Pandora's Key (23 page)

And then she started to hum—the tune that was always floating somewhere in her mind. She wasn’t sure why she was doing it, but maybe it could somehow help Raphe find peace—the way her mom’s singing had always soothed her.
Find peace, Raphe—let me give you this last gift.
Her hands were still pressed against Raphe’s abdomen, feeling the hot blood, the battered skin, the ragged hole. Her fingers started tingling and then began to throb. She didn’t withdraw them, instead closing her eyes and relishing the pain because she deserved it. All of this was her fault.

The torment intensified. Evangeline’s hands felt like they’d been doused in gasoline and ignited, enveloped by flame, searing and charring, the agony seeping like boiling oil into her bones—red and white torture that burned, flared, and swallowed her whole.

Raphe drew his final breath.

Evangeline felt the flow of blood slow and then stop under her fingers. The heat in her hands dissipated, leaving only a shadow of the sensation that had moments ago enveloped her entire body. She felt horribly empty and the key was suddenly a sliver of sharp ice against her skin—as if it had been drained of all its strange energy. Her hands rested lightly on Raphe’s dead body. Dr. Sullivan would soon follow her friend. There was nothing she could do to help either of them. She was powerless to fight Pandora. She’d had her chance, but in the end, she couldn’t pull the trigger.
I am the passive girl the cult thought I was—I was only pretending to be strong and brave. I’m as much of a hypocrite as they are.

“And the Goddess Demeter gave Pandora the power to make anything grow and heal,” Samantha said softly.

“E?”

Evangeline felt her heart leap and crash against her chest. She opened her eyes to see Raphe gazing up at her, his eyes a vibrant amber, a tinge of pink returning to his cheeks.
How?

“Remember the butterfly,”
Melia had whispered before she’d died.

I healed that yellow butterfly with a torn wing by humming a song I’ve always somehow known. I hummed that same song with Raphe…

Evangeline stared at Raphe’s stomach—the ragged hole was now a shiny pink welt and the skin around it was fading from a deep purple to a pale-blue ringed with shades of yellow. Evangeline stared at her hands. One was closed into a fist. Slowly she opened it—a bullet rested in her palm.
What is going on?!

“What happened,” Raphe asked, looking at Dr. Sullivan, who was staring wide-eyed at Evangeline. “Doc, did you save my life?”

The doctor shook his head. “I think
she
did, kid,” he said, nodding at Evangeline. “I don’t know how…but she did.”

Evangeline offered the bullet to Samantha, who approached silently. As the bullet slid from her palm into Sam’s outstretched hand, a great sense of letting go washed over her.
I don’t believe it all—how can I? But something inexplicable just happened. I need to stop fighting and try to understand.

Evangeline met Sam’s eyes. “I don’t get any of this—not really. It’s too much with my mom and my friends and—it’s just too much all at once for me to make any sense of. But one thing seems clear. Whatever happened—is happening—will happen—it’s not just up to you anymore. Both Dr. Sullivan and Raphe would’ve died for me, too. Let them live. Please.”

Samantha weighed Evangeline’s words. “We’ve never allowed outsiders who know about a descendant, the box, and the key to live. It’s too much of a risk.”

“Sam, I know now that I can’t just walk away from Pandora,” Evangeline replied, stunned by her own calm and sincerity. “Even if you couldn’t find me, the people you’re all sworn to protect me from eventually would. I don’t believe what either faction believes, but I do understand that you’ll both do anything to achieve your goals. I do get that, okay?”

Samantha nodded.

“So, somehow the Sect and I need to work together to make my life worth living or, if what you believe about Pandora’s Box and my enemies is true, none of us will ever survive.”

Samantha studied Raphe, Dr. Sullivan and Evangeline, her lips pressed into a tight white line. Time seemed to slow as three lives hung in the balance…

Juliette entered the mudroom. She heard voices in the living room, but didn’t approach. She opened a narrow door set against the far wall of the kitchen and climbed the back staircase to the second floor. She walked down to the last door on the right and slipped into the sewing room.

Melia’s backpack rested against a bolt of red velvet leaning on wooden shelves overflowing with needles, thread, and quilting squares of every imaginable color and pattern. She rifled through the backpack and withdrew Pandora’s Box. She placed it carefully in the bottom of the purse.

She left the second floor by way of the same staircase and slid into the dark night without detection. Before entering the woods, she glanced back at the house. Pandora had been her pre-ordained fate, but it was not to be her destiny.

“You still want to kill me, don’t you?” Dr. Sullivan asked.

Melodie Hopkins regarded him from behind her enormous glasses. “It’s not my decision to make. Samantha is our leader, and she decreed that you and Raphe live—but we’ll be watching you very closely.”

Melodie had allowed Dr. Sullivan, Raphe and Evangeline to stop by the doctor’s house to shower and put on clean clothes. Evangeline had scrubbed the blood off until her arms and face were raw, and put on some jeans and a sweater that had once belonged to the doctor’s wife. Dr. Sullivan also gave Raphe one of his Middlebury sweatshirts and a pair of khakis one size too big.

Melodie drove them to the hospital where they’d met Samantha. Dr. Sullivan hadn’t recognized Evangeline’s godmother in an auburn wig and blue contact lenses, but Evangeline had walked right up to her.

“Let’s do this,” she’d said, and they’d followed Evangeline to her mother’s room where the first rays of morning were just beginning to filter through the window.

“Dr. Sullivan, are you letting Evangeline do this because you believe in all we’ve said?” Samantha asked quietly from the corner of the room.

“Belief is a process,” Dr. Sullivan replied.

The three adults paused to watch Evangeline drag a chair next to the bed.

“Will this really work?” Melodie asked.

“Olivia is in the final stage of congestive heart failure,” Dr. Sullivan said. Both her kidneys are shot, and she’s unable to breathe on her own. There’s probably brain damage, too. It would take a miracle.”

“She deserves the chance to try,” Samantha said.

“Yes,” Dr. Sullivan nodded. “We can agree on that.”

“Can we also agree that the drinking has to stop?” Sam asked. The doctor’s face reddened.

“How can you even
consider
this man as an appropriate guardian?” Melodie asked Samantha, glaring at Dr. Sullivan.

“Look, it can’t be me. Better the devil we know—and it’s what she wants.”

“Why are you willing to take on such an enormous responsibility?” Melodie demanded of the doctor.

He took off his glasses and cleaned them methodically with the corner of his shirt. “My dad died of cancer when I was seven and my mom was killed by a drunk driver a few years later. I spent the next eight years in foster care. I’m willing to take the responsibility because when I was Evangeline’s age no one helped me.” Dr. Sullivan put his glasses back on. “And because I have no family of my own left to care about.”

Melodie considered Dr. Sullivan’s unflinching eyes and the blush coloring his cheeks. “Okay,” she said finally.

By this time, Evangeline was seated beside the bed holding her mother’s right hand, trying to shut out the odor of chemicals, disinfectant, and sickness and the raised whispers of the adults behind her. The woman in the bed didn’t look anything like her mom, but Evangeline could somehow feel her mom trapped inside the swollen body.

Tell me what to do,
she silently prayed.
Please tell me.
She tightened her grip and suddenly her mom squeezed her hand back.

Evangeline gasped, closed her eyes and then opened them. Her mom was gazing right at her. There were no tubes or IV lines attached. Her mother was radiant once more—blue eyes clear and pain-free, hair shining, body returned to its original, petite, perfect size.

The woman smiled at her daughter. “Quite a few days you’ve had, my girl.”

Evangeline forced herself to remain calm. She didn’t know how long this would last and she didn’t want to waste a second. “Mom, tell me how to help you!”

Her mother raised her daughter’s hand and kissed it. “You already know. I love you, honey.”

A lump caught in Evangeline’s throat. “I love you, too.”

“I know. No matter what happens next, I’ll always be with you. I’m proud of you, E.”

And then, her mother’s beautiful face slowly morphed back into reality and she was once again hooked to a ventilator and countless other machines, imprisoned in a bloated body that was no longer her own.

“Did you see that? Did you see, Raphe?” Evangeline looked over at Raphe, who was sitting on the windowsill. He looked beyond pale and totally exhausted, but no longer half-dead. Raphe shook his head. Evangeline wiped her eyes.
“You already know.” Then why am I so terrified?
She knew the answer.
I’m afraid to let her go because I want to keep my mom with me no matter what.

Evangeline thought about the miserable-looking patients wandering the hospital corridors hooked to their IVs, being pumped full of fluids and drugs. Dr. Sullivan had said that those drugs couldn’t help her mother; that they’d only prolong her misery.
I already know.

“I want to unplug the ventilator.”

Dr. Sullivan walked over to the bed. “Evangeline, that’s your right as her only family, but you do understand that it’s the only thing keeping your mother alive now, don’t you?”

Evangeline nodded, her eyes fixed on her mother’s face. “I understand that you believe that and a big part of me does, too. But what about what happened with Raphe?”

“I can’t explain what you did,” Dr. Sullivan admitted.

“If this doesn’t work—if I can’t help my mom begin to heal…then maybe it’s—maybe it’s kinder to let her go.”

Dr. Sullivan nodded.

She kissed her mother’s cheek. “I love you, mom.”

Evangeline began to hum the sweet, haunting melody and placed one hand over her mom’s heart and the other on her forehead. Her fingertips responded instantly—tingling, the pressure increasing, building, throbbing, heat coursing through her palms. Closing her eyes, she let the pain multiply upon itself until it thundered and roiled through her body.

“Dr. Sullivan, turn it off,” Evangeline gasped. “Now!” And then Evangeline abandoned herself to the wildfire.