Relentless (44 page)

For just a blink, Grant hesitated. Then he let panic stab his heart once again, unable to hold back a tremendous scream of emotional detonation. The pieces of the building still flying upward into the air, still in flames, exploded outward with a shockwave that toppled Grant to his knees.

Morgan and the others screamed, running to avoid the larger pieces of debris now falling from the sky like firebombs.

He’d done his best, but portions of the building flew everywhere, outward, into the surrounding woods, the street, the driveway. One barely missed Grant’s car. They rained down in fire, but Grant had no strength left to run. He only hoped none would find him.

When the echoing blast faded, Grant opened his eyes again. The fire had vanished along with the building, and the smoke was beginning to dissipate as well, much of it swept away by the force of the blast.

He made a slow three-hundred-sixty degree turn, taking in every direction. He could see several survivors making their way carefully toward him, shell-shocked but alive. A few others he could feel alive but unable to move, flung aside by the clearing rubble or simply unconscious.

It was only when he stood that he saw the many charred bodies lying on the ground, cast about randomly like black feathers blown in the wind.

Some of them were burned beyond recognition.

A few he recognized, their faces frozen in horror, but hearts no longer beating.

So many he had failed. Failed them all.

Lisa sat back in her seat on the couch, and attempted to digest the story Daniel had just told her.

‘‘You . . .’’ she sputtered, ‘‘Seriously?’’

He nodded, watching her carefully.

‘‘This . . .’’ she said, ‘‘I mean . . . It can’t be
legal
.’’

‘‘No,’’ he replied, then added softly, ‘‘And, I could use your help.’’

Hands planted on hips, time seemed to stop as she glared daggers into him where he sat. ‘‘Have you
lost your mind?!
’’

Daniel gave no answer.

‘‘You. Want. My. Help?’’

‘‘No. I need your help,’’ he said.

‘‘I’m not your research assistant anymore!’’ she snarled, but besides the fire in her eyes, there was something else. Curiosity, perhaps.

‘‘What would I have to do?’’

‘‘I’ll need a ride the night we do it, and I need a few supplies . . .’’

Daniel could practically feel steam cascading off of her.

‘‘How far are you willing to go with this?’’ Lisa asked, still looming above him.

He looked into her eyes with a hardened edge. ‘‘As far as it takes.’’

She said nothing for a long moment, then nodded. ‘‘I’ll come. But I’m only coming to keep an eye on you.’’

56

Hours upon hours passed. The sun rose and set and rose again.

And Grant never stopped.

Never stopped lifting, moving, sifting through the wreckage. He left nothing unturned, refusing all help, sleep, or food.

More than once, Morgan or one of the others tried to get him to stop, slow down, take a break.

But Grant wouldn’t hear them.

The police, fire department, and ambulances eventually arrived, but even they could not deter Grant or hold him back, as the medics quietly treated the wounded and the firemen doused the flames that had spread to the forest.

Even with all of the activity taking place, there was very little sound to be heard. A reverential hush consumed the entire property, save Grant’s relentless searching. None of the survivors spoke; they merely watched. Everyone seemed immobilized by the fire, the death, and what Grant had done. And what he was still doing now.

Occasionally, he would emerge from the building carrying another body. He deposited them all at the edge of the blast crater, where Morgan waited to covertly remove the rings from their dead fingers. He had no idea if she planned to dispose of them or hide them, but either way he knew they’d be out of the picture in her hands.

The EMTs took it from there.

Grant, meanwhile, went back in. Every time.

Morgan was breathing oxygen through a mask hours later when she suddenly sprang up from her seat at the back of an ambulance and tore off the mask.

Before anyone could stop her, she ran past the medics and police and into the smoldering ruins. She passed Grant, who was still working like mad, using his powers to sift through what remained of the wrecked building.

Morgan never stopped running, winding her way through the building, searching for something . . .

‘‘It’s gone!’’ she shouted after a few minutes.

‘‘What?’’ Grant turned in her direction.

She reappeared in front of him, defeated. ‘‘The stone tablet! It’s gone!’’

Grant glared at her sideways, returning to his work. ‘‘Who
cares
, Morgan! You’ve got the whole thing memorized, anyway! People are
dead
here—’’

‘‘Grant,’’ she said softly, placing a hand on his arm. He stopped.

‘‘It’s the
reason
they’re dead,’’ she said.

He turned sharply to stare into her eyes. Eyes that were weighed down by immeasurable sorrow.

‘‘The Keeper . . . he took it,’’ Grant breathed heavily. ‘‘That’s what this was about—he just wanted the Dominion Stone . . .’’

She walked away, leaving him to his work.

Whoever you are . . . I’ll kill you for this
.

On and on Grant went, covered in grime and despair.

He never stopped once, angrily defying exhaustion its prize.

After almost thirty hours, many of the survivors had finally dispersed— some taken to the hospital by the medics, others gone off in search of homeless shelters or other places they might stay.

The sun was setting on the second night after the fire as Morgan and the few others who still remained watched Grant emerge from the wreckage like a specter for the last time.

It was done. He’d saved all that he could save and recovered what was left of those he couldn’t.

Dirty, exhausted, and covered in grime, a dangerous expression darkened his features like a heavy storm cloud ready to strike.

All told, nineteen bodies had been recovered from the wreckage.

Nineteen
.

Nineteen lights extinguished in his soul.

Grant was too spent to shed any tears for them. That might come later. For now, the devastation around him had crept into his heart and left no room for anything else. There were no words. No emotions. No energy.

Grant walked slowly past Morgan and the others, as well as the two ambulances that remained. Two EMTs came over and grabbed him by the arms, meaning to finally drag him back to their equipment and treat his smoke inhalation, but he angrily jerked loose and kept walking.

Morgan ran around in front of him, blocking his path. He noticed for the first time that her arm and shoulder had been set in a sling.

Her hair and skin were dark and muddy, blood encrusted on her hands and fingers. Her eyes were impossibly puffy, yet more tears poured out now as she locked gazes with Grant.

But he never stopped walking or even slowed down. He simply stepped around her. She reached out with her good arm and placed her hand on his shoulder from behind. He paused only a moment before dropping his head and shaking it slightly.

‘‘Please don’t,’’ he whispered.

He kept walking until he reached his car.

Slowly the engine came to life and the car limped its way down the lonely drive until it was out of sight.

No one spoke to Grant for the next forty-eight hours. They tried, but he was unresponsive. He had returned to the apartment, walked past Daniel and Lisa—who hushed instantly when he entered—without comment, and collapsed on his bed.

There he slept fitfully, stirring awake often. Hours upon hours, he drifted in and out of asleep and awake states and all the subtle hues in between.

Dreams came in spurts—violent, terrifying visions of roaring flames and horrified screams. He awoke repeatedly with the putrid taste of burning death in his mouth.

He went to the bathroom and washed his teeth several times, trying to get rid of the taste of the heat and the smoke and the burning bodies. But it wouldn’t leave.

All the while, every one of the Loci continued about their business— most of them in hiding or in the hospital, recovering from injuries— and all of them aware that the time of the prophecy was drawing ever closer.

Even Grant was aware of the passage of time and what it meant, but he was too drained, too emotionally decimated to do anything about it.

He wouldn’t answer his phone, and he locked himself in his bedroom.

And without him, the others had no idea what to do.

Grant’s first visitor since the tragedy came in the early evening, four days after the fire.

A gentle knock at the door barely captured his attention as he sat in the kitchen alone eating a bowl of cereal, staring into space.

He glanced at the door and kept eating.

Another knock. Louder this time.

‘‘Go away, Morgan!’’ he said.

The door nearly caved in at the next knock. He stood up from his stool so fast he pushed it over and ran to the door.

Throwing it open wide, he shouted, ‘‘I said,
go away
!’’

It wasn’t Morgan.

‘‘Hi,’’ said the visitor.

It was Hannah.

Why hadn’t he felt her arrival? He looked down; her ring was still on. But then, he’d stopped trying to feel her.

‘‘You were hurt,’’ he blurted. She looked better than she had the last few times he’d seen her. Shaken and battered, but not crushed.

‘‘Cracked ribs,’’ she said, placing a steadying hand across her torso, ‘‘and plenty o’ scrapes and bruises. It’s pretty hard to catch my breath.

But thanks to you and Morgan, no permanent—’’

‘‘What do you want?’’

She met his eyes, briefly. ‘‘Somethin’ I can never have.’’

For a reason he couldn’t define, Grant suddenly couldn’t bring himself to look at her. He examined her shoes instead.

‘‘Then . . . we have something in common,’’ he said.

Hannah entered timidly, walking carefully around him, but refused to sit. She stood a few yards away, and she kept glancing at him nervously, but she was unable to keep her eyes upon him for very long.

Grant closed the door behind her and crossed his arms over his chest. He never offered her a chair.

Minutes passed in silence.

‘‘Everyone kept telling me to slow down, to take time, think . . .
feel
. . .’’ Grant said quietly. ‘‘They finally got their wish. It feels like . . .

I think I’m still on that street corner, standing at the bus stop. Watching myself walk down the street. I think maybe . . . I never left that spot.’’

Hannah looked down, unable to hold his eye.

‘‘I know what you did for Morgan.’’

‘‘It doesn’t change anything,’’ she stated the obvious.

He frowned, ‘‘No, it doesn’t.’’

‘‘I want to explain. I want to justify what I’ve done. But there ain’t no happy ending to get to. Drexel hired me to spy on you, to find out everything I could. I never meant you any harm, personally. Do you remember that day we met, crawling through those air ducts at Inveo?

I warned you then you shouldn’t trust me.’’

Grant’s thoughts and emotions were a million miles away.

‘‘But you did. And instead of ditching you, like I should have—I felt something. Before I knew how or why . . . I found that I cared about you, deeply. I still do.’’

‘‘Hannah,’’ he interrupted, his voice a dry monotone, ‘‘I know what you came here for, so just say it and get it over with.’’

It wasn’t an accusation. He was merely tired. He had no use for accusations now.

‘‘I . . . didn’t come to apologize,’’ she replied.

He looked up at her for the first time.

‘‘If I did, would it matter? What would it change?’’ she said, sadness filling her voice.

‘‘I don’t know,’’ he replied. ‘‘Probably nothing.’’

‘‘I did what I did, and there ain’t an excuse big enough to undo it. . . . I’d probably be crying
now
if I was capable of any more tears, but after
everything
, and then the last few days . . . I feel like coffee beans that’ve been spilled all over the floor . . . Or no—which nursery rhyme was it? The one who couldn’t be put together again?’’

‘‘Humpty Dumpty,’’ he replied quietly.

‘‘That’s me,’’ she said, nodding hopelessly. ‘‘Humpty Dumpty. No matter what I do, what I’ve done will always be there . . . A long, ugly list of demerits on my permanent record. And I can’t ever reverse it.’’

Grant’s demeanor suddenly changed, and he looked up, outside his window. His gaze was far away. ‘‘No,’’ he said quietly. ‘‘You can’t.’’

Despite her claim of being all out, tears spilled from her eyes.

‘‘And maybe you’re not supposed to,’’ he said, emotion rising in his voice.

She got lost in his eyes, alone and confused.

‘‘It’s something my sister was trying to tell me . . . I didn’t understand it
then
, but . . .’’ he said, shaking his head, then he took a single step closer to her. ‘‘We can’t ever go back to the way things were after mistakes are made. There are always consequences . . .’’

She examined his coffee table in great detail, afraid to look at him.

‘‘But maybe it’s not about what
you
do next,’’ he continued, swallowing. ‘‘Maybe it’s not up to
you
to fix what’s broken.’’

More tears leaked out of her eyes, and she almost turned her body fully away from him now.

Something opened in Grant’s heart—it had been stopped up by despair and grief—but now he found that his own eyes were moistening.

This was stupid. He had every reason to hate this woman.

It wasn’t rational. It wasn’t what any sane person would do.

But what Hannah needed right now was the very thing that Grant was craving more than life itself. And he hadn’t realized it until now, seeing her in this state.

Since he couldn’t give it to himself, he did the only thing he could do.

He offered it to Hannah.

He crossed the distance between them and grabbed her by the shoulders, forcing her to look into his face. And he embraced her.