Page 77 of Free to Believe
Mugsy’s gone. And it’s my fault because I loved him.
He wasn’t on my list, I think wearily as I lay my head back against the couch. I didn’t bargain for him after Dee died. Therefore, he became a victim of being loved by me.
Or was he paying the price for me loving someone else?
Either way, he’s gone. Tears just fall silently from my eyes. Removing my glasses, I toss them on the side table and let them flow.
“All right, Dani. I’ll have her call when she’s able to.” After a brief pause, Jake continues. “Yeah, if you could contact her family, that would be great. If I were to hazard a guess, I’m going to bet that’s not going to be tonight or tomorrow. She’s wrecked. Yeah, I’ll be with her.”
The tears flow faster. Harder. I can’t stop them. I don’t even try.
“I’ll let her know. Okay. Bye.” My phone clattering to the tray on top of the ottoman in front of me lets me know how close Jake is. Within seconds, his warm body is heating my cold one as he wraps me up in his arms.
But do I deserve any warmth? I just killed yet another living thing simply by loving them.
I deserve nothing but the cold.
Shoving the heels of my hands into my eyes, I try to hold back the sobs. Jake allows my internal struggle for all of two seconds before he’s lifting me onto his lap to hold me close. I try to struggle out of his arms, but he just tightens his arms around me. “I got you, Em. Let it all out.”
I shake my head. Once again, I can’t find my words to say what I want to—have to—to make him understand.
I have to let him go.
Tonight. Before he strikes again.
“What’s going through your head?” he croons softly.
One word manages to come out. “Theta.” And the viciousness with which I say that word shocks him.
45
Jake
“Iwas seven when my parents died,” she whispers. “It was eight days before my eighth birthday. Which is on August eighth. Do you know what the number eight means, Jacob?Theta. Death.”
Shoving herself out of my lap she stalks over to the dining room table and turns, holding her journal. Hurling it at me, she says, “I only have myself to blame for Mugsy dying. I’m to blame for them all dying.”
I don’t open the book. Instead I look at her and whisper, “How could your parents’ death be your fault?”
“I asked you if you ever studied history. You didn’t. But I did. Quite a bit. Especially Greek mythology,” she tells me oddly.
My brow lowers in confusion.
“Thanatos is the son of Nyx and the brother of Hypnos. He got his kicks by carrying off people to the underworld. He was represented by the Greek symbol theta. Theta means eight. Symbols are everything in my world, Jake. Do you think I’m a designer by accident? No, it was someone’s grand plan for me. Symbols are everywhere in my brain. Everywhere. Designers use both visible and invisible ones to imprint feelings on a design.” Wearily, she shoves a hand through her hair. “Why would the men who killed my parents spare me unless I was just as evil as they were? It has to be because they knew something worse was protecting me.” Storming over to me, she flips open the journal.
And suddenly I’m looking into her private hell. She’s opened up her world, and suddenly, I’m not certain I know how to comprehend the pain basting at me from carefully crafted sketches.
“My mother was dying—begging for my life. My father tried to use it to barter for his own. And the bastards who dragged me from my room to watch all this shot him in front of me. Then they released me. They just let me go, saying I was more precious than he was.” Her breath is ragged. “Because oftheta. I’m certain of it.”
My gut churns. I want to silence her, to tell her she is wrong, but I let her continue. She needs to get all this pain out. “May I?” I gesture to the journal in front of me.
When she nods, I flip the page. I want to gag at the brutality she managed to capture, but I manage to control myself to a wince. I flip the page again and find a sketch of an older woman who looks remarkably like she will in forty years. “Who’s this?”
Her face softens briefly before it crumbles further. “Aunt Dee. I chose my name after her.”
That gives me pause. “Chose?”
Frightened eyes lift up to mine. She backs away slowly. “Shit.”
