Keeper Chronicles: Awakening (23 page)

“How can you talk about them so casually?” Rebekah asked.

The elevator chimed their destination. No hint of emotion showed in the woman’s tone or demeanor. “Had your parents been true to their duty, you would not be so ignorant or your life so often endangered. The council’s tolerance is at an end. In a couple of days when my son’s recovered enough, he’ll begin your training. No more tiptoeing or going easy.”

So much for porcelain. “Won’t he be in here still? He’s just come out of a coma.”

Gabe’s mother glared as if Rebekah’s question demonstrated aptly the ignorance she’d just accused her of. They had reached the room. “You have five minutes, Miss Lorek.”

Leaving his mother standing at the door, Rebekah walked into the room not knowing what to expect. A few hours ago, he’d been foaming at the mouth and seizing. Now, he sat up in the bed looking tired but otherwise healthy, a sheen of sweat glistening on his forehead in the sickly hospital light. The tubes and wires binding him to the wall earlier had all disconnected save a few leads for the monitor.

“Hey,” she said, going to stand by the side of his bed. Did he remember her visit from earlier?

“Hey, yourself.”

“How are you feeling?”

A pained smile twisted his mouth. “Remember that time when we were kids and we swam to the sea lion cave after your father told us not to and we got so exhausted from the swim that we couldn’t make it back? Kinda like that but worse.”

She chuckled despite herself as the memory replayed in her mind. They hadn’t gotten back to the house until almost midnight, and her parents had grounded her for a month. But they had seen the sea lions. “Ouch,” she said in sympathy.

He cleared his throat, glancing quickly out the window and back. “Look, I’ve only got a minute, but I wanted to apologize. For the things I said. I shouldn’t have been angry at you when it was my fault all along. I was sloppy, and you ended up paying the price.”

She shook her head. “No. I don’t accept your apology because you have nothing to be sorry about. You haven’t done anything wrong. The opposite, actually.”

“I have. I promised your father—”

She silenced him with a quick kiss, a spark of energy shimmering through her at his touch. “You’re safe. That’s all that matters. If you want, we can talk about this when you’re better.”

He reached out like he wanted to touch her face but pulled his hand back at the last minute.

“I’ve got to go.” She stepped back, a breath trapped in her throat.

“How is Dylan, anyway?” he asked, his tone neutral.

“Fine, thank you,” she whispered and turned to leave.

His voice stopped her at the door. “Tell him...tell him I’m sorry for the way I acted. He wasn’t the one who killed your father, and I should have trusted you. You had Keeper instincts, after all, even if you didn’t know it at the time.”

“Take care of yourself, Gabe.” She fled.

Chapter Twenty-Three

Gabe didn’t wait until the end of the day before going home from the hospital, despite the many and varied protests. Lying in bed, getting poked and prodded by doctors baffled at his unexpected recovery as well as dealing with his mother’s knowing expression proved to be more than he could tolerate. She didn’t say anything about Rebekah’s visit, but the small twitch around the corners of her mouth—like she wanted to smile but choked it down—might as well have been a megaphone. He couldn’t take watching her another moment.

Riding back to the lighthouse from the hospital, pine trees whizzing by in a blur of green, seemed surreal. Being in a coma had been like going to sleep and finding out that he’d woken up in a parallel dimension where his body moved just a fraction of a second slower than it should. A dimension similar to the one he’d lived in his whole life, close enough to pass a casual inspection, but everything was just a little off: the colors too bright, the emotions too strong, the light too blinding. Even Rebekah had been weird. Why had she kissed him? And then ran away?

Nothing made sense anymore. Juliet had never been like that. Dating her had been as natural to him as his breath, as easy as an afternoon of slaying demons. Rebekah, on the other hand, with her everything was just...complicated. Not when they were children, of course. No, the trouble came later—the awkward first kiss, homecoming dances where he stepped on her feet and picked out the wrong corsage, their first time making love on the beach. The movies made it look so romantic; the reality was much different.

“I bet you’re happy to go home,” his mother commented, saying much more with seven words than others could with seventy as she glanced over at him.

Gabe refused to feed her curiosity by answering.

Home. The concept felt foreign. She pulled up at the bunker as if that were where he belonged, but it wasn’t the truth. It wasn’t home. But neither was the place he’d grown up—a small ranch house added on to over the generations until it became a sprawling two-story mess with doors that used to be windows which used to be a flower bed. If he thought about it, the only place he’d ever felt anything like belonging or contentment had been the Killamook light. Especially after Juliet moved in.

“Are you sure you’re okay?”

“Yeah,” Gabe kissed her stiffly on the cheek. “I’m fine. See you later.”

She returned the gesture. “Don’t forget about Rebekah’s training.”

“Have I ever forgotten my duty—for even one second?” he asked, practically snarling. “No. Father made sure of that, didn’t he?” His mother reached out for him, but he turned away before she could have the satisfaction. He kept walking, each step feeling like the ghost of steps he’d taken thousands of times before and would take thousands of times again, until the storage shed safely hid him from sight.

Not until the ignition purred to life and crunch of gravel beneath rubber meant she’d left did he move. Inside the bunker, too, nothing was right. The Hunters’ things were on the floor like normal, his machines spread out on every available surface. The bed, however, was rumpled. Two indents on the pillow. He didn’t need to go any closer to know that Beks and Mia had been sleeping there, probably since the fire.

Home. He wanted to go home.

And why shouldn’t he? Beks was here, fully aware of her heritage. By rights, this lighthouse was hers to protect now. She wasn’t alone, either. Not with the Hunters and Mia there if something happened, and Moore could come as backup during storms. He decided. Grabbing one of the duffle bags, he emptied the drawers of his few changes of clothing and personal items, shoving them inside in no particular order. That finished, he filled a second bag with munitions and weapons from his personal stash— the ones he’d transferred over from Killamook—and a random selection of canned food and water to last him at least a week.

Slinging the bags over his shoulder, he climbed the stairs out of the bunker. Getting to Killamook with such a stash would be difficult, especially since he couldn’t get to his boat which had been docked about a mile away. The Hunters had his car, so he couldn’t drive to get it, and there was no way he’d ask Rebekah or Dylan for a ride. All that remained was his Jet Ski still docked off the beach. Slinking out of the bunker and down the lane, sticking to the cover of the hiking path so as to avoid being seen by anyone who might try and stop him, he made his way down to the shore where, sure enough, his Jet Ski was beached and secured to a tree near the side of the cliff.

As soon as the mainland lay at his aft and the gentle splash of waves hissed beneath his feet, he knew he’d made the right decision. Train Rebekah he would—Gabe owed her father that much for having broken his promise and he’d rather she not die during her first slaying—but he wouldn’t stick around and start getting attached to the place again. To people. Everything was easier when he was alone.

Tying the Jet Ski off at his small dock, he climbed up onto the wooden platform and surveyed his home. Decomposing demon flesh rotted on the island’s small surface, the stench fouler than even he’d imagined. The tower itself, unlit since he’d left, sat bloated and dead at the front of the isle, the house behind it even more dilapidated. One key ingredient, however, was in place: people. Nowhere to be seen. Even the coastline was shrouded in mist and hidden from view. Perfect.

An unspectacular sunset muted the sky, its sinking rays choked by a blanket of clouds moving landward from the ocean. Gabe spent the remainder of the daylight making some repairs to the house and fixing the roof as best he could so at least he’d have shelter if it decided to rain. The mindless work occupied him well into the night, after which he took a can of tuna and pack of crackers with him as he climbed the tower’s thirty-two steps to the lantern room where he activated the light.

The rest of the night and into the next morning, he sat in the watch room, eating his meager dinner and watching as the surrounding darkness consumed the light’s strong, weapon-like beam.

****

His shovel scraping the hard rock of the island and a perfume-soaked cloth covering his mouth, Gabe spent the following morning cleaning up demon parts and gathering them in a central location to be doused with holy water. Although his reserves were full, he nonetheless rationed what he tossed on the demon cadavers, the steam of dissolving flesh not unlike the smoke from a fire. Noon came and went before the bodies had fully dissolved. Not wanting to smell the stench of demon flesh the rest of the day, he jumped on his Jet Ski and headed back to shore for Rebekah’s first lesson.

As he bounced along the waves, part of him wished he had lit the keeper’s shack on fire. What was the worst that could happen? The house might catch on fire and burn. Maybe the reserves of gasoline would ignite, taking out the tower with the explosion. The ocean would ensure that the blaze spread no further.

Maybe, when he had no tower left to defend, the council would agree to let him join the ranks of the Hunters, and he could escape the constant reminders of everyone he’d failed.

Nearing the shore, he caught himself repeatedly looking back at the island, hoping to see a massive inferno. He tied up at the beach. He’d not bothered with his Parks Services uniform—it wasn’t like he had official duties anyway—and instead chose jeans, a simple grey t-shirt, and a Zelda hoodie. He looked like he belonged in his mother’s basement playing video games, not on his way to train someone how to hack up demons and dismember the bodies. Tucked into the loops on his belt was a pair of hatchets.

His footsteps echoed on the stairs leading up the porch, hollow and empty. Knocking twice, he stepped back and waited.

Dylan opened the door. “Can I...” He stopped himself and turned toward the stairs. “Rebekah, that ranger guy’s here.”

“Coming,” she shouted from one of the upstairs rooms.

He thought to echo the apology he’d sent with Beks the day before, but standing there face to face with the man, Gabe couldn’t bring himself to say anything. Something about the man felt slimy. Untrustworthy. And the more he stood there smiling, the deeper the feeling grew.

“Hey, look, I know we haven’t always seen eye to eye, so to speak,” Dylan held out his hand, “but I’m really grateful for what you did. I wouldn’t be here now if it weren’t for you.”

Narrowing his eyes, he studied the man standing across from him, not glancing down at the proffered hand. Why did he get the sudden feeling that taking Dylan’s hand would be a mistake? Gabe wasn’t a hateful person, but he loathed Dylan with such a raging passion he’d experienced only when hunting Juliet’s killer. “I don’t know what you’re playing at,” he whispered as footsteps hurried down the stairs, “but you should leave. Soon. It’s not safe for your kind here.”

“What’s going on?” Rebekah asked, touching Dylan’s arm.

The musician/free loader shook his head and slipped his arm passively around Rebekah’s waist. “Nothing, sweetie. I was just thanking him for saving me.”

“Good.” Rebekah looked at Gabe, then back at Dylan, then back at Gabe as if she were in the middle of a visual tug of war. “I’ll be gone for a bit—the Parks Services are putting together a fundraiser to help pay for repairs and they wanted my input. Do you mind staying behind and helping Mia?”

The man’s smile made Gabe sick. “Of course, sweetie. Anything for you. Take all the time you need, okay.”

“I will.”

Not sticking around to watch them say goodbye, Gabe turned and walked off the porch and back toward the trails that would lead either further around to the north or back to the beach. She caught up with him a minute later, hastily buttoning up her fur-lined black coat. “I hope you’re wearing something underneath that,” he said, starting on the path down to the beach, “because you’re going to be quite hot if you didn’t.”

“Hot? What are we doing?”

This time, his grin was genuine. “I’m training you.”

As they walked down to the beach and then out along the path following Cape Creek, she asked a constant stream of questions about where they were going and what they were doing and if she should have brought anything with her and did he know how long they were going to be gone. All of them he ignored. He found what he was looking for after about fifteen minutes of walking—an ancient pine with a trunk as thick as several men.

He stopped next to it, freed one hatchet from its sheath, and handed it to Beks. “Here. Take this.”

“Oh, now you’re talking. What am I supposed to do with this?” she asked.

“Cut this tree down.

She looked like he’d asked her to flap her wings and fly to the moon. “You’ve got to be kidding. I can’t do that.”

“Yes, you can.”

“No, I can’t.”

“Have you ever tried?” he asked. She shook her head, a scowl beginning to form; he recognized that look from when they’d dated. “Then how do you know... sweetie?”

Adjusting her grip on the hatchet, she squared herself in front of the tree, drew her arm back, but didn’t swing. “But won’t this hurt the tree?” she hesitated, blushing.

“I sure hope so.” Tapping her on the back twice, he walked past her and back down the path. “Come find me when you’re finished.”

Gabe didn’t go far, just out of eyesight for her but well within his earshot. Her first few swings hit the tree with a tiny sound, like that of a bird, as he found himself a large, flat rock to sit on and watch the water. Taking off his boots and socks, he put his feet in the freezing cold November water and used his toes to find the perfect skipping rocks. Most people thought that skipping rocks could be found by sight—by looking in the right place—but he knew better. The perfect rocks, the kind that would skip eleven and twelve times before settling, got lodged in the muddy bed of the creek with time, their tops worn flat from decades of erosion to the point where they themselves began to sink, pulled down by gravity or the weight of the creek or maybe depression.