The Retribution of Mara Dyer (Mara Dyer, #3)

56


I COULDN’T TEAR MY EYES away from my brother, and so I didn’t notice at first when Noah pointed the gun at his father.

“You could kill me,” David said. His words drew my eyes up. “That is certainly an option.”

“It certainly is,” Noah said. The gun looked familiar, like one I’d held before.

“I’ve been expecting to die because of you someday. I wouldn’t have revealed myself if I weren’t expecting that. Though I did assume she would be the one to do it.” His father smiled slightly, and met my eyes. He didn’t once look at the gun.

“Maybe I’ll save her the trouble,” Noah said.

“Well then, I should warn you that you would be ending four lives with one bullet.”

“How do you figure?”

“Your death will not prevent Mara’s. If you don’t take responsibility and end her, then Jude will.” He caught Jude’s eye. “For Claire, yes?”

“For Claire,” Jude repeated robotically.

David sighed. “If an original carrier is killed by anyone besides its foil, the anomaly will manifest again along the affected bloodline. In this case, Joseph Dyer; he is a carrier as well. And then he would eventually either kill himself or be killed by someone else. That’s the pattern of the afflicted.”

“And of course Daniel would die, because I would not be able to make the call to save his life. So, four.”

Noah was silent, and I was stunned.

“And I should probably mention that if you miss, and I don’t die instantly, you could trigger Jude’s ability, which seems to make him rather . . . unpredictable. I honestly don’t know what he might do if that happens. Noah, please listen to me.” His father met Noah’s stare head-on, unflinchingly. “Whether it happens today or tomorrow or some other day, like the archetypes you parallel, you will play out your roles whether you want to or not. You don’t have a choice.”

“You always have a choice,” Noah said, and clicked the safety back.

David turned his blue-gray eyes on me. “Are you willing to let him bet Daniel’s life on it?”

I tore my gaze away from them and looked at the laptop. At my brother in the bed, at Jamie in the chair. “Don’t,” I said to Noah. “Please.”

“You’re not a murderer, Noah,” his father said. “The only person you’ve ever really wanted to hurt is yourself.”

Noah let out a small chuckle. “You’re right,” he said, then turned the gun on himself.





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