Dead South Rising (Book 2): Death Row by Sean Robert Lang Page A

go of her again.
    The barrage of emotions beating him down ran the gamut, from one heart wrenching extreme to the other. Back and forth, from suicidal sadness to unbridled fury. These feelings propelled him like some spiritual nuclear reactor on the verge of meltdown, both powering and poisoning. They got him moving, thinking past worldly possibilities. Whoever had done this to him—to her—would endure a punishment, a judgement, beyond any this physical existence alone could ever deliver. He would find a way, would call on hell itself if need be.
    Voices faded in and out.
    “… back down, David. Please. Just lie back down and…”
    He felt as though he were being lifted out of bed, but no one touched him. He was standing, but didn’t remember pressing to his feet.
    “… hurt yourself if you…”
    Gliding. Along the floor, floating toward the door.
    “… David… David …”
    The room glowed like heaven, or maybe hell. He wasn’t sure which. It had gotten bright, suddenly… brilliant .
    He lifted the beautiful hand within his own and gazed at it, the ring glittering and sparkling, just as it had done that day under the lights at the jewelry store. A dazzling purity, untarnished, redolent of the soul he would later give it to.
    His cheek stung, his body becoming suddenly heavy.
    “ David! ”
    Jessica’s frightened tone shattered his reverie like a mirror, and he brought his own fingertips to his face, rubbing where she’d slapped him.
    “You’ve got to snap out of this. Please.”
    His uncovered eye darted around the room, finding focus, losing it, then finding it again. There were others watching him, hands pressed together, tented beneath chins. Lips pursed. Looks of sorrow, of deep concern. Of fear.
    Doctor Gonzalez moved toward him, reaching for his wife’s hand.
    David yanked it back reflexively, a knee-jerk reaction.
    The doctor said, “David, it’s not healthy. You could get—”
    “ Don’t touch me. ” His voice boomed despite bruised lungs. Gripping Natalee’s hand harder, he held it in plain sight of the others. With breaths out of rhythm and on the brink of a sob, he said, “Where did… where did Bryan get…?”    
    Those in the room answered with only blinks and stares.
    His voice more sure, “I said, where did Bryan get this? ” He held his wife’s hand higher, a visual punctuation mark.
    Jessica braved an answer. “He… he said that… Doc was here. That Doc gave it to him.”
    David’s shoulders heaved as he pulled in deep breaths, throbbing, fractured ribs be damned. The physical pain he’d experienced seemed somehow superficial now. A surface aggravation, easily scraped away. He’d shed it like a snake sheds its skin, be done with the shallow suffering so he could focus on the deeper hurt buried and pulsating in his heart.
    “Where is he?”
    Those in the room traded unknowing glances.
    “ Where is he? ” David yelled. “ Where is Doc? ”
    Jessica’s hands slapped her ears. “I don’t know, I don’t know.” She seemed ready to cry.
    David crossed to the door, slung it open. It rattled, vibrating on sure hinges. He stepped into the hall, calling out, “Bryan? Bryan? Come here, Bryan. I need to talk to you.”
    Hooking his arm, Jessica tried pulling David back into his room. “Leave him alone, David. You’ll scare him. He’s already upset. He didn’t know what was in the—”
    “I need to know, Jess. I have to know.” He shook the dismembered hand at her, his emotions swinging back toward despair. “Doc… he mutilated her. My god, Jess…”
    She chanced a tender touch. “I know, David. I know. He’s a monster.”
    He felt his knees weaken, and he wanted to let go, collapse in a heap to the floor. Lie there for hours, days, forever. Before he could, Bryan materialized down the hall. He approached David, his pace slow and cautious, steps taken by a mischievous child caught, about to face the belt. Or the switch. His chin quivered, sad eyes glassy.