If someone reached into my rib cage and pulled out my heart, it couldn’t hurt as much as this does right now. Maxon’s tiny fingers wind into my hair.
“You’re here, Mommy! You found me.” He leans back, brushing his palms against his cheeks to clear away the tears. He only leaves fresh smears of dirt across his face. It’s adorable and heartbreaking, all at once. “We can go now, right? I want to go home.”
Lincoln sets his palm on Maxon’s neck. “We’ll go home in a little while.”
Maxon sniffles and wipes his nose with the back of his hand. “I want to leave, now. Please, Daddy.”
“It won’t be long. Who’s my best soldier?” asks Lincoln.
Macon puffs out his chest. “I am, Daddy.”
The Mantis steeples her fingers under her chin. “You must stand over here now, boy.” She taps the right-hand side of her desk with her claw-like hand. Maxon dutifully marches over to stand in place, his lower lip trembling as he holds in tears.
“That was the first choice.” The Mantis snaps her fingers. “Here’s the second.” The right-hand door swings open to reveal a handsome man in his twenties with short black hair and mismatched eyes. He wears camo pants, combat boots and a torn black T-shirt. He steps into the room and looks around, his face crumpled with confusion.
A jolt of realization freezes me in place. In appearance, this guy is the perfect blend of Lincoln and me. This is out Maxon, only an older version.
“Mom? Dad? What are you doing here?” He eyes us carefully. “You look young.” He points at Lincoln. “You, especially.”
“You’re having a bad dream,” says the Mantis. “The sooner you tell your parents what you recall of your time in Hell, the more quickly it will end.”
The adult Maxon swings about, spies the Mantis demon and laughs. “Any reason I shouldn’t kill you?” he asks.
“I wish you wouldn’t,” I say.
He stares at me for a long minute. “What’s going on here?”
“Do as I say,” order the Mantis. “What do you think of your time in Hell? Tell them honestly.”
Maxon scratches his neck, his mouth winding into a half-smile. “And then this shit is over?”
The Mantis makes a note on the sheet before her. “Quite.”
“Since this is a dream and all, I’ll tell you what I really think.” The adult Maxon stares down at the ground. “My years with Armageddon tore out my soul.”
The world around me turns dream-like and cold. Years with Armageddon? That can’t be right.
My hand reflexively moves to my throat. “You don’t spend years with Armageddon. We’re here to free you right now. You escape with us.”
“That’s what you think? Look at me. Really look at me.” The adult Maxon raises his gaze to meet mine, and his face changes. His handsome features melt away. Suddenly, my son’s skin is a patchwork of scars and open wounds. His right eye socket is empty, the skin folded over. “I’m broken and evil and you made m this way.” He notices the other Maxon in the corner. “You made both of us.”
The young version of Maxon scrubs his face with his tiny hands. When he pulls his palms away, his small face is covered in bruises. A line of blood oozes from the corner of his mouth. “It hurts, Mommy.”
His tiny voice strikes me like so many heavy blows. It was a mistake to come here. I should never have tried. My legs turn boneless beneath me and I crumple forward. Lincoln kneels beside me, rubbing my back in soothing strokes.
“You have to choose, Myla. It’s our only way out of here.”
“That isn’t a choice. Neither of those can be true.”
“Choose one of them, and we’ll make the future different.”
I raise my gaze to the Mantis demon. She watches me with greedy interest, a small smile curling her tiny mouth. “This is the part where you fail. It’s where everyone fails. Accept your defeat and you may avoid the torture pits. I can be merciful, you know.”
My inner wrath demon stirs in my belly. “If these are my two options for reality, I reject them both.”
“Really?” The Mantis chuckles. “Then what will you do?”
“This!” In one swift movement, I leap onto her desk, whip my baculum out as a long-sword, and slice the Mantis clear through from shoulder to hip. The top part of her body slides off to the floor.
“Screw you, bitch,” I snarl. “I’m here to get my kid.” Turning about, I raise my weapon high over my head. “Anyone else have other ideas? You can talk to me.”
I have just enough time to see the shocked look on the faces of both versions of Maxon as a wall of flame bursts up between us.
“Good job, Mommy,” says the younger Maxon. “You passed the test.”
“You’re up next, Dad,” snarls the older one. “And I know just what’s waiting for you, too.”
The flames burn more brightly, charring my skin. In the searing pain and maze of fire, I somehow find Lincoln’s hand.
“What is it?” Lincoln asks Maxon. “What’s coming next?”
“The torture pits,” says the older version of our son. “You’re going to fail your test, Daddy-O, no question about it.”
With that, the flames engulf us both and the room disappears.