The Havoc Chronicles (Book II): Unbound (21 page)

The first night I had come back after spending all afternoon and evening at the Berserker house, Dad had confronted me about it, once again forbidding me to go there. But I simply stood there, not saying anything. Eventually he had gotten tired of yelling, and I had my chance to speak.

“Don’t worry, Dad,” I said. “Rhys isn’t there. He’s with the rest of the Berserkers trying to prevent Eric from killing people.”

Dad’s expression changed from anger to shock. “What?”

“He’s gone feral, Dad. He attacked all those people in Brookings-Harbor.” I could feel tears welling up. I had been so good about keeping my emotions in check for the past two days, but somehow, telling it to Dad made it all hit home, and I could feel the emotions bubbling up, hot and unwanted.

“Oh, Madison,” Dad said when he saw my tears. He tried to pull me in for a hug, but I jerked away and ran upstairs. I spent the rest of the night in my room trying to get rid of all those stupid tears. But no matter how much I cried, I never seemed to run out.

***

The next morning I woke up early, a shooting pain in my head. In my mind flashed a picture of a green hill surrounded by forest, and a beautiful woman with long curly red hair dancing in the sun.

The image shattered and was replaced by a shadowy battlefield. Soldiers wearing old US uniforms dashed from tree to tree, firing at the opposing army. The boy next to me fell to the ground as his head disappeared, a jagged stump remaining at his neck.

Nausea overwhelmed me; a hot, thick blanket, covering me. Smothering me. I rolled off the bed and vomited onto the floor.

Even as I threw up, more images flooded my mind. Faces, places, events all jumped into my thoughts with such speed that they became a whirling blur. My head felt like it was going to burst.

And then they stopped.

I lay panting on the floor beside the pool of vomit, a horrible feeling of dread inside me. Something was terribly wrong.

The clock said it was two thirty in the morning, but I could only focus on one thing: I needed to get to the Berserker house.

Still in my pajamas, I grabbed my purse and ran downstairs. I dashed out the front door, not even bothering to close it behind me. Without a backward glance, I jumped into Mom’s Jetta and sped off.

Not caring if I got a ticket, I drove faster than I had ever done before. Adrenaline coursed through me, and I was pre-zerking without even trying. My heightened reflexes helped me stay on the road and push the car to its limits.

I squealed up the driveway, dread pulsing through me. I leapt out of the car and pounded on the front door, yelling for Mallika to open up.

After what felt like a half dozen eternities, I saw a light turn on upstairs. Movement at window showed me that someone had just looked outside.

I didn’t stop pounding until I heard the locks turning. The door cracked open, and the wide eyes of Mallika peered out at me through the tiny opening.

“Madison?” she said. “What’s going on? Why are you here?”

I pushed past her and started up the stairs.

“Something’s wrong,” I said. “Something’s happened with Kara and Eric.”

Mallika’s mouth hung open in an exaggerated parody of surprise, but only for a moment. She closed her mouth and with an expression of grim determination followed me up the stairs.

I didn’t bother knocking on Kara’s door. This was too important, and if my horrible feeling was right, it would have been a pointless exercise.

There on the bed, twisted into an awkward position, her body tangled in the sheets, lay Kara.

Unmoving and unbreathing.

I dashed across the room, but even as I tried to wake her, I knew she was dead. Her body was still warm, her death too recent to have gone cold.

I didn’t cry. I wanted too, but I was in too much shock. My eyes burned from sleep deprivation and grief.

Mallika helped me downstairs and put me on the couch, pillows behind me and a warm blanket on top.

“I’ll be right back,” she said and went into Kara’s room.

My thoughts were jumbled. Images from the dream mixed with my own view of Kara’s body. They were most vivid when my eyes were closed, so I kept them open, staring at the large stones that made up the fireplace, counting them over and over again. It was only a delaying tactic to avoid thinking about Kara and Eric, but for a while it worked.

When Mallika came back, I knew it was time to confront reality. I sucked in a deep breath and slowly let it out, using some of the meditation techniques Shing had taught me.

Mallika sat beside me, moving the pillows so that my head lay in her lap. It made me feel like a small child, but at that moment I didn’t mind. It was comforting, and I needed that more than pride.

“How did you know?” she asked.

I told her about the images that had woken me in the night.

Mallika reached out a hand and stroked my hair. “I see no cause of death for her. Do you think she died because Eric is dead?”

I nodded. This was exactly what I hadn’t wanted to think about – the awful reality that I knew Eric was dead, too.

“But why?” I asked. “Why did I see it?”

Mallika looked thoughtful. “I don’t know,” she said, still stroking my hair. “You are uncharted territory, I’m afraid.” But something about the look on her face made me think she wasn’t telling me the complete truth.

I wanted to ask more questions, but my eyelids felt too heavy. With each passing second it became harder to think. Between the late hour – what was it, three in the morning? – and the shock of seeing Kara’s corpse, my body shut down, and I drifted to sleep.  

***

I awoke on the couch alone, light streaming in through the windows. How long had I slept?

I forced myself off the couch and stumbled around the house until I found Mallika sitting in the kitchen, clutching a cup of tea. Her eyes were bloodshot, her face streaked with tears. I felt guilty for falling asleep and leaving her to grieve by herself.

“Oh Mallika, I’m so sorry,” I said.

She gave me a wan, tired smile. “Don’t be, child. None of this was your fault.”

Without warning the tears came. Mallika’s words had opened a door in my thoughts that I had desperately tried to keep closed.

It
was
my fault. Kara and Eric were dead because of me.

If it weren’t for me, none of this would have happened. I rejected him and was careless enough to let him see me kissing Rhys. I was sure that’s what put him over the edge and ultimately led to his death.

Mallika stood up and pulled me into a hug, but the guilt and pain were too much for me to hold in and I cried – loud and gasping sobs. The kind of tears that come when you know things will never be okay again.

“I know this isn’t the right time for this,” said Mallika, “but I don’t think there ever will be a ‘right’ time and it’s something you need to know.”

“What is it?”

“I got a call from Shing while you were asleep,” she said. “You were right, Eric is dead.”

There it was. My worst fear confirmed.

“How did he die?” I asked, but I was afraid I already knew the answer.

“Osadyn killed him,” Mallika said. “He spilled Eric’s lifeblood on Margil’s seal and freed him.”

Spilled Eric’s lifeblood.

The words seemed woefully inadequate to describe what must have happened – a euphemism to make his horrible slaughter sound less disturbing.

My mind assaulted me with unwanted images of that moment. I saw Osadyn dangling Eric’s limp body from a taloned hand. His throat slit. Blood splattering on the floor. The seal dissolving and a monstrous figure starting to emerge.

I felt nauseated. Sick. Like I would never feel good again. If I hadn’t already thrown up earlier, I would have given serious consideration to doing so again.

Instead, I began shaking uncontrollably and dropped to the ground in a gradual collapse.

Mallika helped me back to the couch. Having determined that I needed to be in my own bed, but that I was in no shape to drive home, she picked up the phone and called my dad to pick me up. I tried to protest, but it was too late.

***

Neither my dad nor I spoke on the trip home. The memory of our fight about Rhys a barrier between us that neither of us was willing to knock down.

I sequestered myself in my room for the next two days, hardly eating or drinking anything. Why should I bother? I didn’t deserve to be happy. Eric and Kara’s deaths were on my conscience, and I would live with that burden for the rest of my life.

Eventually, I reached some sort of crying threshold and the tears stopped. I was spent, exhausted, and utterly unable to sleep. My head felt too full – it couldn’t possibly hold that many thoughts and emotions at once.

My parents knocked on the door several times per day, wondering how I was doing. I ignored them and lay on the bed staring at the ceiling, trying not to think about anything.

After I’d spent two solid days in my room, Mom came in and insisted that I come downstairs for lunch. I had no appetite, but she was stubborn and practically dragged me down the stairs.

As I walked past a mirror I saw just how terrible I looked. My face was puffy, my hair a tangled, matted mess, and my eyes looked dull and vacant. Intellectually, I could see that I was a wreck, but emotionally I couldn’t bring myself to care.

Mom sat me at the kitchen table and put a bowl of chicken noodle soup in front of me. If she had been hoping that my hunger would compel me to eat, she was disappointed. In fact, the smell of the food made me feel nauseated, and I pushed the bowl away.

“Madison,” Mom said, putting her hand on mine. “I’m sorry this happened. I know how tough it is when people you care about die. But, honey, you need to eat. You’re scaring us.”

I didn’t eat.

Mom’s next tactic was to move me to the living room, rather than upstairs in my bedroom. She began bringing me personal items that she knew were special to me. A necklace from my grandmother, an autographed copy of Alana, by Tamora Pierce, and a small teddy bear Amy had given me back when we were in junior high.

None of them elicited any reaction from me. But when she brought me the wooden box that held the spoon Rhys had carved, the fog thinned slightly. I reached out for the box, gently setting it in my lap. I undid the clasp and pulled out the spoon, feeling the smooth wood between my fingers and tracing the outlines of the carved, intertwined hearts on the handle.

“Rhys,” I said. My voice was low and rough. It was the first word I had spoken in days. Just saying his name triggered an almost physical reaction, an ache to be with him, to be held in his arms.

From that moment on, I held onto the spoon with a super death grip and refused to put it down. It was a bright hope, holding off the despair that surrounded me. When I held it and thought of Rhys, I could envision an end to this sadness that threatened to drown me.

On the fourth day after Kara and Eric had died, Rhys came to see me. I heard the doorbell ring, but I was too detached from my surroundings to care. However, my dad’s raised voice caught my attention.

“Go away,” Dad said. “How dare you come here? You’re forbidden to see my daughter.”

Forbidden. There was that word again. For the first time in days, I felt something other than crushing sadness – irritation.

“I don’t want to fight, Scottie,” said Rhys’ voice, and it was the sweetest sound I had ever heard. “I need to see Madison. She needs me.”

“You are the last thing she needs right now.” Dad’s voice rose, and I could hear the anger and betrayal in it. “She was perfectly fine before she got involved with you.”

Clutching the spoon, I crossed through the kitchen into the entryway where Dad and Rhys were facing off in a showdown about to get epic. Dad stood with his back to me, blocking the hallway so Rhys couldn’t get through. Rhys looked ready to shove his way past.

“Rhys,” I said, savoring the feel of his name.

Rhys’ eyes flicked up, locking with mine. His hard expression seemed to melt as he saw me, and I saw my own pain reflected in him.