Page 125 of Devoured

Not ever.

42

VANESSA

WHEN I WAS FIVE, I THOUGHT THE ST. AUGUSTINE Police Department was a castle. In my mind, there were turrets that pierced the clouds, stone balconies, and massive courtyards with ever-flowing fountains. My father wasn’t just an officer of the law; he was a knight—and I was a maiden trapped in a tower.

I waited in the living room every day after school, hoping to catch a glimpse of his warm smile, hear the rough staccato of his infectious laugh. I prayed for good moods, for sunshine, for my tower—for our home—to turn into a palace. But home was different for Dad. He often stormed through the front door before slamming it shut behind him. Most days, he would march right past me without a single word, headed straight for the bathroom instead.

In the mornings before he left for work, he would smile from ear to ear, his eyes creasing, his dark stubble pulling tight along his jaw, and he would run a hand through my hair and say: “Smile, Vanessa. Today is a new day. Anything is possible.” Then he would walk me to my bus stop, and I wouldn’t see him until later. When I was home, and he was miserable, and I would wish for sunrise just to see him happy again.

I don’t think he was happy because he was leaving me, of course, but it hurt that the only times he ever truly seemed to smile were those moments in the morning before we separated. A glimmer of dawn. A Pop-Tart smoking in the toaster. And my father buttoning his uniform, standing proud by the front door as he readied to take me to school.

In my child brain, I thought it had to be because the police department was a castle. My father was a knight protecting the realm. He didn’t want to be trapped in that tower with me—with the dingy curtains my mother had made before she abandoned him—because he worked somewhere better. He had a life outside our tower of misery. He had a life outside of me. But I didn’t. I sat there, day after day, and waited for him. Loved him. Tried so hard to bring him joy. To make him happy. To make him smile.

I couldn’t, though. Most days, I had no control over his moods. I simply had to ride their rip currents, let them pull me wherever they might, and once I was twelve or so, I knew better. I understood that my father’s job was hard, and home reminded him of my mother, and love alone is not enough to heal an eternally festering wound.

Still, I’ve never been able to look at the St. Augustine Police Department with an unbiased perception. It has always seemed like a castle to me.

Until now.

I glance up at the tall white columns bracing the shaded portico entrance. Those columns are the only decoration in sight. The department’s facade is otherwise smooth and plain, a drab brown perched on an evergreen corner lot. The gas station directly across the street appears bigger, broader, and more colorful too, while the police department looks so dull and lifeless and matte that even the late-winter midday sunshine can’t reach its walls.

A single cloud hangs overhead and casts a looming shadow on the cement walkway leading up the steps.

“Are you sure about this?”

I turn, expecting to find Evander beside me, but he isn’t there. He isn’t the one speaking. Instead, Celeste stares at me, her brown eyes wide as she wrings her hands in front of her semitranslucent body. “This is dangerous, Vanessa. These officers will have weapons. You won’t be able to fight them all.” Her lip quivers. “You shouldn’t fight them all.”

It must be a hallucination from the sleepless draughts, but usually I can’t pinpoint the exact shade of her hair, her smile. And now—it’s as if she’s really here. Shimmering cobalt hair. Petal-pink grin. And a voice like sunshine spilling onto open waters.

A small cry wells in my throat, but I smother it. It’s my guilt, I think. My guilt is trying to punish me.

“Vanessa, come on. Don’t do this.” She glances across the street, to where Evander has compelled our driver to buy him a Big Gulp of soda. He slurps loudly from the straw and waves to me.

“Leave me alone,” I hiss, clenching my eyes shut, waiting for her to vanish.

But Celeste doesn’t go. “This is insane. You can’t just walk in there and gut a bunch of officers. They have lives, Vanessa. They have parents, siblings, spouses, children—all waiting for them to come home tonight. There has to be another way. You’re better than this.” Her voice reaches a fever pitch as I shake my head.

“Come on, Hart. You’re better than that.” Evie said that months ago, when I was staring out over a pool of water and wondering what it might be like to dive in.

And now Celeste too.

But maybe I’m not better than anything. I couldn’t kill Evander. I couldn’t stop Sin at winter solstice. I couldn’t even save Celeste. If I can’t do this—if I can’t help my own father—then I don’t deserve to take another breath. I am so tired of being weak. Of failing. Of worrying about right and wrong when wildfires are raging everywhere around me.

I am not better. I am a monster. I need to be a monster.

The hollows of my heart begin to fill with poison.

I glance at Celeste, trying to memorize the realized planes of her face, trying to remember how much I love her, how much she loves me, before I say, “I’m not letting my father die.”

“So it’s them or him? You’re just going to sacrifice them all?”

That poison solidifies in a fiery blast. Because I know the answer. And I know she will hate me for it. I hate me for it. “Yes.”

Her eyes narrow into a glare, and her hands clench into fists. “And what if your father is inside?”

“I’ll save him. No matter the cost.” I ascend the steps one at a time, leaving Celeste behind me.