Jared paced, brooded, and once in a while, when his thoughts were particularly tormented, he winced. The color had long left his face as he played back the different scenarios in his mind. Back and forth he paced, so many times that I watched the floor, wondering when he would wear a trail. His inner turmoil could have set the room on fire. It was unbearable to watch, but I couldn't leave him; not when he was planning my death.
Claire sat next to me, holding my hand, suffering Jared's torture as I did. Jared had the most to lose, so the plan was his alone. Each decision, from the moment we left the house until the book was safe within its walls, fell on Jared's shoulders. Watching that responsibility slowly tear him apart was agonizing.
I did not envy his position. Just he thought of doing the same made me feel sick to my stomach.
Jared stopped mid-step. “Ryan?”
“Yeah, man?” Ryan said, standing. He had never been a fan of Jared, but we all shared a common thread. Whether we liked it or not, if one of us was hurt, we would all fall. A loss would affect all of us differently, but it would change our lives in the same horrific way.
“Come with me,” Jared said, leaving the room.
Ryan glanced at Claire, and then followed Jared into the hallway. Claire's grip on my hand tightened.
“You can hear them,” I said.
She looked down at our hands, and then closed her eyes. “Don't ask me to tell you, Nina. Let Jared do this his way.”
“Okay,” I nodded, trusting her judgment.
Ryan returned with a solemn expression. Uncomfortable at best, afraid was a more honest description. He took a few steps toward Claire and I, and then held out his hand.
“Feel like going to the pub?” he asked me.
My eyes veered to Claire, and my head turned slightly unintentionally. “Um...I guess,” I said, looking back to Ryan.
“Good. Give her something shiny, Claire,” he said, pulling me to stand.
Claire reached behind her and held out her pistol. “Take it,” she shrugged, trying too hard to seem indifferent. “I have seven more at home.”
My first instinct was to ask a dozen questions, but something told me time was an issue. Jared wanted this to be over.
I took a deep breath. “On the bright side, if I die, I don't have to worry that I didn't study for the test I have in the morning.”
“You're not going to die,” Ryan said. “This is just a test run.”
“A test run,” I said, looking at the gun in my hand. “Okay. Let's see what they've got.”
I followed Ryan into the hall, passing Jared along the way. He didn't meet my eyes, so I grabbed the sleeve of his shirt.
“You don't exactly exude confidence. Can you just pretend?”
He forced a smile. “I'll see you soon.”
“Good job,” Ryan said dryly, pulling me behind him.
In Ryan's truck, we took the short trip to the pub. Every bump, every pot hole, every street light seemed especially big or bright, as if my mind wanted to record every second of my last moments on earth.
The truck slowed to a stop in the parking lot across the street, and I looked out the window to the pub. College co-eds meandered on the sidewalk, congregating in small groups, laughing and chatting without a care in the world. I had seen a few of them in the halls of Brown, and I wondered what they would say when they heard the news, and what the news would even be. Would the papers call it an accident? A murder? A suicide? I shuttered when thoughts of myself post-mortem. Would demons allow me any dignity or mercy at all?
“Ryan? If it comes down to it, don't let them take me, okay? I don't know what things something so evil is capable of...but I don't want to....” I struggled to say it aloud, “Don't let me suffer, okay? Take care of it. You know what I mean?”
“What?” he said, his nose wrinkling. “You mean you want me to issue a mercy shot before they drag you off to torture you.”
I didn't remember Ryan being so blunt before. Perhaps the desert had taken every bit of sensitivity he had left.
“I don't want to be alone with those things. Even for a minute. If they take me, I'm giving you permission.”
“Stop,” Ryan said. “I won't let anything happen to you, and I know Jared, Claire and Bex are all watching. You act like you've never been bait before.”
I sighed. “Can't say that I have. Let's get this over with.”
Ryan stepped out, and then walked around, opening the door. We walked into the pub hand-in-hand, and Ryan scanned the dozen or so faces, picking a spot on the corner of the bar. He ordered a shot and two beers, and then rested his elbows on the dark wood in front of him. The music was blaring, and the loud, variable tones of conversation blurred into one another.
“So what's the plan?” I asked over the music.
The bartender set our drinks on the bar, and Ryan tossed him a twenty. “I don't know. I'm just following orders. So far it's to drink, but not too much where I can't aim straight., or it affects Claire.”
“Aiming's not going to help,” I grumbled. “Why do you get a shot and I don't?” I asked, watching him throw his back.
“Jared said you get one beer.”