God of Destruction (37 page)

Since Claire had vanished from the photo, it
was all too easy to convince himself that he’d become infatuated
with a mere figment of his imagination. And so, his physical wounds
healed and life went on.

His twisted form of peace was
short-lived.

Kierlan had been alone in the house for days
while his parents attended a wedding in Pennsylvania. He was
charged with the task of picking them up at the airport that night,
an hour drive from the house, and he was already late.

As luck would have it, he didn’t realize his
keys were missing until he’d made it all the way to the car.

He cursed softly when he ran his hand through
his pockets and found them empty. “Damn.” It was a strange, and
inconvenient, chance; he’d never forgotten them before, but he
thought himself unstable enough to assume his recollection of
grabbing them off the counter was entirely of his own fabrication.
With his head hung, he trudged reluctantly back toward the building
he’d left, in the dark.

The front door was unlocked, just as he’d
left it, but he could sense something was amiss the moment he
entered the living room. A cold breeze wafted across the room,
effectively slapping him in the face and sending a shock through
his system. He couldn’t remember if it had been him who’d opened
the window, but he could tell that the screen was gone now, and
that wasn’t something he would’ve done. From the light streaming in
from the streetlights, he could see a puddle forming on the table
closest to the window. Instinctively pulling the door shut behind
him, he hustled as fast as he could toward the drenched
furniture.

“No!” he growled, pulling it away from the
wall and wiping it off with his bare hands and sleeves. It was an
attempt in vain; the mail he’d left there stuck to the wood, its
text dripped off in black raindrops. Nothing intelligible was left.
Groaning pathetically, he flopped down on the couch and held his
face in his hands. Nothing ever went his way anymore.

“Serves you right, you
ass
,” a harsh
voice snapped from the darkness.

He immediately dropped his hands from his
face, forgetting the frustration that had nearly driven him to
angry tears, and jumped to his feet. “Who’s there?” he demanded,
catching his fervent breath.

The light abruptly flickered on. Across the
room, James Bellman stood against the wall beside the door, his
finger poised over the light switch. His face was twisted in a cold
scowl. It wasn’t him who spoke, though.

His fiancé, Alex Clove, sat on the kitchen
cabinet, one leg crossed over the other and her hands folded so
tightly in her lap that her knuckles were white. As usual, the
scowl on her face was much more impressive than James’s.

“Ugh, I should’ve known,” Kierlan squeaked
confidently, though in actuality the sight of their faces was
tearing a hole in his chest so raw there’d be no hope of assuaging
it tonight.

“You’ve been hiding from us,” Alex accused,
narrowing her eyes infinitesimally smaller.

“Have I?” he sneered. “I’d only intended to
visit my family…
honest
.”

“We’ve needed your help all this time and
you’ve been nowhere to be found!” she shrieked indignantly.

“I apologize, Alex,” he rolled his eyes,
falling back into the couch. Dampness soaked through his black
dress shirt, infusing him with the familiar cold.

Alex stared down at him with distaste.
“You’re disgusting. I can’t believe you went to the funeral,” she
deadpanned, dropping to her feet.

He could’ve slung insults at her all night,
but he was already late. “Sorry I hurt your
freaking
feelings, bitch, but I’ve gotta go.”

“You’re gonna need these,” James retorted,
swinging Kierlan’s car keys around his middle finger.

Kierlan eyes narrowed into slits. “You took
my keys?”

“Right out of your pocket,” James mocked,
willing the keys to hover through the air toward him. Kierlan
pushed himself back into the couch as far as he could go as they
neared him, refusing to touch the charmed chain. His eyes took on a
crazed look, like a cornered animal. His pupils flickered between
them, ready to run. “Take the keys,” James pleaded with a sigh,
allowing them to fall on the cushion beside him.

“If you don’t mind, James,” he said, “I think
I’ve had just about enough of you two and your weird-ass abilities.
It’s done nothing good for me in the past, why would it now?”

“Claire knew what she was getting into when
she saved your life,” Alex hissed, crossing the room to face
him.

“You don’t know that!” Kierlan yelled. “We
have no idea what was going through her head when she did that, so
stop pretending like you do!”

She slammed her hands down on the coffee
table before his legs. “Shut up, Kierlan! You’re not the only one
that misses her!”

“I’m sure as hell the only one acting like
it!” he slowly rose to his feet and returned her glare with equal
venom.

Alex’s face was turning red with rage.
“
Shut up!
”

“It’s
your
fault she’s dead!” he
bellowed, followed by the
slap
of Alex’s hand connecting
with his cheek.

For a long moment, the three of them didn’t
speak, and the only sounds in the room were Kierlan and Alex’s
slow, heavy breaths. His face stung, but it wasn’t painful enough
to make him wince, though his cheek was turning an angry pink over
his gaunt complexion. His eyes were losing their fire in exchange
for defeat, and he slumped in on himself, using the coffee table
for support. “Why are you here?” he whined without meeting their
gazes.

“To show you this,” she answered, pulling a
picture from the purse in her lap. It was a blue screen, nothing
else.

“Wha—” he began, but halted as she held up a
restraining hand.

“Claire gave me this picture. It was her
senior picture. It was a picture of
just
her. And now she’s
gone!”

“That’s not the only one either,” James
added. “All the pictures we have of her, whether she’s alone or
we’re in the picture with her, she’s gone.”

“It’s like she never existed,” she
finished.

Kierlan had been nodding since James had
begun. “She disappeared from my picture, too, like she was never
there. It’s like she was never here. Does anyone ask about her?
Does anyone notice?”

“No one,” James assured him.

The rain started coming down harder, now,
spilling endlessly against the windowsill. The sound drew Kierlan’s
attention. His eyes followed the raindrops outside and noticed for
the first time through his distracted state that the living room
was on the second floor. He didn’t see a ladder outside the window
to split the fifteen foot drop.

“How did you get in here?” he blurted out
before he could stop himself.

James seemed surprised by the question.
“My…as you said before ‘weird-ass abilities’ allow me to transport
from one place to another with my mind…but you knew that already?”
he mumbled as an afterthought.

“Right,” Kierlan nodded. “Why’d you open my
window?”

Alex and James shared a look for a moment
before they simultaneously looked back to Kierlan. “We thought you
did that?” James murmured.

“It was open when we got here,” Alex
added.

Kierlan frowned, growing surer and surer that
he wasn’t the one who’d opened the window. There was no way he
would’ve removed the screen. “It wasn’t me,” he stated.

“Bu—” Alex began before a strong gust of wind
beating against the trees outside silenced her. The breeze was
softer when it entered the room, carrying with it the frigid rain.
Alex’s back stiffened and her eyes widened.

“Alex? What’s the m—” Kierlan said.

“Shh! Shh!” she snapped, fervently waving her
hand. After a few silent minutes of only wind whispering through
the room, she looked up at them, losing the glaze that had settled
over her eyes. “Do you hear that?” she beseeched.

“Hear what?” James inquired, watching his
fiancé intently for anymore odd behavior.

“Listen!” she ordered.

The two men stared at each other first,
obviously questioning her mental stability, before another shrill
demand came from her lips. Then, they listened intently for
anything amiss. At first there was nothing, just a breeze. When
they’d just about come to the conclusion that Alex’s grief had
finally gotten to her, they started to hear it. The
wind…whispering.

“
Kierlan
,” the wind whistled with a
voice so obviously hers that it was painful to his fragile mindset.
It stopped.

“Claire?” Kierlan called loudly, a contrast
so startling to her whisper that it made the other two jump.

“
Kierlan
,” it spoke again, this time
the slightest bit louder. “
Another page lived
.”

“Another page? Claire is that you?” he called
out again, trying so hard to believe it was true. Silence
followed.

Another voice broke the quiet, but it
traveled on the wind as hers had. It was the gravelly, obvious
voice of a man, and it was angry. It was threatening. It was
Mainyu.

“
She. Is. Mine
.”

“Claire!” Alex yelled. “Get away from him! Do
something! Say something! Give us a sign that you’re still there!
Please!”

“C’mon, Claire, please!” Kierlan pleaded, his
voice cracking. “You have to get away! Talk to me!”

There was no answer to their wishes. Each
person in the room looked to each other and slowly deflated.
Kierlan was beginning to feel dizzy from the conflicting rush of
relief and disappointment warring within him, but he didn’t dare
move, for fear she’d speak again and he’d miss it. He steadied
himself against the table and slowly breathed in and out through
his mouth, as if his concentration would bring her voice back. He
gave the floor a withering glare and waited even after the others
had given up hope.

In the end, his prayers were answered.

“
Kierlan
,” her sweet voice called,
sending their heads shooting upright. And again, they waited. Her
final words assured them that their every fear was realized, but
there was nothing any of them could do but listen as she, at last,
finished:

“
Help me
.”