“Help me up.” I automatically do, and he’s halfway up when he yells for me to stop. “You’ll hurt yourself! Your stomach.” His voice trails off, and I think he realizes something is different about the same time I do.
The pain is gone. All the pain in my stomach, the pain in my head, all of it. I feel, good. Not whole but good. No aches. No pains. Good.
I help him stand upright and try not to do the thing my mom always does and check for bruises. He’s a past grown man, and if he has any owies, he can fix them himself. As for me, I put my hand on my stomach over the gauze that had been placed to cover my stiches.
“You stitched me up.” It isn’t a question. Who else would have been here?
“Learned it in the war.” He shrugs. “Came in handy I guess.”
“I guess.” But I’m not thinking about the stitches anymore. I’m concerned about what’s under it. I raise my shirt and gently pull off the gauze, flinching as it pulls off some sensitive hairs.
I stop.
I stare.
There isn’t even a scar.
My skin is perfect, well, as perfect as it had been before. The stitches aren’t even there anymore. It’s smooth. Healed.
I’ve been healed.
Hart’s eyes meet mine, and I think we have the same thought. He takes my hand, leading me down the hallway and to the stairs.
He knows what’s down there.
I have no idea.
I try to prepare myself.
It doesn’t work.
CHAPTER SEVEN
I WISH I COULD SAY THE bodies surprise me.
Truth be told, they don’t.
I know what Hart’s been doing.
How he’s been getting the blood.
Knowing and seeing are two totally different things. The bodies were everywhere. Scattered around the living room like a horror movie or a scene from a Halloween haunted house.
“They’re dead,” I say, to no one really. It’s surreal to see all of them. Lying there. Motionless. The weird thing is there isn’t much blood spilled. Hart must have made use of every drop.
Fifteen bodies, I’m assuming without counting. If I count, I’ll have to look at them. I don’t want to look at them. I don’t want to see them. I don’t…
Fifteen.
Fifteen.
“They were demons, Gracen.” Hart keeps my hand in his. He’s standing next to me, looking out over the thing he did. The thing he created. “It’s not like I killed a whole nursery full of babies at the hospital.”
I cringe because I might be capable of something like that. If I don’t watch myself, God knows what I can do, and that scares me more than I can put into words. I don’t want to become a monster. Looking at my living room, I already am one.
“Their bodies.” I can’t move. All I can do is stare.
“They’re just bodies. The souls inside are gone. Gone to a better place.”
I’m fairly sure he’s being sarcastic.
“Not all of them have bodies like Sam’s. Chances are they took over real people with real lives.”
“Not sure Sam would appreciate you saying he didn’t have a life.” He’s trying to make light of this. There isn’t anything light about it.
“They’re dead.”
Hart groans and lets my hand go. Even among all the death in this room, I still miss when he lets my hand go. It’s not healthy how I’m feeling right now. I know it’s not, but it’s all I have. It’s all I will have until all of this is over.
I have to believe it will be over soon.
“They were demons. Demons who would have gone out and killed other people or possessed them or done something weird if I hadn’t grabbed them and brought them here to keep you alive. A little gratitude would be nice.” He actually sounds a bit pissed at me.
“Sorry, it’s not every day a man kills for me.”
“Apology accepted.”
“I was being sarcastic.”
He glares as he kneels next to one of the bodies. “I know.”
Jerk.
Wait… I know that person, that body, lying on the floor. I know him! He’s in Professor Mitchell’s class. “Gabriel?”
Hart pats the body’s shoulder and stands. “Poor kid. Possessed by two
The pain is gone. All the pain in my stomach, the pain in my head, all of it. I feel, good. Not whole but good. No aches. No pains. Good.
I help him stand upright and try not to do the thing my mom always does and check for bruises. He’s a past grown man, and if he has any owies, he can fix them himself. As for me, I put my hand on my stomach over the gauze that had been placed to cover my stiches.
“You stitched me up.” It isn’t a question. Who else would have been here?
“Learned it in the war.” He shrugs. “Came in handy I guess.”
“I guess.” But I’m not thinking about the stitches anymore. I’m concerned about what’s under it. I raise my shirt and gently pull off the gauze, flinching as it pulls off some sensitive hairs.
I stop.
I stare.
There isn’t even a scar.
My skin is perfect, well, as perfect as it had been before. The stitches aren’t even there anymore. It’s smooth. Healed.
I’ve been healed.
Hart’s eyes meet mine, and I think we have the same thought. He takes my hand, leading me down the hallway and to the stairs.
He knows what’s down there.
I have no idea.
I try to prepare myself.
It doesn’t work.
CHAPTER SEVEN
I WISH I COULD SAY THE bodies surprise me.
Truth be told, they don’t.
I know what Hart’s been doing.
How he’s been getting the blood.
Knowing and seeing are two totally different things. The bodies were everywhere. Scattered around the living room like a horror movie or a scene from a Halloween haunted house.
“They’re dead,” I say, to no one really. It’s surreal to see all of them. Lying there. Motionless. The weird thing is there isn’t much blood spilled. Hart must have made use of every drop.
Fifteen bodies, I’m assuming without counting. If I count, I’ll have to look at them. I don’t want to look at them. I don’t want to see them. I don’t…
Fifteen.
Fifteen.
“They were demons, Gracen.” Hart keeps my hand in his. He’s standing next to me, looking out over the thing he did. The thing he created. “It’s not like I killed a whole nursery full of babies at the hospital.”
I cringe because I might be capable of something like that. If I don’t watch myself, God knows what I can do, and that scares me more than I can put into words. I don’t want to become a monster. Looking at my living room, I already am one.
“Their bodies.” I can’t move. All I can do is stare.
“They’re just bodies. The souls inside are gone. Gone to a better place.”
I’m fairly sure he’s being sarcastic.
“Not all of them have bodies like Sam’s. Chances are they took over real people with real lives.”
“Not sure Sam would appreciate you saying he didn’t have a life.” He’s trying to make light of this. There isn’t anything light about it.
“They’re dead.”
Hart groans and lets my hand go. Even among all the death in this room, I still miss when he lets my hand go. It’s not healthy how I’m feeling right now. I know it’s not, but it’s all I have. It’s all I will have until all of this is over.
I have to believe it will be over soon.
“They were demons. Demons who would have gone out and killed other people or possessed them or done something weird if I hadn’t grabbed them and brought them here to keep you alive. A little gratitude would be nice.” He actually sounds a bit pissed at me.
“Sorry, it’s not every day a man kills for me.”
“Apology accepted.”
“I was being sarcastic.”
He glares as he kneels next to one of the bodies. “I know.”
Jerk.
Wait… I know that person, that body, lying on the floor. I know him! He’s in Professor Mitchell’s class. “Gabriel?”
Hart pats the body’s shoulder and stands. “Poor kid. Possessed by two
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