Page 40 of Requiem & Reverie

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Something rough jostles me, but I’m too exhausted to react. I open my eyes to a crisp white collar and the scent of something warm and masculine. A chiseled jawline with a five o’clock shadow, and beyond it, pictures on the wall passing by.

Voss? Am I dreaming?

Arms tight around me, he carries me along, only evident in the fast movement in my periphery. My body lands against a soft and inviting surface, and warm hands grip my face.

“Nola? Where’s Jonah?” His voice is like an angel’s, calling me away from the blackness tugging at me.

“Voss … Oliversgo …on.” Another round of tears stings my eyes, but I’m so out of it, I don’t even know if I’m crying.

“He’s not gone. Get some sleep.” It’s a dream, I’m certain of it, but one filled with more light than the nightmares telling me my son is dead. I want to stay in this dream. Stay with Voss and Oliver. And the hope that my son is still alive.

“Y’stay?”

“Yes. I’ll stay.”

14

Voss

I only planned to look in on Nola, on my way back to the Conservatory, but not seeing Jonah’s car in the driveway had me worried something might’ve happened.

He’s usually here this time of night, as late as it is, watching the place.

Can’t remember the last time I worried about a woman.

Sitting on the edge of the bed, I rub my hand down my face and across the back of my neck. When I first found her in the bathroom, the blood all over the floor and tiles had me thinking she was dead. Which, truth be told, messed with my head for a minute, until I caught sight of her bleeding foot, and a small piece of ceramic lodged in it. In those brief moments, though, it occurred to me how much I actually give a damn about this woman. How weak and helpless I felt in a matter of seconds. But more surprising than that was the wave of relief that knocked me over, when she finally moved and shifted. A flash of light illuminates the dark room, and I lean forward toward her glowing phone on the nightstand. With a quick glimpse her way, I lift the phone off the nightstand and see that Jonah’s texted her about five times in the last hour.

His last was five minutes ago:

Just tell me you’re okay, or I’m coming over to check on you.

Nola’s deep and hearty snore fills the room, and I blow out a breath.

I’m okay, I type back.

I’m sorry. For everything. We’ll catch this bastard.

I don’t bother with that one, and place her phone back on the nightstand.

She can deal with all that tomorrow, when she’s sober again.

The truth is, they won’t catch him, because they’re chasing after the wrong thing. Surgeons, florists, gardeners. Too obvious.

I have the most insight on the killer, and I still haven’t tracked the cunning bastard.

Part of me has remained intrigued by the chase, while the other part of me is growing a bit tired of the games. That’s just what he wants, though. To wear me down and confuse the shit out of me, until I lose sight of what it is I’m looking for. He’s counting on me to get sloppy and frustrated. Even if time is ticking against me, patience and focus are the only two things that will help me win this game.

Because losing means losing Nola, and I refuse to concede so easily.

I remove my jacket, draping it over the foot of the bed, and unbutton the first few fastenings of my shirt. After kicking my shoes off, I slide onto the bed next to her, and drag her body back against mine. Somehow, she feels smaller to me, more fragile than before. Recalling the first day I arrived here, how sassy and smart-witted she was, it’s a far cry from the sad and tormented woman lying next to me.

I push away a strand of hair covering her eyes and stare down at her. It troubles me to see her this way. I hate that she’s in pain, but it infuriates me to know Carl is the reason behind it.

For so many years, he made my life a living hell growing up, and although I’ve learned to live with my demons, I don’t like seeing her curled up in a ball, passed out, because she can’t deal with reality. A reality he paved for her. Perhaps even one that I paved, by agreeing to hunt him down.

I want the spitfire from before. The one who doesn’t take any shit, and isn’t afraid to face the harder side of life. She needs to go back to believing that Oliver is alive, that she has a chance of finding him, or she’s going to end up inadvertently killing herself by doing something stupid.