Page 36 of Of Angels & Absolution

“I want to believe you,” she whispers, dropping her gaze. She stares at the pillow instead of my eyes. “That’s why I had to know what was in those files. So I would know if you were telling the truth. I want to trust you again, Saint, like I used to. Don’t you want that?”

She lifts her gaze again, swallowing hard as she searches my eyes for some answer I can’t give her. I want her to trust me, but not the way she used to. I want it all to be different now, and I want her trust for different reasons. I want it so that I can break it, and break her, and watch her shatter into a million beautiful pieces that never make me feel this way again.

“If you want us to trust you, tell me what you found,” I say, turning away.

“I don’t think you did it,” she admits. “Not anymore. Did you know they never did a DNA test on that body they found, theone they said was hers? They just said it was her, closed the case, and moved on. What if it wasn’t her, S?”

That nickname is a knife between my ribs. She hasn’t called me that in years, not even before it all fell apart. I wanted to be cool, tough, adult. I wanted Eternity. I didn’t want her to think of me as a little boy anymore, the one called by an initial, as we all were. Of course, she still called me S to annoy me, but Mercy didn’t. She had more respect.

And yet, it didn’t bother me when Eternity did it. Nothing she did bothered me that year. Everything was flirting. When she called me Clown Shoes because my feet grew before the rest of me; when she gave me wet willies; when she put ice cubes down the back of my shirt at the diner to make me jump up and look like an idiot in front of a table of popular girls from my school. I didn’t care what any of them thought. I only cared what E did.

“You should get some sleep,” I say, standing and going to the electric kettle Mercy has on an old wooden table near the window. Of course she has to have her hot tea. Angel’s mom always said she must have been an English lady in another life. Our mom didn’t believe in things like that. If she’d known, she would have said it was heathenism to believe in past lives, and Mercy would have parroted her because she wanted so badly to be loved that she’d say anything, believe anything, if she could believe that someone loved her.

I hope she still does.

I drop the pill Nate gave me into her tea before delivering it in the tiny cup on the tiny saucer with flowers around the rim. She might object to what I’m doing, but it’s for her own good as well as my peace of mind. It’s not like I’m some pervert who’s going to touch my own sister once she’s asleep.

I even erase the video feed from the night, in case the others check it over. They might not like what I’ve done, thoughit’s for the good of all of us. I don’t want them to know she left, to wonder where she went or get pissed that I went easy on her. I believe her, but they might not. For now, I’ll keep tonight between us. Next time, I’ll know exactly where to find her, and when I follow her, I’ll know if she was telling the truth or if she’s lying like she did before.

eleven

The Merciful

The campus is already halfway empty on the Tuesday before Thanksgiving. Students who are traveling for the holiday have already gone home, and the professors don’t want to teach something important that they’ll just have to redo once half the class comes back, so they take it easy on us or let us out early. I’m on my way back to the dorm when I hear footsteps behind me. My spine stiffens, and I glance back, expecting one of the Sinners to be on my heel again, ready for another confrontation. Instead, a pair of teal eyes fixes on mine, hard with malice.

My heart stops.

Worse than the Sinners, it’s Heath. And though I know I’ll have to speak with him eventually, especially if I want every perspective on Eternity’s disappearance, I’m not ready. Not yet.

I turn back, relief rushing into me when I spot a trio of familiar figures in front of me, one with a pile of black hair that looks like it might be a nesting area for rooks, one with white hair in a series of spikes so sharp even a bird wouldn’t perch on them, and one with a sensible knit cap pulled to her ears.

“Hey,” I say, shuffle-running to catch up in my chunky clogs.

They turn back, and suddenly I feel stupid that I called out to them, since I have nothing important to say. I dart the quickest glance back and see that Heath has slowed, his hands in his pockets now, his pose casual as he strolls along, watching a few crows reel through the sky like he didn’t even notice I was here.

“What’s up, Mercy me?” Manson asks.

“I just—I didn’t expect to see you here,” I say. “I figured you’d ditch and go home all week.”

Manson sighs. “My mother ‘doesn’t believe in celebrating a holiday that rewrites colonial genocide as a breaking of the bread among friends.’ She says if they treated it more like the Last Supper…”

“She has a point,” Ronique says.

“Okay…” I say, glancing from them to Annabel Lee.

“I have to go home today, or my parents will hunt me down and drag me there kicking and screaming,” she says, rolling her eyes.

“And probably force feed you turkey,” Manson says.

Annabel shudders. “Ronique’s coming with me, since her family lives in Ohio and didn’t fly her home this year. I’d invite you, but… Y’know.”

She unlocks the door, and we all spill into the entrance of the dorm, but not before I catch one more glimpse of Heath standing there, a scowl on his face at being thwarted. The nun at the desk glowers at us too, probably wishing we weren’t here so she could have a break.

“Oh, no, it’s fine,” I say quickly. “I was planning to stay here anyway.”

“A lot of people don’t leave campus,” Ronique says, giving me a sympathetic smile. “People who can’t afford to fly home twice so close together, since Christmas is in a month, people without family… I’d be staying too, if it weren’t for Annabel.”

“Thanks,” I say, offering her a smile, since it’s the first time she’s been nice to me.

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