Page 84 of The Broken Places

He couldn’t allow that.

Another man joined in the fight, and then a woman. It was spreading, growing, and now Ambrose and the woman helping him distribute the antidote would have to retreat from the fray and be forced to abandon the victims still hanging on. Only moments ago, maybe half an hour, these people had considered themselves colleagues, if not friends. Certainly not enemies.And now? They are intent on destroying each other.It was nearly over, but there were still lives to be saved. And he could still do something to help with that.

With the last of his effort, he picked up a chair and raised it over his head, threatening those closest to him with it, hating every momentof contributing to their agony. Their fear. Their terror. And as expected, several of the people swiveled toward him, rushing, lunging at him as he toppled backward. His heart broke. Shattered. But he used his quickly dwindling strength to punch and kick and engage. Fists connected, and something sharp pierced his neck, blood spurting as that man then turned on another. He lay back and allowed them to brutalize him. It was too late to save their minds, but he could save their souls.

He could ensure they’d die fighting. Like warriors.

CHAPTER FORTY-NINE

Trinity watched as her father screamed and ranted, his face purple with rage, arms raised, that pit at his feet swirling faster, oily bubbles rising, the face of the little girl she’d once been reflected in the ebony emptiness. The screams and wails and dead laughter that rose were hers. She was already in there—parts of her, at least—and so was every horror she’d forgotten. The terrible aching loneliness. The fear.Why, God? Why did you send me to him?

Shh, shh, shh.

She clutched the leg of the final pew, pulling herself to a sitting position again, the wooden leg bending and moaning and beginning to snap.Thud, thud, thud, thud.

A misty glow appeared in front of her, the light shimmering and taking shape. An angel. And she was ... singing. The music made her turn away from her bellowing father, away from that magnetic hellhole, transfixed by the notes that drifted from the angel’s mouth and bobbed in the air, their round bottoms moving slowly past. The wooden pew leg snapped, and she gasped, propelling herself upward as she grasped one of those notes and held on for dear life.

You nasty little slut. You deserve this.

The pull intensified, a vacuum lifting her from the floor and spinning her around, her legs hanging over the pit. But still she held on tothat note, bobbing gently above her, the feel of it warm and soft, yet weighty too. The sour wind whipped, and the screeches rose, but the angel song continued on. The celestial being remained next to her, her gaze steady, orangey-red hair a bright contrast to the pulsating darkness all around.So beautiful.How could such beauty exist at a time such as this? The black, hellish ugliness thrashed and moaned. It hated the beauty.

Shh, shh, shh.

Her fingers were slipping; sobs ripped from her throat as she used every vestige of strength she’d been told she didn’t have to grasp the beauty tightly and turn from the pain. The angel’s hand came over hers, helping her to hold on.Hold on.

Thud, thud, thud, thud.

A puff of vapor hit Trinity’s nose, and she inhaled, drawing in a massive pull of air as her father fell into the chasm and it closed around him, sucking itself up into nothing.

The angel smiled, and the last note dissolved under Trinity’s fingers. She dropped to the floor, the air knocked from her lungs.

She opened her eyes, and they darted around in fearful confusion as she gripped empty space. A handsome man with down-turned eyes was peering at her with deep concern, and he caught her hand and squeezed it. “You’re okay,” he said. “You’re okay.”

Next to her, the music ended, the final note lost to the swarm of police rushing through the door.

CHAPTER FIFTY

Ambrose pushed through the crowd outside, head swiveling as he scanned the people around him, his breath releasing in a rush of relief when his gaze fell on the singular face he’d been desperately seeking. Lennon spotted him a heartbeat later, her face mirroring the emotion he knew must be on his own. “Ambrose.” He saw her mouth move as she said his name but couldn’t hear it over the cacophony of sirens and shouted commands. The police had control of the situation, and he’d watched as Franco Girone was captured and handcuffed and dragged from the building, still yelling incoherently. But the injured—and the dead—were just now being wheeled out, and he’d lost Lennon in the chaos.

“Excuse me,” he said, pushing past someone, the myriad red strobes from the dozens of police cruisers blocking the street giving the evening an otherworldly, pulsing glow. For a moment he could believe that he had awoken in the middle of a treatment session and none of what he’d witnessed had really happened. None of his surroundings were real.

But then he reached her, pulling her body against his own, and she was warm and solid. And she gripped him back, repeating his name again and again, saying it like a prayer.

“You did good, Lennon. You saved so many of those people.” He knew there were ones who had not been saved, and they’d grieve those poor souls later. But now, he needed to let her know how proud of her he was. How in awe.

“You did, too, Ambrose. We did everything we could. I think it was all we could do.”

He nodded, running his hands over her hair, bringing his lips to her temple.

“I have to find my lieutenant,” she said after a moment. “I have to get to work.”

“I know,” he said. He felt her tremble. “Hey, everything is going to be okay.” He didn’t know how or when, but he knew it would be, knew they’d both land on their feet, and believed that something good—somehow, someway—would result from this terrible day, where innocents had lost their lives and he’d watched the doctor he loved and revered sacrifice himself. But right now, he couldn’t even begin to articulate the complexities of that, and so he hoped she heard it in his voice and felt it in his embrace.

She looked up at him, her eyes so trusting, and he vowed right then and there that he would do everything in his power—for the rest of his life—to prove himself worthy of that expression.

She pulled him close again as though she needed the contact for another moment more, and he felt her heart beating against his,thud, thud, thud, a breath of calm descending even amid the noise and disbelief and heartache.My anchor. My soft place to land. My peacemaker.

After a moment, she let go, kissing him quickly on his lips before she turned away and headed toward the bevy of unmarked cars arriving at the scene. Ambrose turned, too, his gaze falling on the quiet city beyond, far away from the bedlam surrounding him, ignorant of the horror that had occurred so close to home. The moon shone against the dark sky, and stars blinked to life, and everything looked so peaceful out there. He remembered how he and Lennon had once talked about all the small pockets of darkness. Those existed; he knew that well. But even now—especiallynow—he would never forget that small pockets of light existed, too, and they were worth searching for.

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