The Lord had never eased that burden. The only way King could live with what had happened to Shayla was to not think about it. To carve that memory out of his brain and bury it so deep inside himself that he couldn’t find it.
“If it eases you, stay with her. Offer her counsel, educate her in the ways of our Lord so that her death will be a release instead of a condemnation.” Father sighed. “That is the most mercy I can offer either of you.”
King nodded, but he didn’t open his eyes.
Father let go of him and settled his hand upon King’s head. “Find peace, my son.”
Chapter 21
“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”
The words penetrated Isleen’s sleep, acting as a tether pulling her into awful awareness. It was dark, so dark. Where was she? She didn’t know. With her good hand, she searched for the source of the voice in the dark. Her fingers trailed over the smooth floor, then up the wall next to her, then over the ceiling above her. Her mind mapped the dimensions of the space.
She was in a box. No, it wasn’t a mere box.
It was a coffin.
She should be freaking out. She should be pounding on the sides, trying to find a way out. She wasn’t doing any of that. All the fight had left her.
Memories and pain hit—searing, burning, throbbing. The ferocity sucking the air out of her. She remembered this kind of pain. Only this time it was worse, so much worse. This time she didn’t have her dreams of Xander to sustain her.
He was dead. And if by some vicious fate he wasn’t, he would be a vegetable. No one survived that kind of bullet wound to the head without the severest of consequences.
In those woods, she had tried, had poured every ounce of will into healing him, had waited to feel something, but nothing happened. Fearless and Bear—she and Xander—had been nothing more than an alluring story.
“Xander…” Her voice snapped and broke over his name. A beautiful name, a strong name, the only name that ever mattered to her.
Heavy, ugly sounds of sorrow spewed out of her.
Everything hurt.
Breathing hurt.
Living hurt.
She’d thought she’d known pain in the trailer. She’d thought she’d known pain when Gran died. She hadn’t known pain at all. Hadn’t known that pain was a dull ax blade hacking, cleaving, severing heart from soul. Her heart from Xander’s soul.
“I’m sorry.” The voice—the voice of Xander’s killer—penetrated her grief, but her mind had no room to question him, no room for anger. Every thought, every feeling boiled down to one terrible truth. Xander was probably dead. She cried until her throat was scraped raw, her face hurt, and her stomach muscles ached from the force of her sobs. And then her soul cried until exhaustion settled its blanket of oblivion over her.
*
Consciousness slammed into her, jerking her out of sleep’s numbing embrace and thrusting her back into reality. Pain hammered at her arm and a dull, diffuse headache saturated her brain, but something was different with her. She didn’t hurt. Oh, her body still ached, but her heart no longer wept and her soul no longer bled. Everything that mattered—feelings, hopes, dreams, Gran, and Xander—had separated from her.
She had fractured. She’d broken like a wishbone snapped in two, and all that remained of her was a body that hadn’t died yet and a mind incapable of emotion. Or could this lack of feeling be an indicator that she had died?
Darkness surrounded her, blinded her. The exact opposite of that endless white from her dreams. She blinked hard to clear her eyes. Nothing. No shapes. No shadows. No shades of color. Maybe this black void really was death.
“And the Lord commanded”—the words sounded odd and diluted—“all his Faithful to rid the land of demons and devils. And the kingdom of…”
Nope. Not dead.
She recognized the voice. The man who killed Gran and Xander. Just thinking about Xander should be devastating, but her emotions were blessedly anesthetized.
The man continued to spout Godly phrases and holier-than-thou platitudes, but she wasn’t listening.
“Where are you?” she asked more out of curiosity than any real caring, cutting him off in the middle of some prayer.
“You’re awake. Bless the Lord. I’m here. Outside. There’s so much I need to tell you before the end.”
She supposed he meant to kill her, and yet she didn’t feel any horror at the thought of dying. Honestly, she couldn’t wait. She’d simply reached her limit. She had no more tolerance for this life that had given her nothing but terror, pain, and heartache, with only the briefest glimmers of happiness.
“Mister, why don’t you just kill me and get it over with?” Her tone was all attitudinal teenager trying to get her way.
“I do not like you referring to me as mister. I’d prefer you to call me Father.”
“Oh yeah. I forgot. You’re a priest.” Psychotic laughter bubbled up from somewhere inside her. “What are you preaching to people? Thou shalt kill?”