Soul Crossed (20 page)

“Look,” Lucifer whispers, and I see Ms. Alvarez appear in the passenger seat. She yanks at the wheel, and the car careens out of control. She pushes up against Josh, and I lean forward to see what is happening. Her foot presses the accelerator down to the floor. Instinctively, I look up, and see my own face bathed in the headlights.

“Shit!” he screams, trying to pull the wheel back, but Ms. Alvarez holds it steady. She lets go at the last possible second and disappears from the car. Lucifer’s tub of popcorn is thrown all over the backseat, and my head hits the ceiling from the force of the collision. I feel my own body pass underneath the first and then the second set of tires like a speed bump.

Josh strains to see behind him and doesn’t notice the car go off the road. I see the tree racing toward us, and I cannot help but scream. As if he’s heard me, Josh turns back toward the front and opens his mouth. But nothing comes out as he collides with the trunk. His car crumples, and all three of us are ejected through the front windshield.

Lucifer and I sail through unharmed, but the glass shreds Josh’s beautiful face, and in seconds he is an unrecognizable mass of blood and pulp.

Then we are back on the stage, and I am on my knees, vomiting all over the floor. Lucifer stands calmly nearby, picking the popcorn out of his teeth with a toothpick. When I finish, I stand on shaky feet.

“So, was that Ms. Alvarez?” he asks, like he’s just recognized an extra in a movie.

“Yes. That was her,” I say. “She murdered us both. But if that’s true, then why did Josh go to Hell?”

“She steered the car, not his life.” He lets his words sink in. “Now. About that offer. Going once…”

The blizzard is the worst I’ve ever seen. If I were alive I’d have died an hour ago of exposure. As it is, my extremities are either burning or numb. I’m grateful to be invisible at this point. How do you explain a frozen boy in a tuxedo lurking outside some kid’s bedroom?

I only wish I could get this over with already. Lucifer always seems to have a plan, but I don’t get why I can’t move. Maybe he just loves torturing me. Yeah, that must be it.

Keira and Cam have done the nasty twice now, and believe me when I say it’s something that can’t be unseen. Not that Keira isn’t hot—but Cam? Even if I were gay, I doubt I’d be turned on by his scrawny body. He seems pretty happy right now, though. Well, satisfied at least. Nothing like a good lay to get you in the mood for murder.

That’s when I hear the car. Without my enhanced hearing I wouldn’t have noticed it beneath the howling winds of the storm. Too bad I can’t turn my head to see who it is. I figure it out pretty quickly, though, when I hear the door to the condo open. Uh-oh, dude. You are busted, big time. Finally, something good to watch. Too bad I can’t make out the sounds inside.

Sure enough, Cam jumps out of bed looking like he’s about to face a firing squad. Keira just smiles and lights up another cigarette. He’s yelling at her, probably telling her to hide, and she shrugs as if to say, “where am I supposed to go?” Good question. Under the bed is already taken by the Pincushion.

Cam freezes as still as me, and I can almost hear his heart pounding. Keira rolls her eyes and puts out her smoke. Mrs. Frasier walks in, and I’m surprised she doesn’t collapse with a heart attack. She screams. Watching someone scream at someone else without the sound turned on is like watching one of those old silent movies.

Mrs. Frasier is shouting at Keira now. Keira tosses her head like the dramatic vamp she is and marches out of the room. Mrs. Frasier turns back to her son and lets him have it for several more minutes. I can’t imagine how much she can really have to say.

“Hey handsome. Did you have fun watching?” Keira whispers in my ear. Her breath is hot and makes me even more aware of the state of the rest of my body. I can’t exactly respond, either. “See you around. Good luck.” She slaps my ass and leaves. Could this be any more humiliating?

Mrs. Frasier finally finishes her tirade and leaves Cam alone in his room. He stands still, but his chest rises and falls a little heavier, a little faster with each breath. Color creeps up his neck and into his cheeks until he looks about ready to explode.

This has to be it. This has to be the moment I’m waiting for. Time for Cam to kill Mom. I dread the deed, but at least this woman isn’t exactly contributing much to humanity. I’m pretty sure, from the little I know of her, that she’s gonna end up with Lucifer. And it’s not like I’m the one who has to do it, either. Cam’s the killer.

So why aren’t I moving yet? I don’t get it. What could I possibly be waiting for? Anger pulses at my temples. Impatience, frustration. I want this done. I want to work on explaining things to Grace.

Through the frustration, a sliver of panic crawls up my spine and settles heavily on my shoulders. A hidden thought, so frightening and horrible I can’t even bring myself to acknowledge its presence.

It has to be Mrs. Frasier
, I think. He always tells the truth, and he said if she takes the offer we can be together. But I hear the word echo in my head along with the howling of the wind.

If
.

Why did Lucifer wait so long to tell me? Of course, I know the answer, but his personality is such that I’m compelled to ask the question anyway. It’s maddening, but that’s who he is. You want to trust him, but you know you can’t. You think you can resist, but no matter how clever you are, he’s always one step ahead.

My Bug doesn’t want to fight the tide of snow again. Between the wind and the thick white flakes it’s impossible to see through the windshield. My wipers strain against the onslaught but don’t make a dent. My only advantage is that no one else in the universe is crazy enough to be out in this besides me.

At least if I die, I won’t be any worse off. It’s a morbid thought, and I laugh bitterly. The thing is, I can’t die. If I do, then I’m too late to save Josh. And I’m too late to save humanity.

The length of time it takes to get to Cam’s is infuriating. Steam pours from beneath the hood of my car from the strain, and I’ve only gone three miles. All the powers that be are fighting against my success. At least that’s how it feels.

I push thoughts of Ms. Alvarez out of my mind as I power my way through the snow, trying to ignore the cold, wet sting I already feel in my toes. The best I could come up with were my little black ballet slippers, and I’m still wearing the ridiculous pink costume, which keeps getting tangled around the peddles and tripping me in the snow, but I can’t worry about that now.

I have to save Josh.

Lucifer enjoyed laying it out for me, piece by piece. Josh doesn’t know that Cam knows we slept together. He was in the bedroom and only saw Keira. But Keira knows, and she supplied Cam with a cursed blade once before. She could do it again. He could be wiped out of existence forever, and I can’t let that happen. The icy sting against my chest reminds me of my own brush with permanent death. The poison spreading through my body. I shudder and force my way to the porch.

Lucifer didn’t even have to tell me. I saw right away where he was headed, the perfect irony of the situation. The murder of a Demon launching Armageddon. He knew I would have little chance of saving Josh and probably only told me so he could enjoy watching me fail. But I have to try. True, I don’t know what I’m going to do. But I know I have to do something, because it’s Josh. My Josh. I love him, no matter what he’s done. I know he’s made mistakes, but it isn’t all his fault. He’s been manipulated by Lucifer and Ms. Alvarez.

I still can’t wrap my head around it. The woman—no, the
Angel
—who welcomed me into Heaven is the one who also murdered me. Murdered us. Why? Was she steering me wrong the whole time? Was I always wasting my efforts on Cam, doomed to fail? Does Mr. Griffith know? Is he in on it?

I knock on the door—pound on it, really. Still, I’m not surprised no one can hear me in this insanity. So I try the knob, praying silently for some help despite my current status upstairs.

It opens. I push it closed behind me with my back and shiver off the worst of the cold and snow. I ignore my freezing wet dress and shoes. They won’t matter if I can’t get there on time.

I take a quick inventory of my surroundings and see nothing out of the ordinary. No movement. No sign of struggle. So far, so good. I grab a knife off the kitchen counter and conceal it within the microphone pocket sewn into the folds of my dress.

I make my way to Cam’s room. I know which one it is by process of elimination in the tiny condo. I’m shaking with cold and fear, but I have to do this.
Please
, I pray, then throw open the door.

Just like last time, I hear the car and then the door. I know who it is before I can see anything. Horror bubbles up in my throat, and I scream silently for minutes.
Let me out! Let me out, you bastard!
But he wants me to watch. He wants me to be a helpless witness to her murder.

I try to calm myself. Try to remember his words. He never lies. I hold that in my heart along with the knowledge that he needs me to end this. He said I’d know when it was time. Well, he was right on that count. But I can’t let this happen. I won’t.

My muscles unclench, and I fall awkwardly into the pile of snow that’s already buried most of my calves. Lucifer is there to offer a hand and pull me to my feet, where I dust myself off.

“You look a little blue,” he says, grinning.

“What’s the matter? Don’t you trust me to handle this on my own after all?” I know it’s risky. I see the danger in his eyes, but I’ve never been much for mincing words.

“I know what you’re thinking,” he warns. “You want to rush in there like Prince Charming and save the damsel in distress. Well, let me remind you that no matter what, she will belong to me by the end of this night. Sure, she might suffer a little, but the end result is the same. Love is all about suffering, no?”

“It doesn’t have to be her.”

“I thought you’d want this to finally be over. Then you both belong to me.”

I hesitate, sensing something wrong. I’m missing some vital bit of information, and I strain to figure out what it is. There’s something he doesn’t want me to know…

“Did you talk to her?” I ask. He jerks backward ever so slightly, and I know I’m on the right track.

“Yes. We had quite a nice little chat. She’s a real pistol, that girl.”

“She turned you down.” As soon as I say it I know it’s true. But seeing Lucifer angry makes it a perilous observation.

“Guess she finds eternal torment in the bowels of Hell a bit more attractive alternative than being with you. It must be you, Joshua, because it certainly can’t be me.” Gotta love that vain logic.

I turn toward the front door of Cam’s condo, licking my frozen lips. I have to get in there. I have to stop this.

“You can’t,” he says, reading my face. He steps forward until I can feel the heat emanating from his body. It’s the kind of heat that makes you want to run, even in the middle of a blizzard. “Even if he kills someone else, she still made her choice. I win. I always win, Joshua. Don’t test me—I’d hate to lose you, too. You’re so much…fun.” He slaps me on the back and disappears from view.

I don’t have to think twice. Eternal torment aside, I have to get Grace out of this immediate danger. I run toward the door as I hear a scream slice through the storm. It’s like a dagger to my heart. I reach for the doorknob, but jerk my hand away as cobalt flames engulf the entire building, even in the midst of the blinding snow. This is no ordinary fire. I’ve seen it before. I’ve felt it before. And I tremble where I stand as the blaze licks the condo like a hungry lion, and another shriek pierces the air.

I falter in the doorframe, horror washing over me, making me colder than my thin, wet gown ever could. He hasn’t sensed me yet, and the moment seems to last an eternity. I know the vision of him will be forever etched in my mind when I’m suffering the eternal torments of Hell. Nothing could erase it.

Cam stands on the opposite side of his bed, looking down, and his curtain of dark hair hangs forward, obscuring his face from view. His hands are raised, clutching a lava lamp, with the base pointed downward like a weapon at the ready. Every muscle in his body is taut, and I can see that he is wearing only a pair of black boxers. The greenish light from his lamp trickles down his body, acid spilling over his shoulders and back. His diaphragm pounds against his abdomen, rising and falling with each heavy breath. And protruding from the foot of the bed, I can see two feet, worn, white sneakers askew.

He jerks his hands as though ready to strike again, and I wake from my trance.

“Cam, no!” I cry out, stepping forward into the room.

He turns toward me. His hair parts and reveals a face twisted with both rage and pleasure, agony and ecstasy. I can’t say for sure whether he registers my presence.

“Grace?” his voice comes out raspy, barely a whisper, and I nod, taking another step toward him.

“I’m here,” I say. I try to sound soothing, force myself to be gentle no matter how my insides curdle.

“Grace…I had to. She was wrong. It was all because of her.” He is pleading with me, lowering his hands, but I see how his muscles still strain against his skin.

“Come, tell me more.” I don’t really know what I’m doing, I have to go on instinct. But it seems to be working all right. He lets me pry the lamp from his fingers and set it on the nightstand. While I’m there, I bend over Mrs. Frasier, who is lying splayed on the floor, blood oozing from the top of her head and matting down her stringy gray roots. I feel for a pulse. But I know she isn’t dead, not yet, or I would be, too.

“You haven’t killed her,” I tell Cam. He watches me with something like awe as I rise and reach for his hand.

“She has to die,” he says. He sounds like a child asking permission.