She sat down on her rock and cried with abandon—no more holding back, no more pretending to be okay. Nothing was okay and she knew it. Who had she become that she would use her shadow power on Mr. K?
He would lie for her. He would do what she said.
Because she'd given him no choice.
Chapter 92 – Drake
Visions flit in and out of his mind in a jumble of chaotic and ominous warnings—kids lined in a hospital, crying out for help, tearing apart their skin to claw out of their restraints; himself as a child, helpless and abused, beaten by the foster parents the state trusted to care for him.
Then, he grows up, and he isn't helpless anymore. The face of that man flashes before him—the way his lip curls up in a sneer as he beats his wife and child; the way they shrink in on themselves to escape the punishment.
Drake, now initiated into his power, catches the man's fist mid-air and throws him against the floor, then beats him until he can't walk or speak or move.
Then the dream changes, and he's back with Sam the night they were captured by the Seeker, the night he lost the love of his life.
The Seeker rears up at him and morphs into a giant snake-like monster, his huge mouth stretched open, sharp teeth gleaming. "I am your brother," it hisses, before that mouth wraps around Drake and swallows him whole, crunching into his bone and twisting him inside out.
Drake woke, startled and with a head full of cotton balls. The use of that much drug-induced power had stripped him of any natural strength he had left, so they'd found a nice hotel and holed up while he slept it off. Good thing Steele had been more generous with the cash than the drugs.
When he peeled his eyes back, Toby leaned into his face and grinned, just as he had after Drake had woken up from his Blue Power-induced high. "Good morning."
"Thanks, good morning to you too." Drake sat up and stretched his aching body. "How long have you been up?" Toby had still been passed out when Drake settled them into the hotel.
The boy looked around vaguely, then shrugged. "A few hours. Three, maybe."
Drake checked the time on the clock by the bed. 5:00 p.m. His stomach chose that moment to announce its hunger. "What kind of food do you like?"
Toby grinned. "Pizza. Burgers are good too. Why? Are we going out?"
Drake reached for the phone on the nightstand. "No. We're staying in. I'll call room service."
"Wow. Thanks." The kid's grin stretched wider across his face, and he looked around the room as if taking it in for the first time. "You must be pretty rich, yo."
Drake ordered them cheeseburger sliders—whatever those were—and soda, then replaced the receiver. "This isn't my house. It's just a hotel."
"Exactly!" Toby flopped onto the other bed in the room.
Of course. Toby had probably never stayed at a hotel. His house had definitely been a dump, so his mother couldn't have made much. She may have even been on drugs, by the looks of her, probably Meth. Not that Drake could judge. Look at all he'd done.
He looked at Toby more carefully and noticed his red, puffy eyes, as if he'd been crying for a long time. The boy had been through hell and back the last couple of days, and now he was alone in the world. Even his shitty mother must have felt safer than being totally abandoned. He'd have a lot to process in the coming weeks, and it wouldn't be easy.
Nature reminded Drake that it had been awhile since he last used the bathroom. As he pushed his sore body out of bed, he noticed Toby was still wearing his dirty shoes on the bed.
"Toby, get your shoes off the furniture." He hadn't meant to sound quite that stern, quite like foster fathers of the past.
"Well, fine. You don't have to say it like that." Toby pulled his shoes off and threw them to the side.
"Now, put them in the closet," said Drake.
The boy rolled his eyes but did as he was told.
As Drake walked toward the bathroom, Toby grabbed the remote for the television.
Drake stopped and turned to him. "You should ask before you use the TV."
Toby just shook his head as if it made no sense to him at all. "Why?"
"We only have one room," Drake explained. "The TV may bother me, so you should ask. It's polite."
Another eye roll. "Fine. May I use the TV?"
"Yes."
"Sheesh man, you're wound tight." Toby hopped back on the bed, turned on the television, and started scrolling through channels.
Drake used the bathroom, then went out onto the balcony and breathed in the fresh air while looking out over the city and the ocean. The wind blew through his hair and calmed him. As he relaxed, he found himself piecing together his dreams. Sam. He'd lost Sam. How would she react when he came back? Would she hug him? Hit him? Or would she just leave him once they found Ana, as he'd left her?
His heart sank into his gut and he brushed the thought from his mind. Their love could be mended. He could make things right with her. He would make things right with her. They'd been apart before, and they'd gone through so much together; surely they could bridge the gap between them this time.