Page 63 of The Devil Takes

No matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t find the strength to move him.

My head was on fire, my body numb.

That itching sensation beneath my skin returned, churning my stomach and leeching all my strength as I lay beneath his bulk and finally gave up.

With my chest compressed and blood dripping onto the hollow of my throat from his head wound, I stared up at the moon. I watched it rise steadily, unaffected by the brutality of what I’d just done. The darkness closed around me, choking the last bit of my energy away as I let the anger I’d buried for years simmer inside my hardened heart.

I’d thought with him gone I’d feel better.

But I didn’t.

I couldn’t breathe, and I wasn’t sure if it was because he was still crushing me—even in death—or if it was because the relief I’d thought I’d feel with him dead was still just out of reach. I shouldn’t mourn him, but I did. I couldn’t help it.

I lost time.

Seconds.

Minutes.

Hours.

The moon was high in the sky for a moment, low the next, the last vestiges of silver slipping away as the sun began its ascent. Dad was heavy on top of me. Cold now. The scent of his body decomposing, enough to make me gag. I didn’t know what would happen now. I hadn’t thought I’d win, even though this didn’t really feel like winning.

Part of me had even hoped I would die, putting an end to my suffering, but I hadn’t.

Like a cockroach, I’d somehow survived.

I lost more time.

Not much.

But enough.

Because when I opened my eyes again, the sun was barely creeping over the tree line. It was warmer now. And I could breathe easier, though I realized belatedly that the reason my chest was no longer compressed was because my dad’s corpse had been moved. I glanced around weakly, trying to figure out where the hell it could’ve gone, if this was just another hallucination.

But it wasn’t.

Familiar fingers carded through my hair.

Like a rubber band, I snapped. My head twisted back, my throat clogged up, my eyes burning as I caught the blurry shape of a familiar mask. The silhouette of my favorite broad shoulders.

“I forgot the living could be so cruel,” Haden’s voice was a balm over the itchy heat that tore through my body like wildfire. I laughed, the sound jostling my sore chest, before it morphed into a sob.

Sunlight made his mostly white hair glow, turning him into an avenging angel.

“Have you made your choice?” He kept stroking my hair, gently, reverently. Like he didn’t know what to do with me. Didn’t know what to do with the mess I’d become.

I didn’t blame him. I didn’t know what to do either.

All I knew was that I was so angry at him. So fucking angry. He’d left me, after all. But I couldn’t bring myself to speak, or do much of anything, really. I chased his eyes behind the shadows of his mask, tracing over the familiar contours of the skull. For a moment, I caught his gaze, and I was trapped inside it. Concern. Syrupy-sweet. Anger simmering just under the surface.

I’d never seen him angry before, and judging by the gentle brush of his fingers in my hair, I never would’ve guessed it was there at all. But it was. Like a fire that waged war beneath the surface of his actions.

“If you do not answer, then I will make the choice for you,” Haden warned.

I didn’t want to choose.

I didn’t want to do anything.

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