He jerked. His flesh began to undulate. As if a creature inhabited his skin and was fighting to get out. His eyes rolled back in his head, then forward. He went stock-still.
In complete control, he met her eyes. “The light can’t win. Look at this place, this world. Corruption at every corner of the globe.”
His voice had changed. His entire demeanor. As if he had been inhabited by another.
The Dark Bearer.
“There is good,” she said, voice shaking. “There is love. And kindness and—”
“And uncles who like to sit their little nieces on their lap, and mothers and grandmothers who look the other way.”
The sickly sweet smell of tobacco and whiskey filled her nostrils. Her thoughts tumbled back; memories of sweaty hands and hot, quickening breath against her ear. Whimpering for him to stop.
Micki couldn’t breathe. She struggled to fill her lungs. To expel the memories.
“You don’t believe in a good world, Michaela.”
“That’s . . . not . . . true.”
“Oh, that’s right, Hank came along. Your precious savior.”
She flinched—the sound of Hank’s name on his lips like a curse. “What do you know about him?
“That he died of a heart attack.” That mouth twisting into an obscene grin. “Isn’t that what they told you? And him, with no previous indications of heart disease.”
“You killed Hank?” She took an involuntary step back. “Is that what you’re saying?”
“How could that happen in a good world?”
“You son-of-a-bitch! You—”
“Why are the innocent judged harshly while corrupt run free?” His voice morphed into Hank’s. “Beheadings, pollution, greed—”
He hadn’t moved, yet it felt as if he was coming at her from every direction. His voice an assault “—children starving, disease rampant.” His voice changed again. Uncle Beau’s, straight from her nightmares, slurred from drink and husky with perverted desire. “Don’t forget, Michaela, this is our little secret.”
“Stop it!” she screamed, curving her hands into fists. “You bastard! You killed him!”
“What do you want to do about it?”
“I’m going to kill you. Somehow, someway I’m going to see you destroyed!”
He laughed. The sound echoed strangely through the abandoned sanctuary. “You see, Michaela, you believe in the darkness. The power of evil. Violence and brute force. You live it every day.”
“Mick!”
“Stay back,” she shouted. “He’s got my—”
Kenny convulsed and swung toward Zach. Micki seized the opportunity and lunged for the gun. The shot rang out. Micki felt the bullet enter her chest. Explode. Reverberating clear to her marrow.
She collided with the bartender. They went down together. A second explosion sounded. In her head. As if she was being blown wide open, shattering into a million sparkling pieces.
“No! Mick!”
Zach’s panicked shout mingled with the sound of blood gushing. A gurgling with her every breath. The bartender being rolled off her.
“Mick, no . . . hold on, sweetheart—”
Floating. Above herself. Gazing down at him, his hand pressed to her chest, red seeping through.
“Help!” he shouted on a sob. “Someone . . . help!”
The bartender, she saw, bleeding out. No longer contorted with pain, handsome again.
No help for him.
No help for her.
“Come back, Mick. You can’t die. You can’t! You’re too damn stubborn.”
She opened her eyes. Saw his face. Tears on his cheeks. Tried to smile, to tell him he’d be okay without her . . .
The sound of her pumping blood slowed.
Cold. She was so cold.
“Leave her, Zach.”
The voice was rich and deep. So very calm.
“I can’t.”
“Go get Angel and the others.”
“No. My fault—” His voice caught. “I think she’s . . . is she—”
“I’ve got her. The others are coming.”
Light bloomed behind her eyes. Blindingly brilliant and warm. Like a brilliant cocoon, beckoning her in. To be comforted and cradled, reborn.
Zach left her. She followed, calling out. No, she realized. No voice. No mouth, vocal cords or lungs. Just energy.
She hovered above the scene. The sobbing women; Angel on the floor, writhing in pain, screaming for Zach to go, save himself. Zach battling an invisible foe, being mangled like a rag doll.
And she could do nothing.
“Micki, come back.”
No! Zach needed her. Angel needed her.
Ribbons of light, curling around her, drawing her away. She fought them. How could she leave them? Her job . . . to protect and serve. Without her—”
“You’re needed here, Michaela. We chose you.”
Below, Zach got to Angel, covered her. A human shield, light emanating from him. Bright for the briefest moment, quickly dimming, the darkness becoming complete.
The ribbons of love and acceptance found her once more, cradling her, sapping her resistance. Drawing her gently back to her broken body.
One last glance back. A final goodbye.
Figures surrounding Zach and Angel. Many of them. Pulsing with light so bright it blinded; waves of it filling every crack and corner.
Home, she thought. Hank waiting for her.
Her eyes cracked open. A figure over her. Beautiful. Iridescent.