Page 96 of Operation Annulment
I’d been going about it the wrong way—trying to figure out who would have the most to gain financially.
It was never about money, though.
It was about revenge.
I’d just opened my mouth to tell Goblin when something shifted.The air around us felt as if it was suddenly charged with electricity. I glanced up, expecting to see lightning, but there wasn’t a cloud in the sky. Still, the hair on my arms stood on end, warning me I was in danger.
A black suburban turned into the parking lot, engine revving and tires slapping against the pavement as it barreled toward us. Time seemed to slow down, drowning out anything other than the steady thumping from my chest and the sounds of my heavy breathing.
Goblin’s mouth fell open, and his hand dropped to his hip as the tinted glass on the vehicle rolled down with a hum. A rifle moved through the open window, a ring on the shooter’s hand glinting from the streetlight overhead as he shifted into position.
Only one of us was wearing a vest.
I didn’t hesitate, knocking Goblin off his feet as a deafening crack of thunder pierced the surrounding silence, echoing around us until I was convinced they surrounded us on all sides. My back ignited, the flames bursting through the front of my chest like a fireball, dropping me to my knees against the asphalt.
The scent of gunpowder and burning flesh filled my nostrils as I collapsed onto Goblin with a sharp exhale, knowing the next explosion would be the one that sent me to the Reaper.
Only, it never came.
Tires screeched against the pavement, and smoke from the rubber coated my lungs, choking me with the knowledge that I was a dead man. The vehicle roared out of the parking lot and sped off; the sounds growing fainter until the air fell silent again. I’d prepared for everything but a slow death. I should have known a monster like me would be forced to suffer before being sent to hell.
Goblin moved me onto my back, and I looked up at the stars with a grin, consumed by a memory that hadn’t taken place in this lifetime.
Maybe that was what the Reaper did.
Showed you how things could have been had you made different choices. It was like something out of a Dickens novel, only I wouldn’t wake on Christmas morning to right my wrongs.
“You see those, Mikey? They’re called constellations.”
“Daddy,” he said with a grin, displaying a mouth full of missing teeth. “Those are stars.”
I squeezed his little body and pulled him onto my lap. “The stars create a picture when you put them together. See that one?” I traced the sky with my fingertip, his blue eyes tracking my every movement. “That’s Perseus. If you look hard enough, you can see the head of Medusa in one hand, and a jeweled sword in the other.”
His eyebrows drew together. “I see it, Daddy!”
“That’s my boy. He was a warrior who went up against the monsters and married the princess.”
Mikey stuck his tongue out. “Ew, I don’t want to have to marry a princess. Kissing a girl would be worse than fighting monsters!”
I tickled along his ribs until he was squirming. “Is that so? You gonna tell your mama that when she tucks you in tonight?”
He pulled his chin onto his chest and hunched his shoulders with a giggle. “Daddy, Mama doesn’t count as a girl. She’s just a mom!”
“Is that so? And what about your sisters?”
He scrunched his nose. “Katy and Dakota? No way! I’ll fight the monsters and keep them safe, but I’m not kissing them. They have to find a prince for that.”
“Boys, time to wash up for dinner,” Celia called through the open kitchen window.
“What if I wanna kiss your mama?”
He hopped off my lap with a shrug. “I guess, but don’t do it in front of me. That’s gross.”
“Mikey, someday you’ll realize that killin’ the monsters and fallin’ in love with a princess ain’t a bad gig. Maybe that’s all Perseus wanted… maybe that’s all any of us could want.”
“Sure.” He grinned. “When I’m a hundred.”
The vision faded, leaving me in darkness. If the Reaper wanted to torment me, he’d failed. I’d made a million mistakes, but even while dying, I knew the things I hadn’t accomplished didn’t matter.
