Relentless (31 page)

Daniel strained to see through the blinding, shimmering light, which continued to grow brighter and brighter, until closing his eyes no longer impeded it.

He tried blocking his eyes with an arm, but still it seemed that he could
feel
the light penetrating every pore of his body. Grant was thrashing about on the floor, and Julie was now screaming as well. Soon, he joined them, until the only sound in the apartment was desperate, anguished wailing.

And then, as unexpectedly as it had began, the light flashed out of existence, as though its power had been cut.

When Daniel opened his eyes, his vision was gone.

‘‘Grant?’’ he called out repeatedly.

There was no answer, though he could hear Julie weeping.

Several minutes passed before his sight finally returned. When it did, Daniel strained to see the spot where he’d last looked at Grant.

Grant was still lying there on the floor.

But he was unconscious, curled into a fetal ball.

Frozen in a repose of infinite pain.

Julie was cradling him, weeping uncontrollably. Daniel asked no questions of Julie. There were none necessary.

His lips looked blue.

He wasn’t moving.

And his chest was still.

All through Morgan’s asylum, every person—Morgan, Fletcher, Marta, and the more than fifty other Loci currently in residence or visiting— all of them spontaneously crumpled to the floor, unconscious.

Hannah collapsed by herself next to her apartment door.

All of the others who had experienced the Shift, all around the world—including those who had never been accounted for—all of them, everywhere, slid into oblivion at the precise moment that their rings stopped glowing.

Not a single one of them moved.

Not one of them breathed.

INTERREGNUM

T
HE
K
EEPER
knew.

Knew that Grant had met with Daniel. Knew what the two of them had figured out. Knew who Hannah had been working for, until recently. And that Alex was helping Grant, blatantly against orders, but had just been removed from the playing board.

The Keeper knew exactly what had just happened to all of those who wore the rings, and what it would mean.

Most of all, the Keeper knew of the threat that was coming.

The Keeper smiled at the thought of so much meticulous preparation coming together like a perfectly strategized game of chess.

It was only a matter of time.

History, after all, could not be avoided.

The Bringer was close now.

Very
close.

37

A cloud.

No, a mist.

A misty cloud.

That’s what it was.

That’s what he saw.

That’s what he was
inside of
.

It was beautiful, swirling in lovely, soothing hues of purple and pink and blue. It caressed his skin, and he decided he’d never felt a more peaceful sensation.

Some barely conscious part of him knew that nothing like this place existed anywhere in the world. Yet it felt remarkably comforting. Its soothing essence poured through him, saturating him with happiness.

A noise.

He heard something.

Grant looked ahead. A distortion of some kind was visible in the distance. It was an odd mixture of light and darkness, of sound and silence, that seemed to be coming closer. After a moment it resolved into a blurred outline Grant recognized as a person coming toward him.

The figure drew closer, and the sound grew louder.

Soon, he thought he heard words among the sound.

It was a voice.

A person.

Someone spoke. Or was it singing?

Whatever it was, it was drawing nearer in the tranquil, unruffled clouds. Despite his curiosity, and an elusive sense in the pit of his stomach that something wasn’t right, Grant couldn’t help reveling at the thought of staying here forever.

He only had a mild curiosity about the figure as it drew nearer— near enough for him to make out a humanlike shape. But everything was so peaceful here; there were no concerns, no fears.

‘‘Grant,’’ the voice said.

It came closer now, close enough to reach out and touch, and yet still all he saw was a milky outline.

‘‘Hello, sweetheart,’’ it said, the clouds rippling and shifting colors with every inflection.

He could think of no one who’d ever called him ‘‘sweetheart.’’

‘‘It is an eternity in a moment, given to us,’’ the voice replied.

What’s happening to me?

Where did that pain come from?

What is this place?
he thought.

‘‘It is the Forging,’’ the shape continued in a remarkably smooth, dignified voice. A hue of yellow formed at the edge of the rippling mist as the shape spoke. ‘‘It began the first time the pain took hold of you, but you resist.’’

It hurts. It’s too much. I can’t take it
.

‘‘I know,’’ it said soothingly. ‘‘But this is your portion. Everything has been leading to this moment, and it
must
be done. The others will not last without you.’’

They wouldn’t want me to suffer
.

‘‘Suffering is not what this is about,’’ it said sympathetically, the clouds’ colors turning to soft pink. ‘‘Today is a new step in your journey; it is not the last. You must ask yourself what you are willing to go through, to reach the journey’s end. Are you willing to sacrifice? Are you willing to absorb your greatest fear, and make it part of your very being? Are you willing to follow the path that has been set before you?’’

No! I don’t want this! I don’t want any part of it
.

‘‘No flesh ever does. That isn’t the point.’’ The clouds were growing redder now . . .

I just want to stay here
, Grant thought. And then another thought came to mind, something he intuitively knew was true, yet had not explanation for.
I want to stay with you
.

The form began to coalesce into a more distinctive shape. A shape he recognized as female.

‘‘I want that, too, my love. But we are not asked what we want.

Only what we are willing to
do
.’’ The clouds reverted to their original blue and purple . . .

But
why?
Why must I do this? What is all this about?

‘‘It’s about living.’’

This is
life?
Is this how life is supposed to be? Full of pain and
injustice and grief and selfishness? Is this fair? Or right? Or just?

‘‘One day you will have the answers to every question. Stay true to yourself.
Nothing
is as it seems. Today, you must go back.’’

Her form took on the properties of skin and hair and clothing, and he saw her face for the first time.

She looked strikingly familiar.

‘‘This is not the path I would have chosen for you, my beautiful boy.

But it is what
is
, and there is no other who can traverse it. Go back now. Go back to the ones who need you.’’

Her face glowed the most beautiful, radiant, white light he had ever seen. It grew brighter and brighter . . .

‘‘Mom!’’ Grant screamed.

His breathing came too fast; he was going to hyperventilate. But he couldn’t slow himself.

Was that really her?
Had he just seen his mother?

He looked around. He was in his bedroom. Sitting up in bed. He couldn’t remember how he got here.

He felt a staggering soreness all over, as if every muscle in his body had been stretched and pulled and exercised beyond failure. Every movement brought a world of aches.

Before the dream—if it
was
a dream—the last thing he remembered was watching his ring glow brighter than bright. And then the pain, pain beyond imagining that had waged war on his entire system.

No wonder he was sore.

But that place . . . that . . .
dreamscape
. . . it was familiar. He had seen it before . . . somewhere . . .

‘‘You’re awake!’’ a voice exclaimed. His sister. ‘‘
He’s awake!!
’’ Julie called out, louder.

She ran and threw her arms around him, squeezing him tight. ‘‘Are you all right? What happened? How do you feel?’’

Grant shook his head, not ready to share his dream yet.

The Forging, she called it . . .

Lisa appeared at the bedroom door. Daniel, too. She was pushing him in a wheelchair.

‘‘Does anything hurt?’’ Daniel asked, inspecting him like a used car.

‘‘Everything I own hurts,’’ Grant moaned, wincing with each breath, each tilt of his head. Coupled with this was a crushing exhaustion. He barely had the energy to raise a finger.

‘‘You looked like you were . . .’’ Daniel commented, ‘‘I’ve never seen anything like it.’’

‘‘I don’t—I . . . I can’t explain it,’’ Grant whispered, his mind charging full speed ahead though his breathing at last was slowing.

He remembered the pain that had encompassed him and how it felt. It was horrific. And then he had seen the mist and then . . .
her
.

‘‘Did I die?’’ he whispered, his eyes still closed.

‘‘No!’’ Julie cried.

Daniel hesitated. Grant couldn’t believe the man was in a wheelchair. ‘‘I . . . don’t know. Your breathing was almost nonexistent. Julie said you were cold to the touch. My best guess: you were in some kind of catatonia.’’

Grant looked down at his left arm and noticed the line sticking out of it for the first time. He carefully pulled it out, fighting the urge to wince with each new movement.

‘‘We hooked you up to an I.V.,’’ Julie explained, ‘‘to make sure you didn’t dehydrate.’’

‘‘I feel okay . . . Aside from the soreness. It’s like a truck ran over me . . . and then a tank.’’ He glanced outside his bedroom window, and the midday sun startled him. Plus it finally fully registered that Daniel was in a wheelchair. ‘‘Wait—how long was I out?’’ he asked.

Daniel looked at the watch wrapped around the cast on his broken wrist. ‘‘About thirty-six hours now.’’

Grant just looked at him. ‘‘I’ve been asleep for a day and a half?’’

The three of them nodded in unison.

‘‘But it feels like I haven’t slept in
days
!’’

The only response the others could give was to watch him with concern.

For a day and a half, I’ve been in a coma. Or . . . something.

What’s happening to me?

What is the Forging?

And the woman?

She couldn’t have been . . .

Could she?

He looked down at his ring. It had returned to normal. No glowing, no shimmering.

But as Grant settled uncomfortably into this skin again, he realized for the first time that he felt something else, something new that he couldn’t explain. It was a very odd sensation.

‘‘Have you talked to Hannah?’’ he asked. ‘‘Or Morgan, or any of the others?’’

‘‘No, we haven’t heard from anyone,’’ Julie replied.

Thirty-six hours and no word from Hannah or Morgan. Or even Alex.

He looked up again and saw them watching—
scrutinizing
—his every tick and movement.

‘‘I’m going to need a little while to sort this out,’’ Grant said, holding Julie’s hands tighter than before. His thoughts were coming faster than he could keep up with—his blackout, his dream, Daniel’s revelation about why he had been Shifted, his friends, his father, his mother.

Grant stopped and gazed at Daniel and Lisa. ‘‘Thanks for staying to help.’’

Daniel shook his head, looked down, unable to meet Grant’s eyes.

‘‘Didn’t think it would be a good idea to leave, under the circumstances.’’

‘‘Thanks,’’ Grant mumbled.

‘‘Hope you don’t mind,’’ Lisa offhandedly remarked, ‘‘but we helped ourselves to one of your unused apartments. We didn’t have anywhere else to go, and this building’s got decent security tech . . .’’

Grant stopped, midthought. Again. ‘‘What do you mean,
my
apartments?’’

‘‘This building was anonymously purchased two months ago. It took some digging but we finally found a trail that names you as primary owner,’’ Daniel said. ‘‘According to the paperwork, you own the whole thing.’’

Grant laid back down. ‘‘Somebody wake me when the world stops being crazy.’’

But as soon as he’d closed his eyes, the strange new feeling asserted itself again. It was as though he’d forgotten something, something so significant that it was making him edgy and fretful. And it was becoming more pronounced with each moment that passed.

He sat back up with effort, and gazed out the bright window at the Los Angeles skyline beyond. ‘‘Something’s wrong.’’

‘‘I thought we established
that
with our
last
conversation,’’ Daniel retorted.

‘‘Not with . . . the world. It’s something else,’’ Grant replied, concentrating. ‘‘Something . . . closer, more personal.’’

‘‘Like what?’’ Julie asked, watching him closely.

‘‘I don’t know, something’s just . . .
off
,’’ Grant replied, frustrated. He closed his eyes again. ‘‘I feel it.’’

‘‘Do you feel it yet?’’ Drexel’s voice whispered into her ear. ‘‘Has it started taking effect?’’

Alex craned her neck to look into his eyes, only inches away from her own. ‘‘I really, really wish you were dead,’’ she said drunkenly.

‘‘Mmm,’’ he muttered, backing away from the chair she was tied to. ‘‘You wouldn’t have lied about that, anyway.’’

He grabbed another chair and sat directly in front of her. He glanced at his watch, calculating if enough time had yet passed for the truth serum to take effect. Her demeanor had changed in the last few minutes. She looked a little loopy and doe-eyed. But she could simply be trying to throw him off.

‘‘What’s your name?’’ he barked.

‘‘Alex,’’ she replied immediately.

The drug had taken effect.

‘‘Okay, what’s your last name?’’

‘‘Don’t have one,’’ she smiled, and giggled dreamily.

Drexel backhanded her across the face.

‘‘Ow-w-w!’’ she yelled. ‘‘You are a mean, stupid, ugly man. And you’re . . .
mean
.’’

‘‘
Stop
wasting my time, little girl. Tell me everything you know about Grant Borrows.’’

‘‘Can’t,’’ she said.