ARC: Cracked (21 page)

Maybe not so deep.

I laugh. “I guess, if they wanted to. But I haven’t noticed any ghostly Peeping Toms. Like I said, they have one-track minds. At least around me.”

“How many are there?”

“Not that many. Eventually they go away. I never see them again after I k–” err, “catch their killers.”

“How long have you been seeing them?”

“Forever. But they didn’t start bossing me around until my teens.”

“How many have you helped?”

I close my eyes. Images of the bodies I separated from their souls are stacked in my mind like cordwood, toe-tag forward so I can remember the specifics. They don’t deserve a burial, not even in my mind. Except one.

Everyone makes mistakes.

“So, how many?”

Hundreds
. “A few dozen, probably.”

“Wow.”

Our conversation drifts along, then we start inventing games to keep us occupied. By 4 in the morning, we’re hungry again. The food vending machine is broken, so instead we cook and eat imaginary food. If one person can guess what the other person is having, then they get some. I’m terrible at it. I guess hamburger like ten times in a row. Finally, Uri throws me a bone and makes a hamburger but I guess steak tartare. He’s good at it though. I think he cheats.

“Cherries jubilee!” he shouts triumphantly, rising off the bed and pointing.

“Get outta my head!”

The clock creeps towards 5 and our game lurches and slows. Gourmet meals become fast food as our hearts abandon it. Finally we trail off altogether. Chi and Jo should be back any minute – if all went well.

Uri traces the designs on the bedspread and I fight the urge to stop him. Some things should never be repeated. The sink-drip taunts; the minute hand teases. I crack the window and night sounds slip in. The elephant in the room is so studiously ignored he develops a complex.

5 becomes 5.30. Uri locks himself in the bathroom.

5.30 becomes 5.45 and Uri comes out. He tries to hide his face behind his hair, but I can tell his eyes are red. We’re supposed to leave without them at 6 but neither of us packs. He widens the window and the room turns frigid, but I don’t close it. Morning birds and highway sounds assault my straining ears.

Then we hear it, the growling rumble of a motorcycle. I beat Uri to the door, but not by much. I fight the locks and pull it open. Jo climbs off the motorcycle and Chi pulls off his helmet. I let out a breath I didn’t know I was holding. They’re fine, they’re in one piece.

Until, that is, Jo decks Chi in the face.

FOURTEEN

I’m gonna go out on a limb and guess from context that things could have gone better. Since Chi made it back alive, I guess I owe Uri twenty bucks. Then again I really don’t think the mission is over until they’re back in the hotel room. Judging from the homicidal glint in Jo’s eye, I still have a chance.

Unfortunately she doesn’t hit him again, but the verbal swings come fast and furious.

“Of all the unbelievable, stupid risks to take–” Jo attacks.

“I saved your life!” defends Chi. He’s off his bike now and holding his nose which is already shrinking back down to normal size. Templar healing, nice. Without the violence, the battle has been downgraded to a tennis match.

“You did not!” Jo hits the ball back into Chi’s court.

“I did! They were going to cut your head off!” Chi. Fifteen-love.

“They were not! They were going to
try
, but I had it under control.” Fifteen-all. “And, in coming to my ‘rescue’, you left your back wide open. If I hadn’t been there, you’d be dead!”

Aw snap. Fifteen-thirty.

“That’s the second time I’ve saved your life,” she continues.

She’s wrong. Actually it’s the third – I would have killed him the night we met if she hadn’t shown up. I don’t think it’s a good idea to point that out, though.

This is all very entertaining but no one has spilled the necessary information. “Time out!” I call, hands in a “T”. They both stare at me blankly, “Did you guys get the information?”

“Yeah, of course,” Chi says.

I step back. “Carry on.” I was being facetious, but they do. A furious match like this needs popcorn. I imagine a batch and munch while the show continues.

“You were moving too slow. You weren’t going to get out of the way in time,” Chi with a backhand. Thirty-all.

“Well, don’t bother next time. You can’t even take care of yourself!” Jo with a vicious return. Thirty-forty.

Uri pulls the door closed, then joins me on the curb, wide-eyed and watching the battle. He catches my hand movements. He points and mouths “popcorn”? I’m telling you, the kid is a savant at this game. I nod and offer him the imaginary bag. He takes a handful.

“Look, you have to face reality about your injury, you can’t just pretend it doesn’t matter–” Chi. Forty-all.

“I can! I mean, it doesn’t!” Jo trades some rage for intensity. “Look, Chi, can’t you understand? If I can’t stand on my own two feet then I don’t want to stand at all.”

“You just expect me to let you
die
?” Chi rocks back on his heels; he definitely doesn’t understand, but I do. Those of us who live with twisted bits like to think we can overcome them. In Jo’s case she probably can – even if he did save her life today, she has still saved him three times to his once.

“If it comes to that, yes, but it won’t.” She’s fierce, she means it. “I can take care of myself.”

Chi loses it; his hands are waving in the air like a madman’s. “And you’re supposed to be the smart one! That’s the
stupidest
–”

Jo turns beet red, her pleas are over and it’s all rage. The next bit is gritted out. “Your life is charmed – the Prince of Mountain Park, the Golden Boy, while I’m just the cripple.” Game. “You don’t have any idea what it’s like to lose your family, your future, your
leg
.” Set. “You’ve never lost anyone, or anything!” And match. Chi turns white.

Both pant, saying nothing, and the silence stretches as Chi grasps for words. When he finally finds them, they are soft and small. I haven’t nearly enough life experience to understand his expression. “You’re wrong. I
have
lost.”

Somehow I don’t think he means the tennis match.

Jo starts as if slapped, staggers back a few steps, then turns and runs. Maybe Chi won the match after all.

Chi drops his head in his hands and pulls at his hair in frustration. He turns to me. “Go after her, would you?” I hope he’s kidding, but it doesn’t look that way. I leave the rest of my imaginary popcorn with Uri – I need my hands free for self-defense. I follow the trail of angry muttering to the edge of the parking lot and into the trees. She’s stomping around and scaring the squirrels.

“Men!”

“Err yeah – men!” I commiserate.

“I don’t need him babysitting me. Who does he think he is?”

I hope that’s a rhetorical question. She punches a tree. Probably empty agreement is safest. “Um, yeah.”

“What an
asshole
. He almost died!”

“Yeah, asshole.”

She turns on me, eyes narrow. Her bullshit-o-meter must have alerted her to my lack of sincerity and I’m in imminent danger of replacing the tree as her punching bag.

I scramble. “Don’t look at
me
that way. I totally would have let you die.”

In hindsight, I could have phrased that better.

She stands frozen for a minute then snorts. Then her snort erupts into a laugh. She laughs and laughs, collapsing against her wooden victim. She finally takes a breath. “Thanks, Meda – I think.”

“Any time,” I say deadpan. “Mean it.” That sets her off again. She slides down the tree and sits at its base. Unsure what to do now, I sit with her.

“I guess I owe Chi an apology,” she says out of nowhere. “It’s not Chi’s fault. I mean, almost getting himself killed is his fault, but not the last of it. My family, my leg.” She starts to shred a leaf and it wants me to point out it’s not
its
fault either, but I bite my tongue. To our relief she throws it down. “I just get so mad sometimes. I’m never going to be a Crusader, never get married, never do anything.”

I don’t get the connection. A weak leg isn’t that big of a deal. But it seems rude, and dangerous, to interrupt her embittered monologue.

“But who do I get to be angry at? The demons? They’re constantly trying to destroy mankind and, if at all possible, Heaven too. There’s enough reasons to be angry at them – my leg’s superfluous. The other students, the Crusaders for how they treat me? They’re not trying to be cruel, I am damaged. They’re so very kind, so full of pity. I’d rather they hate me than feel sorry for me.” Ah, that explains why she’s so horrible to everyone.

Another leaf becomes her victim as she continues. “How about God? I’ve dedicated my life to His service and everything is part of His plan. If He has decided that I best serve His needs as a cripple, who am I to say it should be otherwise?” She looks up, meeting my eyes. It’s nice she remembers I’m here. “I’ll tell you who’s left. Me. I can hate myself for feeling the way I do, for being unable to accept it. But when you hate yourself for hating yourself – how the hell do you get out of that?”

She looks at me like I have the answer. And I kind of do, actually. After all, I’m practically an expert on self-hate and hers is pathetic. She hates herself for being upset that her dreams are ruined? It would be weirder if she did happily accept her fate.

So I offer her my sage advice. “Quit being such a whiner.”

Not what Jo is expecting and she draws back. She’s been coddled, everyone else tiptoes around her. I’m not the coddling kind. “This pity party is pathetic.”

Jo’s face turns an ominous shade of purple and she jumps to her feet. “
Pity
party? I’m sorry if my problems aren’t–”

But I cut her off and climb to my own feet. She’s giving self-hate a bad name. “Yes, you are sorry. You’re angry at yourself for being angry that all your dreams were taken away? Give me a break!”

“What do you expect me to do? Rejoice that my life is ruined?”

“No, you’re not listening. I don’t care that you’re angry that your life is ruined. You’d be an idiot if you weren’t. Hell, I don’t even like you and
I’m
angry about it. I’m just saying you’re stupid for being angry for being angry – that’s ridiculous.”

“But–” she sputters.

“Do something productive with your anger instead of stomping around snapping at everyone.” Actually, I hope she doesn’t take that advice. It’s pretty entertaining to watch, when I’m not the focus of it. “Take it out on the demons.”

“No one will let me.” She sulks, but it’s half-hearted.

“Yeah, I’ve noticed. They’ve been not letting you for the past two days.” That wins a limp smile. “You want to fight demons? Stop whining and do something about it.”

She pauses, looking at me like she’s seeing me for the first time. “Ouch,” she finally says.

“Yeah, well, you needed to hear it. It’s good for you.”

“My best interests at heart?”

“Yeah. Good intentions.”

We both recall the last time we talked about good intentions – and she pulled a knife on me – and smile. “Thanks, Doctor.” She takes a deep breath and changes the subject. “But you’re a liar.” She pauses. I am a liar, but I wonder which one she’s talking about. “You
do
like me.”

I’m surprised to find she might be right.

Before I can think of a response, she changes the subject. “It’ll be harder to fight demons once things are back to normal.”

“Things get normal around here?”

“They’ll never let me have full Crusader status. I’ll be a desk Knight. My leg
is
a liability.” Her voice gets really small. “I think Chi really did save my life.”

“So what? You saved his, twice.” Three times. “So you might die. If that’s OK with you, what can they say about it?”

“The basic fighting unit is the pair.” Her mouth twists. “The couple, actually.”

Isn’t that the same thing? I don’t have time to ask before she continues.

“I’ll never have a partner. I couldn’t take one even if someone was stupid enough.”

I point out the obvious. “Chi’s stupid enough.”

“I couldn’t be responsible for the death of my partner. Besides, Chi’s not stupid, he’s… naive.”

“There’s a difference?”

“Naivety is cured with time. Stupidity is terminal.”

I laugh. “Fatal in a Crusader.”

“For sure.”

I cast her a sideways look. “You don’t have any naivety left.”

“I guess the demon ate it along with my leg,” she says lightly. Then there is a long, sobering pause. “And my parents.”

For the first time, with sudden clarity, I understand why Mom let me kill only bad people. I recall an argument we had. I was soul Hungry and impatient. Hangry.

“Everyone dies,” I’d said. “Why does it matter if it’s a car wreck, a clogged artery or me?”

“Meda!” Mom was too horrified to manage more than that.

“God kills indiscriminately. Why can’t I?” I’d been snotty in that way only tweens can manage.

Her mouth snapped shut at my blasphemy and, when she responded, it was with a tone I’d never heard from her before. The memory alone gives me goosebumps. “God has his reasons. Good ones.” Her brown eyes leveled me. “So will you.”

I did as she said – with one glaring exception – because it upset her if I did otherwise. And I understood, in an abstract way, that it was wrong. Good people don’t do things like that, so I didn’t. When it became apparent that I was not, in fact, a good person, I continued – partially out of respect for my mother, but also because of ease and habit. When you have dead victims pointing out their murderers, it’s not like it’s a challenge. Thanks to human nature, I will never starve.

But now I understand what I had taken before as rote memorization. Every adult knows
E=mc2
, but only a scientist understands it. I was becoming a scientist on human nature. It’s a comfort, now, to know that I haven’t left a trail of Jos.

I look back at her now. “You’re still smarter than Chi.”

She snorts. “I spent two years bedridden with nothing to do but study. But Chi is…” she searches for the word, “good.”