Clyde’s nod of understanding was vague, his teeth clamping together as though he was fighting off something neither she nor Marcella could see. “So my body has to die to free both Vincent and myself up,” Clyde assessed with his usual succinct logic, cutting into Delaney’s own heart as surely as if he’d used a Ginsu. Yet his legs, filmy and becoming transparent, moved toward the hospital bed.
Marcella nodded with vigor, jumping in front of Clyde to keep him from his lifeless form. “Exactly, and we need to get on that shit now. Now!” She whirled to face Clyde, putting a hand on his chest. “Clyde, you have listen to me!” She snapped her fingers in his face, but only a flicker of awareness crossed his eyes, now intent on getting into his body. “Clyde!” Marcella roared up at him, her eyes blazing with urgency. “Stop—you have to stop! D,” she shouted, “pull that fucking plug! Hurry up before he gets any closer!” Marcella butted up against Clyde’s chest, expelling a harsh gasp of air in her effort to keep him from getting to his body.
It was as if he’d become transfixed, and stopping him was like trying to stop a steamroller.
Delaney couldn’t take her eyes from Clyde’s face, hard, intent, determined, all while Marcella butted up against him, the heels of her shoes leaving dark marks on the white floor. Her fingers clamped onto his arms, digging into his biceps to keep him from getting to the bed.
“Madre santa—Delaney, pull the fucking plug!”
In an instant, she knew there was no time for words, no time for good-byes—she had to end this so Clyde could find peace.
Delaney lunged for the back of the bed, fighting for focus to find the plug that connected to the ventilator. Fuck! There were so many friggin’ cords!
“Delaneyyyyyy! Pull the fucking plug!” Marcella screamed so harsh and frantic it made her jump.
She dove through the tangled mess, landing on her knees, yanking at anything she could get her hands on. With trembling fingers she found the thick cord that led to Clyde’s ventilator and yanked.
With everything she had in her.
Sending up a desperate prayer that Clyde’s journey would be successful.
“Jesus!” Marcella huffed, the scuffle of her feet stopping as she expelled another breath.
Delaney’s breath shuddered in and out, too, when she saw Marcella’s feet stop moving.
It was done.
Let the weeping and wailing commence.
Her hands reached for the edge of the bed, hauling herself up off the floor to come only a hairsbreadth from Clyde’s handsome face.
But the sob of agony she’d been about to wail turned to a gasp of surprise.
“Delaney, Delaney, Delaney. How goes it, sunshine? We really have to make it a point to get together more often than every fifteen years, don’tcha think?”
Satan strolled to the ventilator and flipped a switch with long, milky white fingers.
“Battery pack—every ventilator has one,” he remarked with casual nonchalance.
And then he grinned.
twenty-two
Delaney looked to Marcella, whose chest heaved from keeping Clyde away from the bed. She clung to his big hand, positioning herself in front of him, clearly taking no chances he might make a sudden break for his body.
Delaney’s hands went possessively to the shell of Clyde’s form, prepared to shield him if need be. She clamped on to his forearm while beads of terror-induced sweat popped out on her forehead.
Satan clucked his tongue, leaning over the bed and chucking Delaney under the chin. “So here we are, Goody Two-Shoes. You, me, and the souls I’d better have when this conversation ends.” He flapped his pale hands at her. The black T-shirt he wore, which said Don’t Say No until You’ve Seen My Dungeon, stretched over his thin chest when he spread his arms wide. “Back up, do-gooder, or you’ll force me to singe that pretty hair of yours. Vincent’s soul is mine, and I think I’ll take the rocket scientist’s, too.” He pointed at Clyde. “He did a bad, bad thing—punishment is my only option.”
Delaney’s eyes narrowed, her lips thinning. Not a fucking chance on earth she was leaving Clyde before he crossed. He’d have to tear her away from him. That meant stalling him. “The fuck I will,” she spat, curling her fingers into Clyde’s shoulder.
Satan heaved a playfully tortured sigh, his sculpted face taking on a put-upon expression. “Oh, Delaney. So righteous—so indignant—so old. Do you have any idea the shit you stir up? You’re like this big metaphoric spoon in a pot full of perfectly good waffling souls. Not that I minded all that much. Most of the time your interference was pretty harmless. Most of the time. If you’d just stayed out of things, Delaney Markham, if you’d just kept your Susie Sunshine crap to yourself, none of this would be happening. But no—here you are, spreading your fucking rays of sunshine everywhere. Not to mention, you made me leave a perfectly lovely vacation in the Falklands because you just couldn’t let this joker alone, and it appears my staff is incapable of collecting a simple soul. Do you have any idea the burdens I bear?”
Delaney narrowed her gaze, her eyes slits in her head. “Take Vincent, leave Clyde the hell alone,” she growled.