Page 63 of Requiem & Reverie

“You always finish.”

He pushes off of me, and the way his shoulders are bunched is terrifying, like he might snap any second. “You lied to me when you said you chose me.”

Shaking my head, I squirm inside the plastic to get loose. “No,” I mumble through the tube.

Backing himself away, he gets closer and closer to the kiln, and my throat goes dry, my body numb. Through tears, I shake my head. “No! Please! No!”

He can’t understand the words.

He pushes down the lid to the kiln.

“No!” My whole body is in a panic as I claw against the plastic to get loose. “No! I’ll finish! Please!” I scream in futility. In an instant, Oliver’s entire life flashes before my eyes. Holding him in the hospital and stroking his fine, downy hair. Watching him take his first steps. Chasing him through the park. Watching him blow out his birthday candles. I see a brief glimpse of the man he would’ve become. Tall and handsome and caring and gentle. “No!” I sob into the tube.

“I never wanted to hurt you, Nola, but you betrayed me.”

He flips the switch on the kiln, and I can’t breathe. The air locks inside my chest.

My whole body is trembling in shock. I twist just enough to dislodge the tube from my mouth, and the latex instantly clings to my lips.

The world flicks to blackness.

23

Voss

I wondered if I’d find the pole barn on Adler, but with the street only about a block long, and the building ahead of me set off from the road, the only one within a mile I’ve seen, I gotta believe it’s the Michaels’, whoever the hell they are. I park along the road and hike across the field, with the moon high and beaming down on the building like a spotlight. Simon’s silver car sits on the approach, under a flickering floodlight.

Simon.

I cannot wait to have this bastard under my blade.

What looks like black garbage bags, shiny and impervious to the light, cover two windows on the north side of the building. I try to pry each one open, my jaw tight with the effort, but they’re sealed shut.

I lean back, catching sight of an exterior staircase snaking up the side of the building, and keeping to the shadows, I pad quietly up to an upper level deck. Another window doesn’t budge when I attempt to open it. Beside it, I check the door, but finding it locked as well, I keep on, rounding the deck to where an awning window stands vented. With a hard yank, I widen the opening enough to fit through, and climb inside. The clank of metal steels my muscles, and I pull my phone from my pocket, clicking on the flashlight. Its fluorescent beam slices through the dark and lands on Oliver, who’s huddled in the corner, knees to his chest. A chain extends from his ankle, to a pipe at the base of the wall beside him.

Running the beam of light over him, I notice dirt and grime clinging to his skin, but no obvious sign of bruises, or torture. The scent of piss assaults my nose, likely from the full bedpan beside him. Lips downturned and twitching, like he can’t decide whether to smile, or cry, he unravels his hands from his bent knees. Within seconds, though, I can see the shine in his eyes, and the bunching of his shoulders turning lax with what must be a relieved smile stretched across his face.

Finger pressed to my lips, I stride toward him and kneel on the floor. The chain connects to shackles at each of his ankles, bound by a padlock.

“I’ll show you a trick,” I whisper, tugging my push dagger from its sheath. Shoving it into the lock, I twist until the cylinder clicks and pops open. In less than a minute, he’s free. “Never fails,” I say, slipping the knife back into its holder at my belt.

A sharp scream winds down my back, and I pause, looking over my shoulder toward the door.

Simons voice carries through the building, and I set my attention back to Oliver. “Some bad shit’s about to go down, Oliver. I don’t want you to see, understand?” Bad shit is an understatement. Somebody’s about to be castrated with a dull blade. “My car is parked on the road. I want you to wait there for me. I’m getting your mom out of here.”

Brows furrowed, he shakes his head and lurches toward the door, like he plans to go after his mom himself.

“Hey,” I say, arm pressed to his chest to keep him from going near that door. “I’m going to bring her back to you. I promise.”

His body twitches with what must be a rush of adrenaline, but seconds later, his shoulders sag, and he lowers his gaze, eyes blinking like he’s trying to hold back tears.

“’Sokay, kid. You’re gonna be okay.” Shoulders square with his, I give him an earnest, no-bullshit stare. “Go. And you don’t come back here for anything, got it?”

Another nod, and he pushes to his feet, adjusting his glasses. I cup my hands to give him a boost, and he climbs up through the window, out onto the deck.

Twisting around, I head toward the door and crack it just enough to hear some shuffling below. I peek over the railing to see the lower level is still, no one in sight. The hum of a fan echoes through the pole barn, offering just enough background noise for me to sneak down the staircase. Eyes constantly scanning, I don’t see any sign of Simon, as I make my way around the corner.

This is exactly why I don’t do this kind of thing, when I’m hunting prey. Better to stay in the shadows that give me the advantage. I might as well hold up a marquee, fumbling around with the massive disadvantage of not knowing where the hell he skittered off to.