Page 15 of Redemption
Renewed with purpose, I head back toward the archway that should lead me to the southern lawn. From there, it's a straight shot to the back of the Governor’s mansion and all the stuff I’ll need to cosplay an Armageddon-bound superhero. If I’m really lucky, all of this will have been nothing but a fever dream, and I’ll get to see my guys cuddling all comfy cozy in the bed upstairs.
If I’m not, I might just burn the entire county down to the ground. I’ll need something to lift up the tattered, fragile remains of my heart while I concoct a super awesome master plan to rescue my guys from the clutches of apocalyptic evil, so.... Bonfire and s’mores for everyone.
The new apparitions I seem to have adopted stay close behind me and, thank all the chocolate gods above, remain absolutely silent. My brain can’t take much more of their nonsense today.
Together, the three of us make it back to the large house in just a few minutes. I go to open the door leading to the rear entrance, anxious to get inside, but get stopped by my very own personal dead guy.
“Hold up, it could be a trap. Let me clear it first,” Darius whispers, muscling his way in front of me.
“With what?”
Like he has all the answers in the world, he pulls out a gun from somewhere and dangles it in front of me as if to say,“Uh... duh.”Dick. He raises his eyebrows, urging me to comprehend and let him lead the Tryon mission, but I could care less about his magic tricks and choose to scoff at him and his imaginary weapon instead.
“You’re. Not. Fucking. Real!” I whisper-shout, pushing past him and forcing the silly illusion in his hand down while I lift myrealgun and take the pointposition. I think that’s what Jax always called it, and, dammit, in his absencethatis where I shall be!
“Wait, wait, wait, wait, wait,” the ghostly presence next to me interjects, skirting back around to the lead position as he tries to, yet again, halt my progress. His eyes meet mine with a seriousness I haven’t seen in years. “Have you ever even been taught how to clear a room before?”
I throw my hands up in the air, flustered at his lack of faith in me. “Cheese and crackers, you’re acting as if I’m about to attempt quantum physics or... perform brain surgery. It’s a room, Darius. And this...,” I lift my weapon, “...is my key to getting in. Don’t worry, I’m a big girl. I’ve seen the guys clear rooms a bunch of times; I’m sure I can do it too.”
Movement to my side causes me to turn and see an overly excited Aly-part-deux giving me a thumbs up, nodding her head up and down in solidarity—but in a creepy way like Jack Nicholson in Anger Management.
Alrighty then, game on.
Unfortunately, Darius is more stubborn than a mule and growls his disagreement under his breath. “Please, Alessandra, just... listen to me,” he pleads, his voice still just barely audible. “You have no idea what’s behind that door, and I don’t want you to get hurt. Please, just let me do this. I’m trained. I’ve done exactly this for years. I can clear the room in no time and make sure it’s safe before you go in searching for answers.”
“No,” I respond. Short and to the point. What my ex doesn’t seem to understand is that I’m not some lily-white, fragile, little flower who’s not able to take care of herself anymore. I’ve evolved, adapted, learned to survive. His brows furrow while his lips part, ready to try and dissuade me once more, but I speak before giving him the chance to spout another vain attempt at persuasion. “Look, I have a weapon and an ass-load of rage pent up inside of me that’s just aching to explode. Nothing, not even what’s behind that fucking door, is going to keep me from getting to my guys.”
Giggles erupt from my side, and I turn just in time to see Me-two cackling and pointing in my direction. “You said ‘an ass-load of rage just aching to explode!’ Gonna kill ‘em with some of your IBS symptoms, are ya? Death by fecal devastation?”Her laughter grows until she falls over in a heap on the ground, her legs kicking frantically in the air before spreading wide to allow her judgmental finger to point at me once again.“Your butt would definitely be a weapon then! Bonafide ass whoopin! AhahAHaAhahaa”
“Fuck you!” I flip an obscene gesture in her direction before rolling my eyes. “Now shut up and let me do this.”
“You can’t be serious,” Darius says, interrupting my spat with my imaginary twin, desperate concern written all over his ghostly face. But fuck him and the horse he rode in on.
“Ya damn right I’m fucking serious! Besides, if one of my theories is correct, I'm already dead, just like you. So, what’s the worst that could happen? At least I'm making my afterlife exciting.”
“The worst that can happen is we both end up dead, Alessandra!”
I tilt my head left and right in mock contemplation. “Eh, potato, tomato.” Lifting my fist next to my head, I pump it up and down like I’ve seen Jax do a couple of times before and head inside. “Now let’s move out!”
I’m gonna be so awesome at this.
Darius shakes his head at my hand signal but reluctantly follows my lead, lifting his own“weapon”and stalking way too close behind me as I slowly open the door and inch the barrel of my gun into the area. Keeping close to the walls, I walk the entire length of the lower level, checking every nook, cranny, and construction-based butt crack I can find, just like I’ve seen the guys do.
Me-two, however, is rolling all over the floor, somersaulting her way through the rooms and clearing them in her own way. I try to steer clear of her nonsense as best I can. I don’t think my mind would be able to process it if she rolledthroughme during one of her acrobatic attempts.
We continue like that for a few minutes but, after we exit the third room, Darius stops in front of me, the edge of his flattened hand aggressively swiping across his throat before putting a finger to his lips, his eyes practically bugging out of his skull with growing irritation.
“What?” I ask.
“Stop humming!”
“Fuck off! It’s my afterlife, and if I want to load it with awesome Mission Impossible spy music, I will.”
“If anyone stayed behind, you’re going to give away our position!”
“Trust me, it helps! Now stop making a scene and let’s get this done!”
I walk in front of him, deliberately ignoring his warning as I continue mysecret agentmontage, complete with cut scenes and breathtaking—exhaustingly difficult—aerial maneuvers. After about ten minutes, and a few new bruises on my knees and one shoulder after a poorly executeddash and hide, the first floor is done.
