Page 78 of Marked

Twenty-five

Ithink it’s a loud but muffled bang that causes me to momentarily surface from the haze of unconsciousness. Even though it feels like there’s cotton stuffed in my ears, I think I can make out someone calling my name. It’s a man’s voice, but I squash the hope that it’s Jack. Instead, I try to curl up in a ball, but my body refuses to listen. My limbs feel as if they weigh hundreds of pounds.

So, I give up and drop back under the surface.

“Dalton!” The man’s voice forces me back to the realm of the living. It’s louder now, making me think he’s closer to me. I try to pry my eyelids apart to look at him, but I can’t muster the energy to do so.

Even though my body feels heavy and numb, I can feel the vibrations in the floor as he quickly closes the distance between us. He lifts my shoulders from the ground, and as my limp head lolls against his chest, my nose finally wakes up and registers his scent.

Why is Scott here? He should be with Taylor. Unless my haunting visions and their accusations are right, and Taylor is dead. Dead because of me.

My body spasms and Scott quickly angles my head to the side, making sure I don’t choke on my liquid vomit. Bile mixed with whiskey, tequila, and vodka should burn coming back up, but I’m blissfully still numb. A part of me mourns the fact that all the alcohol I forced down my throat is now wasted on the ground.

“Gods Val, what did you do? You’re freezing!” Scott says once fluid stops spewing from my mouth.

Am I? I don’t feel anything.

“Val?” He shakes me suddenly, and my lungs respond with a sharp inhale as if they hadn’t had air in a while. “Damn it, mutt! You better keep breathing!”

I just want to sleep.

I must have dozed off again because now I hear Scott talking sternly to someone. “—vomiting and has a slow pulse. She’s cold to the touch and her lips are blue, but she’s managing uneven breaths.” A brief stretch of silence before he speaks again, this time more urgently. “She just started seizing! Get someone here now!”

Oh, he’s right. If I concentrate on it, I can tell my body is trembling. No, not trembling, it’s jerking spasmodically. Even if I had some semblance of control over my limbs, I doubt I could stop it.

Scott’s arms lock around me, holding me tight to him. “I’m going to kick your ass for this, Dalton!” he swears in a low hiss. “I swear to all the gods that once you’re okay, I’m going to kick your fucking ass.”

I think he means if I’m okay.

Still, I want to apologize to him. I let Scott down in more ways than one. The words are on my tongue, but my lips won’t move. My body isn’t my own right now, and I think that terrifies me a little.

A surge of regret swells in me with the growing fear that I might actually die. I think of all the people I won’t see when I die. Unless they are marked for the Greek underworld, I won’t see my loved ones ever again. Taylor is just at the top of my list, but Scott is there too. So is Jack. Then there is the family I have pushed away for a decade. My supportive, loving parents who never gave up on me, despite my silent treatment and brush offs.

And Athena, my younger sister by two years. She used to look up to me until I pushed her away and ignored her existence. I never told her, but I make it a point to know what show she’s currently working with on the strip. Whether it’s Broadway or the circus shows, I try to attend at least one.

I miss my family.

I never stopped missing or loving them. I only kept a distance between us to keep them safe from me, but I know I hurt us all in the process.

As the tide of black begins to swallow me down again, my fear turns into despair. I lost my chance to tell everyone how much I love them, and that’s my biggest regret.

“Are you boarding?”

I blink my heavy lids open and am greeted with the sight of pale green. My toes twitch and curl into the silky sand. I marvel at its softness as I do each time I’m here. But wait, why am I here? When did I get to the underworld? Did Cerberus summon me?

“Valkyrie Dalton,” the scratchy but kind voice calls. “Are you boarding?”

I lift my head and see a frail old man in a boat. His eyes and cheeks are sunken in, hair and beard grey with age. He’s leaning on his pole for support, back bowed with what I presume is the weight of his job.

Charon, the ferryman.

My eyes run over his rust-colored robe before dropping to the ferry. The Styx’s water laps at the side of the boat, ghostly hands rising from the surface to try and find purchase on the wood. The ferryman doesn’t bother to bat them off; everyone knows the souls will never be pulled from the depths.

There’s a splash on my toes as the ferry rocks, and I drop my gaze to my feet again. I startle at just how close I am to the shoreline. Too close. One more step and I’ll be in the water. I go to take a step back, but my feet feel as if they’re rooted in place. Panicked, I look up at Charon, but he offers me a small smile and holds out his hand.

“Coming?”

I open my mouth to ask him why I’m here, but I nearly choke as I realize there’s something metallic on my tongue. I spit it into my hand and feel the blood drain from my face at the sight of the gold coin. My payment to the ferryman. Why am I so perfectly set up to cross the Styx? To journey to the afterlife?

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