Landing (17 page)

Chapter 25

On our journey to Wichita Falls,
Texas, civilization slowly degenerates around us. The exit signs stretch
farther and farther apart, and the amount of fast food restaurants and gas
stations advertised at each drops precipitously. The exit we take boasts an
Arbys, a McDonalds, and a single gas station. The town dries up three lights
away from the highway, and our headlights illuminate a rutted, empty ribbon of
road in front of us.

The drive has been unnaturally
quiet. No angel hunting soundtracks blaring, none of Gabe’s usual constant
chatter. I’ve used the time to think; to stitch together a desperate, almost
laughably bad plan.

I also think of Tarren.

Like all the times he did something
unexpectedly considerate for me. How his real face can sometimes break through
the mask when he’s tired beyond all reason, or I catch him in a rare moment of
reflection. He’ll tilt his head to the right without realizing it, and his
mouth will relax out of its tight pinch, making him so handsome. He either has
no clue about the handsomeness or just refuses to recognize it.

I think about how he sacrificed
himself for me, though I have a feeling it was less about me and more about his
own deeply developed martyr complex. So, as much as I try—and I do try—I can’t
let go of the anger. The betrayal. Tarren ruined my life long before he ever
saved it.

Can you love and hate someone at
the same time? Want to rescue them and then beat the bloody hell out of them?

Perhaps it’s a good thing that
Gabe’s jagged aura keeps my thoughts shaky and scattered. I can tell we’re
closing in on our destination by the growing spikes and gullies of his energy
and by how tightly he grips the wheel with both hands. I stare out the window
and wonder if I’m brave enough, strong enough to go through with my plan.

No,
I think,
but I’ll do
it anyway.

Gabe pulls over and turns off the
engine. “Out there, a quarter mile up ahead, should be a group of abandoned
warehouses. Original company, some linen supplier, went into foreclosure two
years ago. One of Grand’s shell companies picked them all up for a song.”

I strain my eyes against the
darkness and make out a cluster of squat buildings ringing an empty parking
lot. All the windows are boarded up. I don’t see any lights. Any sign of life.

“You sure?” I ask Gabe.

He ignores the question, throws
open his door, and steps out. “We get any closer and Grand might hear us
coming.”

I unbuckle my seatbelt and follow
Gabe around to the back of the SUV. “So, I’ve noticed there’s been no
discussion of plan on the way over,” I say.

“Huh? Yeah.” Gabe pulls open the
hatch, lifts the floor, and scans the small arsenal available. “The plan is
that I’m going to arm myself to the teeth; search the buildings one by one
until I find Grand or he finds me; and then I’m going to pray that I get off a
head shot.” He slips his arm through a shoulder holster and buckles on a belt
filled with spare mags.

“Your plan is to pray?”

Gabe shrugs. He cinches a long
sheathed blade to his thigh. “Maybe he’ll trip.”

“Oh god, this is suicide. What if
Grand isn’t alone?”

“He’ll be alone. Torture and
dissection are his personal hobbies. He wouldn’t let anyone in on that.” Gabe’s
energy is bright as a torch, and he’s pungent with the sweat of fear and
adrenaline breaking out across his skin. Grand can probably smell him even at
this distance.

Grand, who can dodge Tarren’s
bullets.

Grand, who can viciously kill
without moving a muscle.

Grand, whose eyes are so cold and
cruel and confident.

“Oh god,” I say again for no
reason.

“Maya, you wait in the car,” Gabe
says. “We’ll link on Bluetooth. If I get Tarren, I’ll have you pull up. You’ll
provide cover fire while we escape if we still need it. If you don’t hear from
me in twenty minutes, or if I tell you to go or suddenly start screaming like
my legs are being torn off, then you go and you don’t look back. Understand?”

Gabe closes the hatch. He’s got
every spare gun strapped to him, along with knives, a chain, a Taser, even a
small ax on his hip. He looks like a walking arsenal, like one of those
ridiculous movie heroes who sets out to shoot down a whole gang of expendable
henchmen while surviving a hail of return fire without a scratch. He also still
looks so much like a punk teenager. His left sneaker is untied

“Gabe, that’s a terrible plan.
Actually, it’s worse than terrible.”

“I know.” He grins and shrugs on
the long brown duster that I gave him. “But all we got is my stupid brain and
not any time. Grand is going to cut on Tarren again, and I can’t let him do
that. I won’t!”

“I’m going with you,” I insist,
because I think he would be suspicious if I didn’t.

“No Maya.”

“Why the hell not? If you want to
throw your life away like some stupid Rambo wannabe, then why can’t I?”

“Cause I promised that I would
never let Grand hurt you again.” Gabe stakes me with his wide honeycomb eyes.
His aura pulses lavender. “Maya, let me keep that promise.”

I utterly can’t stand the look on
his face, the way it puts lines in his skin that shouldn’t be there. I can’t
stand any of this, the cold air, big pearl of a moon in the sky, another family
slipping between my fingers.

“Gabe,” I whimper, “This is…this is
fucking insane.”

“Give me a hug before I go,” he
says.

I shake my head. “Your energy is
too spastic, I can’t.”

“Yes you can, come on.”

“Please don’t do this,” I say as
Gabe wraps his arms around me and presses my head against his cheek. His energy
envelopes me.

Blue as blue, true as true.

I squeeze my eyes shut, clench
every weary muscle. There was a time when I enjoyed being touched, when Ryan’s
fingers could elicit such wild giggles from me. Now I shudder with the pain of
holding back.

I’m sorry,
I think to Gabe.
You
won’t understand, but it’s because I love you.

Gabe breaks the hug and gives me a
sad little smile.

“Wait,” I say. I open the passenger
side door, grab Gabe’s lucky hat from the side compartment, and hold it out to
him.

He looks at the hat. “Wouldn’t be
very lucky if I died in it.”

“Then don’t die.”

“You keep it Maya. It was my
father’s, the only thing I have of his.” Gabe clears his throat. “Remember, if
I say ‘go’ you have to go.”

“I understand,” I say, which I do
on a theoretical level.

Gabe turns toward the buildings but
doesn’t move. He looks back at me and says, “I can’t think of a good parting
line. You know, something to remember me by.”

“Me neither, I never can,” I say.
“The thing about me letting you keep your promise was pretty good though.”

“Yeah, I guess so,” he says, and
that’s it. Gabe turns and jogs toward the compound, all his weapons and ammo
thudding with the beat of his stride. I expect him to glance back, but he
doesn’t.

I wait five minutes. Five long,
long minutes, and I don’t really try to build up my courage or psych myself out
for what I must do. No swelling tides of heroic music for me. My knees are
knocking each other silly, and my spine is made out of marshmallow. But I will
do this thing, because…because I just can’t lose my brothers.

Gabe reaches the parking lot and
disappears between the first two buildings. His five minute lead time is up. I
open the passenger door and step out into the cold night. I take a few timid
starter steps, and then I’m running toward the desolate cluster of buildings,
my bare feet smacking softly on the concrete.

Chapter 26

When I reach the complex of flat,
identical one-story buildings, I loop around Gabe and start at the back so he
won’t see me. Every window is shuttered, and graffiti stamps bright,
incongruent patterns across their fronts. Somewhere inside one of them Grand
must feel our presence. I count on his patience, hoping he will find this
little sneak attempt amusing and allow me to come to him. I also hope he won’t
decide to slash up Tarren as a welcome present.

I close my eyes and embrace that
predator part of me, seeking a hint of the energy I know so well.

Are you here?
I think to
Tarren.
Is there still enough of you left to save?

I’m not sure how far I can expand
my sense, but wait…
there.
 I feel something, a tingle right at the edge
of my mental reach. I walk faster, then run. I feel it, the unique pulse of
Tarren’s energy, faint at first but stronger as my legs carry me toward another
anonymous building in the middle of the cluster.

I reach the building and circle it,
following the beacon of Tarren’s energy until I am right outside the room where
he is held. I crouch down, press both hands against the wall, and try to
determine his condition. The pulse of Tarren’s aura is strong and so steady
that I know he’s keeping it that way on purpose, which means he’s conscious and
still stubborn enough not to show Grand his fear.

I stay there a while, kneeling
against that wall, letting it support the weight of my body.

I’m scared. God, I’m so scared.

A faded phantom of Diana takes form
next to me straight from one of the pictures on the bookshelf in my bedroom.
She touches my cheek with ethereal fingers, my mother. Beautiful caramel hair.
Sad gray eyes that look just like mine and Tarren’s. She leans into me, kisses
my forehead.

I stand up, and my legs are steady.
Mostly steady.

I opt for entering through the
front door of the warehouse—the lock was jimmied long ago—and even let it slam
closed behind me. The sound vibrates through the empty chambers of the
building. I catch a glow of light around the corner and walk toward it through
cavernous, mostly-empty rooms. A smell of musty cotton clings to the air, and
rusted shelves stand against the walls holding only the delicate strands of
spider webs and old leaves that have blown in under the door.

My heart is pounding so hard I
think I can hear its faint echo as I move. I take my time and keep my shoulders
squared. Let Grand start wondering. He hasn’t attacked yet, so perhaps I’ve
intrigued him.

The beacon of Tarren’s energy grows
as I move forward. At the back of the building a door bars my way. Light seeps
out around the edges, and Tarren is inside. I turn the knob and step into a
small, conspicuously clean room.

Tarren kneels in the center, his
wrists and ankles cuffed behind him around a wide concrete pillar. He looks up
at me and blanches.

Deep yellows splinter through his
aura. He doesn’t say anything; just stares with such hollow-eyed
disappointment.

I give him a disinterested glance,
noting his mud-splattered clothes, disarrayed hair, and a growing welt on his
neck. Only a light haze of red throbs in his aura. He’s cloaking, of course,
but he’s not seriously injured. No new cuts. Not yet.

Two glowing lamps sit on opposite
sides of a small metal workbench. Between them, a line of implements wink the
light back at me: various-sized knives and scalpels, pliers, a bone saw, duct
tape, a laptop, other things that I can’t identify but that look wicked and
sharp in very bad ways.

Something drips slow, steady, and
unnerving. It turns out to be blood. Jane’s blood.

She lies on a second table, her
head resting at an angle that only a broken neck can accomplish. Her face is
bloody and scored, that beautiful pale skin shredded. Her left arm has been
dissected, and this is where the blood slides down the table, plopping into a
metal basin on the floor.

I gaze at her de-skinned hand. The
vein-covered bulb that angels use to feed looks like a bruised peach pit caught
in the muscles of her fist. Strange white filaments branch from the bulb,
worming into her muscles, winding all the way up her arm until they disappear
beneath the skin that remains.

Grand has positioned the table so
that Jane’s half-lidded eyes stare at Tarren.

Grand.

He stands behind the table of
surgical equipment, allowing me to gain my bearings while he wipes down his
scalpel. He’s changed into a crisp white dress shirt. The sleeves are rolled up
to his elbows, and I don’t see a single drop of blood on him. The emptiness on
the end of his left wrist is still a surprise.
How in the hell did he get
both sleeves rolled up?

He sets down the scalpel, and we
consider each other. When I look beyond the power emanating from him, I notice
something shocking. Grand is short, and his hair is receding from a noticeable
widow’s peak. In fact, his face with the high forehead we share is rather
plain.

Funny how in all my dreams he’s
always this huge, faceless, muscle-bulging hulk.

Too much silence. Too much
thinking.

“I’ve considered your offer.” My
words produce a slight, tinny echo in the room.

“And?”

I swallow. “I have a gift for you.”

I walk over to the table and touch
the duct tape. “May I?”

“By all means.” Grand’s eyes catch
and hold mine in a vise. He suspects a trap, of course, but he seems willing to
let me play it out.

No thinking
, I order myself
firmly,
just doing.

I swallow again. It’s getting
harder each time. I turn, crouch down in front of Tarren, and rip off a piece
of duct tape.

“I told you to run,” he whispers.

“Be good,” I say and carefully
align the tape over his mouth. I can’t help but stare at the scar along his
jaw. Tarren doesn’t turn his head or attempt to avoid my hands. I smooth the
tape against his skin, and he just stares at me, trying to divine my plan.
Trust
me
, I mouth. Grand can see this of course, but that’s the point.

I step back from Tarren, unmute the
phone in my pocket, and whisper into my Bluetooth. “Gabe?”

“Maya,” his voice is a soft
whisper, “unless it’s an emergency we need to keep radio silence.”

“I went in after you. I found Tarren.”
My voice trembles, but this is okay. I don’t even try to swallow.

“What?”

“He’s unconscious. I think Grand
drugged him.”

“You found Tarren?” Gabe’s voice
hitches. “And he’s alive? Is he hurt?”

“He’s alive, and I don’t see
anything wrong with him. Listen, I’m in building twelve, in the far back room.
I can’t pick the lock on Tarren’s cuffs.”

“Where’s Grand?”

“I don’t know. Not here.”

“You sure?”

Grand is watching me calmly.

“Yeah, he’s not in the building,” I
whisper. “He must be off doing something else until Tarren wakes up.”

“Maya, this sounds like a trap. We
can’t be this lucky.”

Tarren keeps very still. He must
imagine that we have some sort of plan, but I can tell from the deepening hues
of red in his restrained aura that he thinks we’re doomed.

“Gabe, I’m telling you, Grand isn’t
here. Maybe your prayers really were answered, but we’ve got to move fast. As
soon as you get here, I’ll go back for the car.”

There’s a pause on the line. The
silence lingers. I can feel Gabe’s doubt churning between us. But I know him. I
know that his trust is the biggest, most beautiful, weakest part of him.

“Okay,” Gabe says in a husky voice.
“Just…just stay with Tarren until I get there.”

I mute the phone and turn back to
Grand. “Let me handle this my way,” I tell him and try to match his detached
demeanor.

“It’s your gift,” Grand says.

A big bubble of panic is slowly
rising inside of me, pressing against my lungs, making it hard to breathe.
These minutes waiting for Gabe almost suffocate me. Tarren keeps calm, but I
feel the weight of his eyes on me, the anger and despair he’s drilling into my
back.

And then there’s Grand, his power
like a grenade with only his amusement as the lynch pin holding back our
destruction. I wonder if one of his abilities includes mind reading, or if he
has some other sixth, seventh or eighth sense that can detect lies.

A window opens and closes at the
back of the building. Pause, then soft, quick steps.

Grand retreats into the darkness. I
notice a slight limp in his steps. Tarren must have gotten at least one bullet
into him. I flatten myself against the wall next to the door. Gabe walks right
by me. He sees Tarren, and his energy pulses those blindingly bright colors of
love.

“You’re awake,” he says.

Quickly, before I lose my nerve, I
step up behind him.

Gabe whips around, bringing up his
gun, but too late. I strike him across the temple, and he crumples to the
ground. Tarren growls beneath the tape and twists in his restraints. The metal
cuffs bang loud against the pillar.

“It has to be this way,” I tell
him, and I don’t try to hide the regret in my voice.

I nudge Gabe with my foot onto his
back. He groans, opens his eyes, and blinks. I pull the guns out of his
holsters, the knives, the chain, and the ax and send them all skittering across
the floor to Grand’s feet.

“Maya,” Gabe moans. He tries to sit
up, and I backhand him so hard that he hits the floor with a surprised yelp.

“Don’t get up,” I tell him.
“Please. Let this be easy.”

Gabe ignores me. He turns over and
pushes himself up to his hands and knees. Blood dribbles down his chin from a
fresh cut in his lip. He gazes around the room, sees Grand, and tries to
scramble to his feet. I give him a kick that cracks some ribs and sends him
into the wall.

Gabe clutches his chest, shivering
with pain. “Ah, ah, ah,” he hisses, and his aura crackles red.

Tarren wrenches against his cuffs,
and the chords of his neck strain with his muted screams. Beneath all of this,
the steady drip of Jane’s blood continues.

Keeping an arm around his ribs,
Gabe struggles to his knees.

“Don’t,” I tell him.

Gabe gasps in a couple of short
breaths, each punching red welts through his aura. He looks up at me, and those
wide elf eyes search mine, waiting for a wink. His trust is a stubborn banner
of delicate blue threads in the midst of all the agonized red within his aura.
I can see it, and so can Grand. I know what my father wants; what I must do to
prove myself to him.

“It was always a losing battle,” I
say to Gabe. “I think somewhere deep down you know that.”

Gabe doesn’t say anything but his
aura jumps.

“Or are you really that naïve? Have
you read so many comic books that you’ve convinced yourself that we’re some
kind of ragtag team of heroes who will somehow pull off a miracle?”

Gabe’s eyes flick behind me to
Grand, then back to me. “Why?” His voice is small.

“Because I want you to understand,”
I tell him. “I want you to forgive me for killing you.”