to either side of a small maintenance shed that seems to be the epicenter of the assault.
From where we’re positioned, it’s hard to know how many others are involved and what their designations are. It’s not important; rescuing whoever is in trouble is paramount.
We count down using our fingers before we surge out of the shadows while concealing our presence.
The scene is impossible to make out.
Nothing makes sense.
Sequins and rhinestones are littered over the ground.
A pale blue shoe, and a light-colored dress are thrown to one side.
A wall of darkness blocks our view of the person being attacked.
Then a flash of light from the party changes my first assessment. Not a wall, but a line of students dressed in black.
Another flash of light makes me wonder if I got the color wrong.
Behind us, the stage lights plunge us into darkness and the students burst into action. Half of them converge on Orion, ripping him away from me and taking him off into the distance.
I can’t fight against this many beings.
I turn to run, but I’m grabbed from behind. Before I can lift a hand to fight or even open my mouth to scream, another set of hands forces my jaw open, and something is poured into my mouth. My nose is blocked, and I have no choice but to swallow the liquid.
They keep their hands locked tight until I stop retching at the bitterness. As their hands fall away, there’s a shuffle of noise before something warm splashes over my head.
I lift my hands, trying to figure out what it is and what’s going on. Is this a prank? Another cruel joke? The laughter bouncing around me suggests it is.
I fumble, stumbling into a sliver of moonlight.
My hands are coated red.
In an instant, I feel like I’m being sucked into a wind tunnel. My heart pounds so hard as I shake in fear. I lose my balance, and there’s a roar in my ears as terror takes hold.
Red.
Liquid.
Warm.
The pieces click together, but it still takes a moment for it to register because deep-seated fear coats my thoughts.
The distinctive scent of copper shreds through the lid I keep on my torment. I stagger, physically and emotionally, trying to outrun what’s coming, but instead, I slip on the blood pooling under my feet.
Laughter seeps through my panic.
My mouth floods with saliva, and bile burns my throat, mixing with bitterness on my tongue. Everything happening around me—their yells as they race at me, their chaotic movements—shut out my ability to think and move.
The only thing I can focus on is the blood. It renders me useless.
I’m covered in blood, transported backward through time, abducted by heartache.
The doctor was covered in blood too. His bloody hands constantly moved in front of my face as he explained how he hadn’t been able to stem the devastating internal injuries of my parents.
I can see the memory as if I were living it again.
I was petrified, the sights and sounds of the hospital overwhelmed me, and coupled with my grief and terror, I couldn’t cope with being there another second. But the doctor went on and on, telling me everything he’d done to try to save them.
Each time he moved, I saw my mother’s lifeless body covered in blood. There was so much of it, it had dripped onto the floor.
I vividly remember it was that image that shattered me into a million pieces.
That same thing—my mind breaking apart—is happening again.
My fears twist, continuing to grow with each beat of my panicked heart, locking me deeper in the hellscape of that godforsaken day.
I think I’ve succumbed to the worst of the torment, but I’m proven wrong. The torture shifts from the emotional trauma from long ago, to actual physical, real-time pain.
My mind is numb, but not enough that I don’t feel each and every one of their attacks.
Each kick, punch, slap, and scratch registers.
And from so many sides.
A brutal blow to the side of my head cracks something. Draining away the endless cycle of watching fragments of my parents, shifting it to nothing but darkness.
There is only blackness.
Until there is a flash, and then there is only gold.
Time eventually stops.
Perhaps I’m dying.
I lose faith in what I think is happening, as I’m taken somewhere else.
I want to say I don’t give up, but I’m not sure.
I’m bound by pain and lost inside myself.