Expel (4 page)

Chapter 6

Love Song

I hold Gage by the hand—comb his hair with my fingers, just the two of us alone in the peaceful quiet of his room.

The doctor surmised it was beneficial for Gage to spend time with me, said I was medicine for his ailing soul.

Gage is severely injured, and I am the panacea. I give a dry smile at the horrific beauty of it all.

A large window sits behind him backlit by the stadium lights coming off the parking structure. The precipitation illuminates as it presses its fingers against the window as if the fog itself were checking to see if he were OK.
 

Skyla.
His voice comes through low and resonant in my mind.

“Gage!” I whisper with an aching elation I had never known before. “I’m right here, sweetie. I love you so much. I swear it wasn’t me driving,” I sniff hard at the prospect of the idea even infiltrating his mind. Who knows what the hell Chloe’s been loading his subconscious with the past fourteen days? It’s freaking
February
according to the wall calendar.

I know.

“Oh good—you mean the I didn’t hit you part, right? Because I was standing right there with you. Of course, you know, I love you.”

He gives a slight nod and winces at the effort.

Logan?

“He’s,” I don’t have it in me to tell him the truth—that Logan died and that he’s at Ezrina’s mercy, “on the mend. He’s going to be OK.”

He gives my hand a slight squeeze.

And you?

“I’m right here. I won’t leave. I promise.”

Mom comes back in with a forlorn expression. “Sorry, Skyla.” Her russet hair looks a darker shade of crimson than I remember. “I’m afraid the police were notified you’re back. They’re waiting to talk to you down at the precinct.”

“I won’t leave.” I tighten my grip around his fingers and settle my face next to his.

Go,
he encourages.
Come back when you’re able
.
I’m not going anywhere. It’ll give me something to look forward to.

“I’ll be with him,” Emma peers in and heads on over. She eases me off the side of the bed and replaces my hand with hers.

“I could hear him,” I whisper.

Her eyes widen with delight.

“Ride with Barron,” she insists before looking up at my mother. “Barron would like to drive Skyla over if you don’t mind.”

“It’s probably best,” Mom sweeps her hand out the door, “my husband is spiraling out of control.”

I wait until Mom clears the curtain before resting my fingers along the underbelly of his arm.

Tell my Mom I’m getting stronger—that I love her but I need you here with me, too.

 
I relay the message to an exhausted Emma. She relaxes her arms over me in a full encompassing hug.

I’m so glad you’re back, Skyla
, she says.

“Thank you—so am I.”

***

 
I had never been in Dr. Oliver’s car before. Sedan, blue, it holds the scent of lemon polish, and the leather seat is slippery as oil. The head of a toy clown dangles from the rearview mirror by a silver thread hooked onto its hat. It’s creepy—weird, even.

A light rain peppers us as we drive the dark streets of Paragon. Somehow Ellis has managed to remove his truck from the fountain, probably took off without reporting the incident.

“Skyla, tell me everything from the beginning.” Dr. Oliver adjusts himself in the seat as we maneuver out onto the main highway. “You were at the bowling alley,” he motions for me to continue.

“We were behind the bowling alley, we were having an argument,” God, I hate reliving that night.

“Who was having an argument?” His hair flashes a brilliant pearl color as a streetlight combs over him.

“Gage and Logan, then I stepped in. Logan’s been doing some shady stuff on his light drives.” I really don’t want to get into the fact I had Logan’s Celestra powers revoked by way of my otherworldly familial connections which, in turn, caused Logan to retrieve me from my dreams to help him move from one dimension to another. And, I’m not entirely sure if Dr. O is aware of the fact Logan has a supervising spirit on payroll. “So, this car started up and charged us. Logan pushed me out of the way, and he and Gage were struck several times.”

“That much I know.” He depresses into a frown. “Who was driving?”

“Nobody was driving, at least not from what I can tell. But anyway—I totally think it was Chloe. So, then, as I’m freaking out over the two of them lying on the ground I hear this voice, and it’s Logan,” I tell him about the old me and the Transfer and how Ezrina said she’d take care of the rest.

“Thank heavens. I had no idea what would become of him after Arson Kragger retrieved his body from the morgue.”

“Arson Kragger?” He’s the wicked father of the Kragger crew, two of which are no longer with us.

“It’s nothing unusual. He picks up Count corpses quite regularly. I’ve been dealing with him since I started the mortuary. But back to Logan, how are we going to find him?” He looks visibly upset, well, mostly angry in a bizarre relieved sort of way.

“I don’t know,” I rack my brain for some kind of temporal answer, “but I ended up at the base of Devil’s Peak when I came back.”

“Devil’s Peak,” he abruptly pulls to the side of the road and brings the car to a forceful stop. A pair of headlights pull in from behind—I recognize the minivan as belonging to Mom and Tad.

“Thank you, Skyla.” He pats my knee. “Thank you for saving my brother and for saving my son.”

“I didn’t save Gage,” I sweep the floor with remorse. He’s still unable to open his eyes—move or breathe on his own.

“You woke him. If we can get Logan today, we’ll have the three of you back in the span of twenty-four hours. Now that would be a miracle.” He offers a repressed smile. “I’m headed to look for Logan. Don’t worry about the police. Emma and I won’t be pressing charges. I’m sure Gage will give a statement when he’s able, should the state decide to proceed.”

I open the door and step out into the saline night baptized with fresh mist from the ocean.

“If you find him, please call me.”

“Of course.” He looks down and his eyes widen with horror. “Good Lord, what happened to your hand?” He leans over and examines it.

“Stinging Nettle.”

“I’ll be by later to bring you something for that.”

“Thank you.” I shut the door and hop into the minivan with Mom and Tad.

“What the hell was that about?” Tad erupts as I secure my seatbelt.

“There was some news of Logan, and he needed to tend to it.” It’s true.

“Judas Priest,” Tad throws a hand into the air as he glides back onto the road. “You hear that, Lizbeth? That trauma center they shipped him off to probably phoned to let him know that the poor guy kicked the bucket.”

“
Tad
.” Mom spikes in agitation.

“He just dropped your kid off on the side of the road. He practically booted her out of a moving vehicle. Read between the lines, Lizbeth. This is an e-mer-gency.” He turns in his seat, momentarily swerving into oncoming traffic. “And you,” he pokes a finger in my direction. “Never, ever, leave the scene of a crime. You got that? You don’t clip a bunch of people on a night you aren’t even supposed to be out of the house and then go off on a two-week vacay with God knows who.” He resettles his grip over the wheel before turning to my mother. “She’s probably got another boy-toy tucked away someplace she keeps handy for these breaks from reality she’s prone to taking.”

“Skyla was not on a vacation, and there is no one for her but Gage,” Mom defends me with a tone I’m not used to hearing her invoke in Tad’s presence—for sure not aimed at him. “Skyla, explain yourself. I want the truth.”

Yeah right, the truth. “Um, so, I was stuck in some whitewashed prison with a witch, and I couldn’t get out for two weeks.” Almost the truth, nevertheless it was all I could come up with since I’m emotionally spent.

“See that?” Tad slashes the air with his hand. “Fairytales. Witches and warlocks, ooh, I’m scared,” he wiggles his fingers. “Is it working on you yet, Lizbeth? Have you crapped your pants with worry? Because she sure spins a good yarn, I’ll give her that.” He pounds the dash to annunciate his point.

Mom sags into her seat as we pull into the station.
 

I’m betting there’s a certain detective Edinger just waiting to interrogate me.

The only one crapping her pants around here is me.

***

 
 
“Skyla,” Demetri Edinger, the Fem who killed my father gives a sideways smile that looks evil in every way. “So nice to see you’re safe.” He pulls his lips further into an unconvincing smile. “I hear you have a tendency to run away, but I want to assure you that there is nothing to be afraid of.”

“I’m not afraid,” I openly glare at him. “I’ll never fear you, Demetri.”

“Skyla
Laurel
Messenger,” Mom’s eyes bulge the size of eggs.

When the time comes to name my children I’ll have to remember that the middle name is only to be invoked as a curse—a moniker-inspired expletive, if you will. I’ll be sure to search high and low for a power name with maximum I’m-so-pissed-off-at-you-right-now impact. For sure nothing pansy like Laurel. The soft syllables alone betray the injustice in Mom’s tone. I never take that name seriously. It sounds like a song, makes me want to play with unicorns and bake cupcakes.
 

“Forgive her, detective. She has no regard for authority whatsoever,” Tad is quick to kiss the ass of the man who’s trying to steal his wife. “She’s a loose cannon. Odd things fly out of her mouth without warning. It’s an aftereffect from the recreational pharmaceuticals she dabbles in from time to time.” He says it with authority as if there were medical evidence to support his theory.

The only thing that could possibly be an aftereffect of recreational
pharmaceuticals is my mother’s marriage to him. That would explain everything. One day Mom is going to sober up and start using again from the sheer horror of what she’s managed to legally chain herself to.

Demetri leads us to a back room. He sits before me like a shadowed wall and asks an endless list of questions which I answer to the best of my ability without ever actually eluding to the truth. Sometimes you have to tell people what you want them to believe and nothing more. I’m sure the word lying would fit nicely in there somewhere, but I’m more interested in making my way back to Gage sans an extended stay in the psychiatric unit than gab on about time travel and Ezrina, although, ironically, Demetri would believe me.
 

“Where did you sleep, Skyla?” Demetri sounds bored, fatigued from dispensing the inquisition.

“I slept in the woods and ate berries.” I thrash him with all of the hatred I can muster. I’ve already killed him in my mind at least six different times while I’ve been seated. I imagine his head exploding over the walls like a giant pumpkin—detonating like a powerhouse—nothing but orange, stringy guts dangling from the ceiling.