Chapter 44
Can You Love a Monster?
JESSICA
Seven Years Ago
Irun until I can’t breathe, until the pain from my broken ribs make me crumple to my knees.
Pounding the ground with my fist in anger and frustration, I tilt my head back and scream.
“Why?” I yell at the moon. “Why am I here? Why am I alive if I can’t have a life?
!” I dig my fingers into the earth. “Why is this happening to me?” I whisper.
Thunder erupts in the distance. Like the little girl I am, I cry.
“Sometimes things are just the way they are, Princess,” his deep, gravelly voice answers.
“Will you stop stalking me?!” I shout.
None of this is his fault, but he’s here. And I want to fight some more. I want to hurt someone else, make them feel my pain. Haven’t I already done that to him? I stand, gritting my teeth against the sharp pain in my ribs. I adopt a fighting stance.
“Fine. Don’t talk. You want to hurt me? You want to get back at me for hurting you?
” I spread my arms. “There’s no one around—no recruits, no lead guards, no one to interrupt you from finishing what you started in the exam room.
You want a piece of me? I’m right here!” I can’t see his face in the dark—another one of my disabilities.
In the moonlight, his jaw tenses. He doesn’t move, doesn’t answer me.
I squint at him, calculating my chances of survival.
It makes me wonder if his eyes are all black, like a pool of obsidian.
He looks taller, bigger, more muscular. Is it possible that he changed his physical appearance?
I continue to stare, waiting for his attack.
He takes slow, calculating steps toward me.
I can see now that this isn’t my Shadow.
His energy is dangerous, menacing. Did I do this to him?
Did I change him? He transformed from a strange man with a lack of personality—he couldn’t even smile without looking weird—to a sweet, funny, and loving man, to this. How?
I shake myself out of my thoughts and tighten my stance. He hurt me. He grabbed me and shook me, leaving bruises on my arm. I didn’t make him choose to do that.
I lift my chin, challenging him. “You wanted to hurt me, so I’m giving you a chance.
Do your worst.” I motion with my hands to encourage him forward.
“Get it out of your system. Then leave me alone.” I choose those last words, knowing it will hurt him more.
I know it did because saying them hurts me.
Silence grows between us. A light wind stirs. But this isn’t my doing. It isn’t my magic. Whistling wind sounds—no, not wind. A ghostly muffled cacophony of screams filter from a dark cloud covering the moon.
Shadows move and slowly circle around me.
I smell the anger, loneliness, desperation, and fear radiating off.
.. him. As shadows dance around me, I close my eyes and summon my own magic.
I focus on that well in my chest. It flickers, but it’s so weak.
I push into to it harder. Come on! I’m going to die if I can’t wield my own magic!
I concentrate harder. Tingles of my magic course under my skin.
My wind whispers across my cheek. Slowly, I open my eyes to face the terror.
The wind swirls around me. Lightning flashes. Thunder explodes just above our heads. Gaunt, haunted faces pass by, caught in my whirlwind of air and dust. The faces stretch out with looks of pain, horror, and helplessness. They’re trapped on this plane, controlled, wielded by Shadow’s magic.
I reach out to them, searching for their vibrations. They weren’t good souls—heartless criminals, murderers, thieves. I lift my arms, pushing the wind out and away from me. But a shadow slips through, wrapping itself around me like a vise.
I shake, squirm, and wiggle my body, trying to free myself from its grip.
Nothing works. Little electrical currents crackle in my hand, and I bring it as close to the shadow as possible.
It does nothing. The shadow’s hold tightens and migrates closer to my face.
I refuse to scream. I refuse to call out for him to stop.
If he wants to end me, then he can do it. I’m not afraid of death.
A face appears in front of me, half-burned, eyes black like his soul. I smell burning flesh. The face looms in front of mine. My mouth falls open in a gasp as the pain to my ribs intensifies. That’s all it took—an opening. Tendrils of shadow slip in through my mouth, filling me from the inside.
Everything becomes still, silence, darkness. I am either dead or near death’s door. If I fell, I don’t feel it. If I stopped breathing, I don’t know. I feel nothing, hollow. Am I now one of them, a shadow of what I used to be?
A dull light in the far distance appears. A boy’s laughter is followed by a husky one. “Come on. It’s just one beer.” The boy’s voice echoes around me in the dark.
“Gods, if I take you home drunk, our parents will kill me.”
“They won’t know. I’m not going to tell. Besides, we’re supposed to be celebrating. You just graduated from law school. “
“No. I’m supposed to be celebrating. You crashed my party, you little cockblocker.” Laughter from the boy and the young man bounces around in the dark.
The light fills the space. A faded picture, like an old-fashioned home movie, plays in front of me. A boy not older than twelve and a young man in his mid-twenties sit at the end of a yacht, dangling their legs off the edge. The young man sighs and takes a bottle of beer from the cooler near him.
“Alright. Just one. Then I’ll take you home before the parents send out a search party.” A smile from ear to ear materializes on the boy’s face. The young man pops open the beer using a pocketknife. He hands the beer over to the boy and ruffles his black hair with his other hand.
“One day, I’m going to be just like you—a badass lawyer.”
I study the pair. They look so alike, the only difference in the variation of blue in their eyes. The older one sports a pair of deep dark blues, while the younger’s are more of a sapphire blue.
The young man’s face drops. “Don’t be like me. Be better.”
“Oh, I will. You didn’t get into Harvard, but I will.”
The young man laughs. “I’m sure you will, buddy. I’m sure you will.” He clinks his glass bottle against the boy’s bottle, and they both drink.
Harvard? Shadow went to Harvard. Is this little boy Shadow? I watch the pair sit in silence. The boy looking hopeful and proud, while the young man looks troubled, even sad.
“Hey, can you make me a promise?” the young man asks the boy.
“Yeah, anything for you.”
“Promise me that when you become my age, you’ll use your powers for good.
You’ll help those who need it and build them up to make the world a better place.
” He looks away, a far-off look consuming his handsome features.
“There are too many bad things—bad people—in this world. The world needs more integrity.”
“Like us,” the boy says proudly.
“Yeah, like us.” The young man sets his beer down and retrieves his pocketknife. “Let’s make a blood promise.” The boy eagerly places his beer down and holds out his hand.
First, he makes a cut along the boy’s palm. His smile never wavers. Then the young man makes a similar cut in his own palm. He grips the boy’s hand in his.
“Promise me that in your position of power, you will only ever do good, no matter how tempting corruption may seem. You will always stay on the right side. You will help others, build up those around you, and make them better, stronger.”
The boy nods. “I swear on my blood.” The young man kisses the back of the boy’s hand and squeezes it.
“If you break your promise, I will know.”
The boy shrugs. “I know. But I’m good for it.” The young man brings him in for a side hug.
The two of them settle into funny conversation and bond. Why am I seeing this? Confused, I slowly turn around, taking in my surroundings. There are no other boats on the water.
The young man tells the boy to come into the cabin and starts the engine, but it doesn’t start. “Hold tight. I think something is wrong with the ignition. If I can’t—”
A violent explosion suddenly erupts, sending the young man flying backward into the air. The boy is forced back as well. Another explosion causes the yacht to descend quickly into the ocean.
I run over to the young man, who lies face down. Over half of his body is burned. Then, I check on the boy, “Get up! Wake up! The boat is sinking!” I yell.
“You can’t interfere. It’s a memory. Just watch.” That same voice as the young man speaks next to me. There isn’t much time. The boat sinks further. I continue to watch as my heart wrenches.
The young man groans. “Tyler,” he whispers. He coughs and sputters. Pulling himself up is too much effort for him. “Tyler.”
The boy lifts his head and looks around, dazed. With wide eyes, he shouts, “Toby! Toby!” He gets to his feet and runs over to Toby’s body. “No, no, no, no. Toby!” He bends down, grabbing his arm. “Please be okay—please be okay.” Tears form as he turns Toby over.
“Get help,” Toby mutters between coughs. “Use your magic and get out of here.”
Tyler shakes his head. “I’m not leaving you.” He grips the hand not burned by the explosion.
The yacht shakes and begins to tip over. “Get out of here!” Toby wheezes.
The boat flips, tossing them into the icy ocean water. Tyler clings to Toby, desperately struggling to swim to the surface, but his brother’s much larger body starts to drag Tyler down with him.
A speedboat comes into view and slows down near the wreckage.
One man grabs his head in disbelief, while the other man shines a spotlight in the water.
“Strap! Strap! Get your shit together man and call for a rescue.” He nods and searches his pockets for a phone.
The other man jumps into the water. After Strap ends the call, he too jumps in to help search.
Eventually, both men bob, gasping for air before they head back down again. Helicopters in the distance permeate the air, along with a rescue boat.
I hold my breath in anticipation. Strap emerges and swims toward the boat, carrying a lifeless boy’s body. He clings to the side of the boat with one arm and hangs on to Tyler with the other. Strap yells, “Help! Help! Over here! Help!”
Strap swims over to the rescue boat with Tyler in tow. Two men dressed in scuba diving attire with the rescue team’s logo over the chest pull Tyler’s body into the boat. One of the four rescue men shouts orders and immediately administers CPR.
Strap refuses to come aboard. “My friend is still down there. He’s looking for our other friend, Toby,” he notifies one of the divers.
The rescue divers take that as their cue, gear up, and jump in the water. “We’ll take the kid to shore. I’ll be back,” the driver of the rescue boat informs Strap.
My body gravitates over the rescue boat that escorts Tyler to the harbor.
A helicopter passes overhead. Two rescue men crowd over him as they tirelessly continue to administer CPR.
All color drains from his face, his lips white like a crisp new sheet.
I hug myself as I continue to watch the men working on Tyler.
From my peripheral vision, I see an ethereal version of Toby hovering above Tyler’s body.
His body is still burned from the explosion, one side of his face unrecognizable.
He shouts, but there are no words, no voice.
I look back down as the men dock near the harbor, a rescue team waiting for them.
I see the two men glance at each other, faces grim with despair as they continue to work on him.
Together the team get him onto the harbor, trying very hard not to disturb the chest compression.
A flicker of motion draws my attention above, Tyler’s soul hovering over his own body.
Eyes round with shock, he slowly rotates his head toward Toby, who is shouting at him.
Arm movements frantic, desperate, he tries to get Tyler to hear him.
In the far distance, a golden light shines down on Tyler’s form.
Toby is still yelling at him and desperately trying to grab at him.
Strap’s boat returns with three more men. Slowly, they pass Toby’s body over to the men on the receiving end. Toby looks over to his body, then back to Tyler.
“Stand back,” a man’s voice commands. “Clear!”
A woman’s screams come from behind the rescue team. “Tyler!” Toby turns to the woman and then back again to Tyler. Tyler faces the warm glowing light. Shadows float up and wrap themselves around Toby’s arms and legs. He fights them off and leaps for Tyler.
They both fall into Tyler’s body just as the rescue team delivers a shock.
Silence. No one moves as the high-pitched, steady sound rings through the air.
“My baby!” the woman screams. “No! That’s my baby. Noooooo!”
A man runs up behind her and holds her back.
“Where is my son, Toby?” he demands.
“Let me go! Let me go!” She sobs. “Toby? Where’s Toby?” she asks between sobs. The diver that arrived in Strap’s boat shakes his head at the couple. Their father squeezes his eyes shut and clutches his mate close to his chest.
My surroundings waver. The woman’s sobs echo in the darkness as the edges of what I just witnessed start to roll into itself like a paper parchment.
Bright fluorescent lights flash on, and I blink, raising my hand to shield my eyes. A man in a white lab coat walks into the room with a clipboard, followed by another man in blue medical scrubs.
“What a shame,” the doctor says to his assistant. “Brothers—Alpha Larson’s sons. The older one is the Young Alpha.” He sniffs and wipes at his nose with the back of his hand. “The younger one is the fourth child. According to his family, he sneaked onto the boat to be with his brother.”
His assistant lifts the sheet to peer down at Toby’s body. He winces. “I remember him. We went to college together. He was a bit of an asshole.”
The doctor shakes his head. “Aren’t all Alphas assholes?”
“Not like this guy. He was scary as shit and mean. Made me appreciate our Alpha a little more every day.”
“Well, asshole or not, we have a job to do. Let’s start with the younger one. This is my least favorite part of the job. Doing an autopsy on a young kid.” They both move to the back of the room, not paying attention to the bodies.
Tyler sits up, coughing, puking water, and gasping for air. The doctor swings around, drops his clipboard, and crumples to the floor.
“Holy shit!” the medical assistant shouts.