Heartless (The Heartless Series) (17 page)

Bad because dreaming about Hart means pain. Pain and that stupid knife he uses on me. It's not even a normal knife. It has these symbols on it that I can't figure out, and one on the handle I don't even want to think about. I'll have to be on that stupid table with that stupid knife. All of which equals pain and not being able to do anything about it. And a girl—or a guy maybe—who will be there either helping or will be the next person to die in real life.

No matter what Hart says, I won't be able to stop it.

It might be selfish, but I can't do it tonight. I just can't.

It's already after three when I get home. Sam isn't there. I've called him four times on the way here, but no answer. I text him because I'm worried. We didn't have the best conversation the last time we were together, and I'm concerned about him.

I take a shower. Watch Shelley's dry blood flow down my skin and down the drain. My stomach knots, and I sink to the floor as the blood disappears down the drain. Shelley's blood. A girl I never met is dead. Her blood is on my hands.

She's dead.

Others will die, too.

I don't know how I know, but I do.

This isn't over, and if Lucien is right about Hart, it won't be for a while. I don't know much about angels and demons, except demons are the bad guys and angels are the good guys. I used to go to church every Sunday with my mom. I hadn't been much since I started college. Just easier to sleep, but I do believe. Demons, though. Demons are hard to think about, especially one living in my head. Well, not really living, but getting in my mind and making it where I can hardly function.

That leads to the inevitable question that everybody asks: Why me?

What did I ever do to deserve this?

As I sit there in the shower and the water washes Shelley's blood away, I keep having the same thoughts running through my mind. What is it about me that Hart loves so much? What do I even really know about him? What do I know about myself? Lucien said that Hart can't kill people outright. He has to have a vessel or something. That sure narrows it down. So, what if he possesses somebody, kills, and then gets out of the body before anyone is the wiser.

The blood is nearly gone.

My skin is turning blue from the cold water.

I'm always cold.

I get out of the shower, dry off, put on my pajamas, and check downstairs for Sam. He's not there.

I pull out my phone and send one more text. I don't expect an answer.

After checking the lock on the front door, I take my medicine, sans the one that's supposed to make me sleepy. I don't want to sleep. I just can't tonight. I can't deal with Hart. I can't deal with seeing any of it. Not tonight.

I want to sit in my bed with the covers pulled up. I want to try my very best to warm up. I want to just breathe and take the night off from thinking.

Besides, I have to be at Lucien's office by seven thirty anyway. Not many hours to go.

So, I do just that. I go upstairs. I leave my bedroom door open and the hallway light on. I turn the lamp on beside my bed, and I crawl under my covers. The television and the Internet are the last things I want to see. Alone is what I want. There, in my room, I feel all alone. It's comforting. No one can get me there. I can't read or see anything bad because everything is turned off. I'm in my own little world.

It's nice.

I wish I could stay here forever.

Just stay in my little room. My little place in the world. All alone. I can't hurt anyone if I'm alone. I can't say the wrong things or have to question everything I say. I won't hurt anybody's feelings. I won't bother anyone. I've always felt like a bother. Not sure why, but I do.

If I could just stay in my room. Stay in the dark. Stay awake. Then, everything will be fine. I won't have to know about who dies. About all the craziness going on in the world. I won't have to know anything. I won't have to think about anything.

All night, I stare at the same place on the wall across the room from me. I don't cry. I don't shout. I don't even say a word. I just sit there. Unmoving. Unfeeling.

In my happy place.

I want to stay here forever.

The sun doesn't have to come up.

The birds don't have to chirp.

We can just stay like this.

Forever.

I wouldn't hate it.

My nerves would appreciate it.

My eyelids start getting heavy around seven a.m., and no matter how much I want to stay in my little bubble of solitude, the sun is coming up. The darkness is going away, taken over by that blasted sun. I know it's strange to say. One would think I'd like the light more than the darkness. After all, nothing bad happens in the light, right? The light represents good. It represents righteousness. And the darkness is evil. Bad things like the darkness.

I like the darkness.

It's much less scary than the light.

I prefer the darkness.

If only the sun would stay down.

If only the day didn't have to start.

But it does, and so that means I do too.

I reluctantly swing my legs out from under the covers and maneuver to the hardwood. It's cold. Everything is cold.

I go to the bathroom, brush my teeth, and get ready. I catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror and I look literally like Hell. My eyes are so red and bloodshot that it looks like I've gone ten rounds with a liquor store and lost. My hair keeps getting darker and the blond streaks are turning gray. Black and blue bags hang under my eyes, and my lips are nice and chapped. Peachy. I look wonderful. Heck, I look better after spending the night with Hart.

Hart.

Surprisingly I didn't hear him last night. Not even whispering in my ears. Not even in my head. And I don't hear him this morning, so far anyway. Totally not sad about that.

I try my darndest to put on makeup and be at least halfway presentable. It has minimal results. The concealer has to work overtime, but the under-eye bags look better. Not completely gone, but better. My eyes, though. Sheesh my eyes. So red. So unhealthy looking.

I need a nap.

I can't sleep.

I brush my teeth and go into my room. Might as well meet the day with a bright attitude, right? So I put on black pants and a black t-shirt. Seems appropriate to me. I leave my hair down and throw a ponytail holder on my wrist. I know I won't leave my hair down long.

I go back down to the kitchen, still a few minutes before I have to leave to meet Lucien.

I fix myself some blessed coffee, pour a little bit of Sam's wine in it just because I feel like I need it, and sit down to drink and scroll my phone. I have about five messages from Tina. She's worried about me. I haven't talked to her in a few days because I'm a horrible friend.

I type a hurried reply that she shouldn't be. I'm fine.

Those two words are my lifeline. My go to phrase.

I'm fine.

I'm so not fine.

How could anybody in my situation be fine?

But I will be.

I'll smile and pretend everything is okay, because I want it to be okay. It has to be okay. It might as well be, right?

I send my message to her and sip on my coffee as I scroll down the page.

I see a picture and drop my mug. It shatters on the floor. I feel the heat sting my legs through my jeans, but I don't care. I can only stare at the picture.

The local news station has a page. They show pictures of top stories and what not.

Today's picture is of Madison Monroe, the girl I work with at the library. The one I talked to yesterday.

She was murdered last night.

Chapter Nineteen

"
Y
OU COULD HAVE SAVED HER, YOU
know?" Hart whispers in my ear as I'm in the bathroom on my hands and knees dry heaving because I have nothing in my stomach to come out. Madison is dead. She's dead!

I get up and brush my teeth again. I don't want to look in the mirror, knowing I'll see Hart. Despite not wanting to, I catch a glimpse of myself. Hart is nowhere to be seen, but I hear his voice ringing through my head.

"You could have saved her, angel. You know you could have."

I knew Madison. No tracking her down. I have her freakin' number on my phone! I could have called her. Warned her. Done something.

I could have saved her.

"It's all your fault." This time it's my voice, not Hart's.

Chapter Twenty

I
DON'T LOOK AT ANYBODY AS
I walk toward Taylor Hall. I can feel their eyes on me, though. Even strangers, people I've never even seen before, seem to have their eyes focused on me. It isn't like I can see them. I'm not looking at them, but I can feel them. You know how you can just tell when someone is looking at you? How the hairs on the back of your neck stand up? How you just know? You can just feel? That's how it is this morning going to meet Lucien—my angel.

My angel might be a little much. He never said he was
my
angel. He just said he was an angel. And Hart was a demon. And it was all real.

This is the point where being crazy trumped the truth.

I mean, who really wants to believe a demon has set up camp in their brain?

And who wants to think the demon is just the beginning?

I have more questions than answers, and truth be told, I don't really want the answers. I have theories, and those theories scare the heck out of me. If Hart isn't putting those visions of the dead girls in my head, then…

"Oh, I'm sorry." I don't look up. Not right away. He's already past me when I finally get it in my mind to actually tell him I'm sorry.

When I do, I wish I'd kept right on going.

I know him.

That same floppy brown hair.

The same chiseled body.

The same dimples.

Different eyes. Not red. They are brown. Beautifully brown.

Terrifying.

It's Hart. The same Hart in my dreams every night.

But that can't be right, because Lucien said Hart has to have a physical host. He can theoretically move from person to person, so he doesn't have to actually look like any one person, right?

My head hurts. I wonder what everybody else on campus is thinking about? I doubt it is about angels and demons and the physical limitations of each.

I stare at him, and he smirks at me. "See something you like?"

If I talk to him, then it means I acknowledge that he's real. That this thing in my dreams is a real thing. If I just walk away, then maybe, just maybe, I can keep some part of my sanity. Wouldn't that be wonderful?

I pretend I don't hear him and hug my books tighter to my chest. Lucien is waiting on me.

"He won't give you the answers I can."

I stop. My body starts shaking, and I can't seem to stop it. It was bad enough when Hart just lived in my head. But this… this is too much. I can't deal with it. I don't want to deal with it.

I need my feet to move, and I need to walk to Lucien's office. If only my feet would cooperate. I can't move, and it takes me a minute to realize I really don't want to. I mean, I do. But a big part of me wants to know what Hart knows. And why he looks the same out here as he does in my mind. I have just as many questions for him as I do the angel waiting on me, which is really strange to think about.

Still…

I don't really want to talk.

"I won't hurt you, if that's what you are worried about. I can do that anytime. Anytime you want me to." He walks closer to me, and I have to fight to keep my ground. I look around at everybody else, trying to catch anyone's eye. Anyone who might can help me. For as many people as I thought were looking at me before, not a soul makes eye contact with me now.

It's almost like I'm not there.

"I waited for you all night." He keeps inching toward me. Keeps his eyes locked on mine. "You never went to sleep. What's the matter? Didn't want to keep our dinner date?"

"If you'd start feeding me, it might be nicer." I say before I stop myself. I don't want anything from him. I certainly don't want any sort of dinner date with him. I don't want anything but for him to leave me alone.

"I'll remember that." His dimples flash. For a second, he looks like a typical nice guy. A regular Joe. I know better.

He stops when he's an arm's length from me and places his hands in his pockets. Like we are going to have a friendly little conversation. "You've talked to Lucien."

I swallow hard. I don't know if I like the idea of a demon asking about an angel. Heck, I don't like the idea of a demon period.

"Don't try to deny it. I know things."

"How?"

His dimples shine. I figure it's because I'm finally asking him a question in the bright blue world. I'm finally accepting that he's real. Just as real as me.

"How do you think? I'm a part of you, sweetheart. I'm in here." He points to his temple. "Where you go, I go. What you see, I see."

"I don't… that's not what Lucien said." No, I refuse to believe he's always with me. He's not. If that's true, that means that some part of me is—that means that I'm part…

"Demon." He fills in the blanks for me. "Part of you is demon. Not just from me either. You have no idea how weird it is up here. In your brain. The things I see. The thoughts you have. The powers."

"I don't have any powers." I've never felt heavier in my life. My shoulders slump over, and I feel the weight of the world falling on me.

He laughs. The people keep walking around like they don't see us. Like we aren't even there. Does he have something to do with it? How powerful were demons anyway?

"I know you got my message. I know you know about being an abomination. What you are? Wow, I can't even imagine. I could show you, you know? How powerful you are if you like."

"Quit reading my mind. It's creepy."

He raises his eyebrow. "More creepy that any of the rest of this?"

I hate to admit it, but the man—er, demon dude—has a point. "So why me? Why did you lock down in my brain all these years? Where were you for the last five when I didn't see you?"

"Miss me?"

"Hardly. Grateful to have you gone, if you wanna know the truth."