Daemons in the Mist (The Marked Ones Trilogy: Book One) (31 page)

44

Personal Demons

Wednesday, May 9th

PATRICK

I
felt cold, so very cold. I turned the water on as I stripped away my clothes. I had changed clothing back at my home, but it hadn’t helped, I still felt dirty, tainted, wronged. Home was the wrong word; I had no home now.

I got into the water and tipped my head back. The water rushed over me—I was still so cold. I turned the water up hotter and hotter, but it didn’t help. I felt empty inside; hollow, like a tree whose insides had rotted out.

I punched the wall. Why had they kept this from me? Why had they never said a word about what they were; what
I
was?

I heard the softest of sounds and looked up as the shower door slid open. With the way my luck was going, it would be ninja squirrels or zombies coming for me next.

“Can I…can I come in?” Nualla asked in the quietest of voices.

I couldn’t speak, the lump in my throat was just too heavy, and so I just nodded.

Her hair draped over her, concealing the form of her body below, like the depictions of Eve or Aphrodite. Nualla looked up at me nervously through her lashes; I had never seen her look so vulnerable. And that’s when I noticed she was crying—tears rolling down her cheeks. She always appeared so strong, so sure, that the fact that she was crying just made the day that much worse.

I reached out to her slowly and she stepped into my arms. A normal person would have been traumatized by at least half of the things that had happened to her today. But she had never let on just how much she was keeping locked up tight inside. She had spent hours standing against the tidal wave of pain, and fear and sorrow, until she could be alone. And now she was letting it all out; this torrent of tears rushing down her cheeks like rain. And it was moments like this that I realized that even though we were so very different, in this we were the same.

She cried out in such anguished pain—big choking sobs that shook her whole body—that I had to bite my lip to keep myself from joining her. And so I just stood there for a long time letting her cry, holding her gently against my body. It was an odd feeling, having her naked form pressed that tightly against me. It didn’t feel exciting or sexy. Instead, it left me feeling vulnerable; defenseless; raw. I could only imagine how it made her feel; what thoughts must be passing through her mind.

When I could no longer stand the silence I reached down and gently lifted her chin. “Nualla, I’m sorry, so very sorry. I didn’t know what I was, I
swear
. If I had known—”

“Would you still have loved me?”

“
Of course
,” I blurted out in a quick breath that left my lungs empty and aching.

“Then it doesn’t matter,” she said, holding me closer.

Even though I knew it wasn’t my fault, I still felt guilty for unknowingly deceiving her. For causing her doubt. For causing her fear. For causing her even the slightest bit of pain. And knowing that I had been equally deceived did not lessen how much I hurt inside. It was that pain—that guilt—that dredged up everything I had been keeping down for the last few hours. A question that was plaguing me; gnawing its way through my mind. I was afraid to ask, to hear the truth, but still I had to know.

“Nualla, something’s been bothering me. If I’m…if my parents are—what they are, does that mean I can’t—” I just couldn’t bring myself to ask the rest.

“Become one of us?”

“Yeah.”

“I’m sorry Patrick, I…I don’t know the answer to that.”

I felt my legs start to give way, and I slid down the wall. I put my head in my hands. Why did things just keep getting more and more impossible? Was fate just playing a cruel sick joke by tempting me with something I would never be able to have?

I wished I had the answers. I wished I could know that everything would turn out alright in the end.

But I didn’t.

45

After the Storm

Saturday, May 19th

PATRICK

L
oss is a funny thing. Sometimes you feel numb, hollow, raw; passing through your days in a fog. While other times it feels like every sound, every touch, every moment, is an electric shock to your system. This reckless abandon of emotion is the only way to really describe what Nualla went through in the next week and a half. Sometimes she smiled and laughed, but most nights she cried into her pillow when she thought I was asleep.

Me, I worked through the loss with stylus and brush. Sometimes my strokes were harsh, etching themselves into the work. While other times they were a soft, gentle nod to my fallen classmates.

When the tally finally came in, twenty students, a security guard, and one teacher had lost their lives that day and dozens more had been injured; making it one of the worst school massacres in the history of the United States. It was in every paper, on every news channel—inescapable.

They hadn’t deserved to die; to have their lives cut short. To be remembered for the way in which they had died instead of the way in which they had lived. And so I drew them—every one of them. Captured them in digital form and gave them a place where they could live on in peace.

I didn’t do it for the attention or the recognition the project got. I did it because it was all I had. The only way I could cope. The only way I could bring myself back from the darkness.

I had never believed in a higher power, not really, but I had to believe, had to hope that there was something after all this. That our struggle had to
mean
something in the end. That there had to be a time when we could be happy again, when we could smile again. I needed to find that place; that haven from the darkness.

The darkness that was inside me.

I didn’t think it was possible to hate as much as I did; to feel that much pain. I wanted so badly to numb it, to make it go away, but I couldn’t. As wrong as I might have been, it felt like it was all my fault. That
I
had somehow caused this, that they had been put in danger because of me.

I had a sick feeling that wouldn’t go away; that my parents might have been a part of this unforgivable act.

The day of the memorial service was overcast as if the heavens thought that even one ray of sunlight might somehow be offensive. All it did was make the sea of black spread out before me seem more dark; more sad.

I bit back my pain as I walked silently forward with the others, Nualla’s hand cold and pale in mine. Nearly the whole school, it seemed, and their families were standing there. The cold wind whipping past; making you forget the approach of summer. I wanted so badly to be anywhere but here; I just couldn’t shake the guilt I felt deep in my chest.

In a break in the crowd I saw her; the one person whose sorrow encompassed us all.

Penelope.

Nualla had explained in the aftermath of the attack the full implications of Penelope’s loss. That the way they loved was different than humans, that it was total, complete, ineradicable. That to lose their One was something they could never truly recover from. Sure, Penelope might someday find a new mate, a new person to share her life with, but it wouldn’t be the same. That it wouldn’t be her
One
. I asked how she could tell; how she knew what Penelope was feeling. She said she could see it in her eyes. And as I looked at her now, I could finally see it too.

Penelope stood there in front of us with eyes red from so many tears shed. But it wasn’t just that; there was something else in those eyes, a pain so profoundly sad and heart-wrenching, I couldn’t breathe. Nualla dropped my hand and held her arms open wide for Penelope. And with a choked back sob, Penelope rushed forward into Nualla’s arms and buried her head in Nualla’s shoulder. The service finally started and still she clung to Nualla, refusing to look out at the proceedings. Whatever animosity had been between them had died along with Michael.

Nualla didn’t shed a tear, just stood there, head bowed, a pillar of strength for Penelope. I wished someone could be my strength, because I was all out and the weight was getting to be more than I could bear. The pain in my head was becoming too much for me as well. It hadn’t given me a moment’s peace in so long it was hard to remember what life had been like before its constant presence. And it was getting harder and harder to hide it—the pain—from those around me.

I looked out at the service; it was surreal standing there looking at pictures of the faces of people I had seen every day, who would never walk the halls alongside me again. I had never known death before; never seen it lying there in front of me. It was something you could never erase from your mind. You could cover it up with whatever you liked, but it would always be there, waiting for you when you closed your eyes.

46

Broken Hallelujah

Wednesday, May 30th

PATRICK

W
e never returned to the Bayside Academy campus. Two weeks after the attack most of us did return to school, but it was to a rented office building. To save us the pain of returning to the scene of the school attack, they had simply opened our lockers, boxed everything up and brought it to the new building. The students that
did
return to school were not the same people they had been. The rooms were eerily quiet, smiles were few and far between, and most of the students walked around in a daze. People jumped at the littlest of sounds, and no one sat with their back to the doors.

Classes were basically a joke; they were more like group therapy than actual learning. A place for us to work on recovering from this tragedy. But there was no place to go to escape the images that filled my head when I closed my eyes. I tried to pretend like I didn’t feel hollow inside; like I couldn’t feel the pain. But it was a lie that even I couldn’t believe.

With a shaking hand, Nualla handed fancy packaged letters to my friends. I had no idea what they were, but apparently Jenny did. “You’re still going through with it even after…” For once, Jenny couldn’t finish her sentence.

Connor, Beatrice, and Sara looked utterly confused. They all looked down at the envelopes at the same time.

Nualla looked Jenny dead in the eye. “I will
not
let those people take anymore from me.”

I heard the sound of ripping paper and looked over at Connor just as he pulled the contents out. “
Oh
,” he said in a shocked voice. “They’re wedding invites; sweet!”

I was inclined to just stay out of it; Nualla and Jenny were two people you
really
didn’t want to step between, but Jenny looked at me, forcing my hand. “
Patrick
?”

I wasn’t sure, but I thought I could still see a glimmer of hope in her eyes; like there still might be a chance for us. I sighed. I really hated to squash her hopes, but this had to end. I had to make her understand that the world in which she and I could have been together had died long ago, swallowed up by the choices I had made, and the choices others had made for me.

I moved closer to Nualla and took her hand as I looked up at all my friends. But mostly I looked at Jenny. “Nothing’s changed; this wedding is going to happen, come hell or high water.”

Jenny didn’t say another word, just stood up and walked out of the cafeteria, her invitation still lying on the table. We all watched her go, but no one went after her. We had all gotten tired of chasing her when she stormed off, even Sara.

After a few minutes of silence Connor finally looked over and asked, “
So
…am I the best man?”

That thought had never actually crossed my mind since Nualla had been taking care of most of the wedding stuff. Her world required certain things of her, and so I just let her and her family plan everything. But they were now
my
family too, and I probably should have been helping.

I opened my mouth to answer, but Nualla beat me too it. “Actually, there won’t be anyone in the wedding party but us.”

“
Really
?” Sara asked, still holding her unopened invitation.

Nualla, Nikki, and Shawn tried to hide their smiles.

“I’m missing something, aren’t I?” Connor asked, looking at me.

I shrugged.
Don’t look at me, Connor. I’m just as confused as you are.

Nualla ran her teeth over her bottom lip before speaking, something she tended to do when trying to explain something she couldn’t
actually
talk about. “Our religion dictates that only the couple and the officiator be standing during the ceremony. The bond of marriage is only between two people and no other can have a say.”

“Just what kind of crazy religion are you guys, anyways?” Connor asked, looking dubiously at the daemons.

Beatrice whacked him on the head with her invitation. “
Connor
, that’s a really insensitive thing to say, you know.”

NUALLA

J
enny was apparently
not
going to get the picture on her own. I would have to end this once and for all.

I found her alone on one of the balconies staring out at the street below. She made no movement as I opened the door, so she either didn’t care or hadn’t heard me.

“Jenny, can we talk?” I asked calmly.

Jenny turned to look at me before looking back out at the view. “What is there to talk about? It’s clear he loves you.
Of course
he does. It would be easy to love
you
; you’re beautiful—and perfect.” She turned to face me, scowling as she pushed away from the balcony and made to move past me.

I stuck out my arm, blocking her way to the door. “‘Love is not a victory march, it’s a cold and it’s a broken hallelujah,’” I quoted, not meeting her eyes. The lyrics of that song had never made sense to me before, but the truth of those words was irrefutable now.

“What?”

“Loving someone is never easy. It’s a struggle against common sense and reason. It’s not just fluffy clouds and hearts. It’s harsh, it’s painful, it’s all-consuming. It leaves you vulnerable in a way that nothing else you experience
ever
will.”

I looked up into Jenny’s startled face. “That’s why there is so little of it in this world. It’s anything but
easy
, and not all of us are born good at it.” I dropped my arm and looked her dead in the eye. “To love someone, to
truly
love someone, is to know with all certainty that you would lay down your
life
to protect them.”

Jenny just stood looking at me in stunned silence for a long time before she spoke. “Apparently I was wrong about you,” she said in a small voice. “It’s clear you really do love him. But what I still don’t understand is why you are both rushing into this right after high school. Are you…are you
pregnant
?” She finally met my eyes on the last word.

I nearly choked. “
What
?! No, of course not!” This line of thought hadn’t even occurred to me, but was probably on the minds of most of the students by now.

“Then
why
?” Jenny asked with pleading eyes.

I took in a long breath and leaned back against the door. Somehow, I doubted Patrick had ever told his friends much about his home life aside from possibly Connor. It just wasn’t in his nature to talk about his suffering. “You said you’ve been Patrick’s friend a long time, right?”

“Yeah,” Jenny answered hesitantly.

“Just how much do you know about his parents?” I asked, looking her in the eye.

Jenny looked at me in silence for a long time before she looked at her shoes. “Nothing really,” she admitted reluctantly.

“Well, I can tell you that they are some of the most neglectful people I have ever known. They leave him alone for days,
weeks
on end. And when they were actually there, they’re not really
there
.”

“That’s terrible,” Jenny said, looking up at me.

“That’s not even the
worst
of it. The attack happened weeks ago and most parents are still fiercely hovering over their kids. Patrick’s parents haven’t even called him. Not even
once
. They probably haven’t even noticed that he moved out to come live with me.”

“
What
?! But that’s…that’s just wrong,” Jenny said, anger filling her eyes.

“Tell me about it. My family took him in with open arms, and have treated him like family since we started dating.”

“I can understand why he ran away, but still…” It was clear she was grasping at straws, refusing to face the inevitable.

“When life hands you exactly what you want, why would you wait?” I asked, looking out at the towering buildings of the city.

“What?”

“It’s something Patrick said to me, and he’s right.”

Jenny slumped to her knees her head hanging low; it was the posture of total defeat. I had finally won the argument, but like any victory over someone else, it was a bitter one.

I knelt down next to her and took her hands in mine; she didn’t pull them away. “Jenny, I know there is someone out there just for you—it’s just not Patrick.”

“I know,” she answered sadly. And then she surprised me for the first time since I met her; she threw her arms around my torso hugging me tightly as she cried into my black polo shirt. I put my arms around her; I would let her cry as long as she needed to. It was the least I could do after breaking her heart.

I heard the door creak open behind us and quickly looked over my shoulder. Patrick and Connor stood behind us looking bewildered. Jenny continued to sob unaware of the intruders to her breakdown. Patrick grabbed Connor’s arm, and they both backed out of the door.

Smart boys.

As I sat there holding the sobbing Jenny, I thought about how weird life was. In the past month I had held two crying girls, neither of which I would have ever called a friend.

Eventually, Jenny stopped crying and wiped her eyes with the back of her hands. I stood up and offered her my hand. “Come on, let’s get you cleaned up.”

“Why are you being so nice to me? I all but admitted to secretly wanting your boyfriend—fiancé,” Jenny said, taking my hand.

“‘Because the world is too small a place for spite,’” I answered with a small smile.

“
Huh
?”

“It’s something my mother used to say when I was little.”