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  Glimpses of what unfolded on that oversized TV shutter through my mind. It’s my way of telling Marshall what happened, how I stabbed Gage with a thousand deadly pixels of my own doing.

  “I’m sorry, Love.” Marshall helps me to the sofa. He holds me for an hour solid without placating me with silly sentiments about how everything will work out, that all of this will blow over and that Chloe will die in a fiery car crash. All of the assurances I long for are null and void from his lips tonight.

  “I thought we were going to be friends,” I hiccup. “She’s an animal.”

  “She should be caged,” he echoes.

  “Ezrina, she’s after me,” I clutch onto the collar of his dress shirt until the buttons threaten to give way. “I saw her on the road. I need to see my mother.”

  “It’s not that easy.”

  “Then get Giselle,” I take in a trembling lungful of Marshall’s spiced cologne. Gage, and his perfect angelic face pumps through me and I start in on the tears again. I’ve plunged from a very steep cliff, and I will never recover.

  I lose myself in the darkness of Marshall’s chest.

  This wound can never be rectified. I’ve killed everything we were by polluting the oxygen that desired to sustain us, choking out our love with these lips I shared so freely.

  Buried deep in the black world behind my lids, thoughts dissolve, elongate, pull like taffy until sleep comes over me, welcome as a song.

  I appear on a hillside, an unblemished sky, vapid and bland. Trees spike up like a fortress, raven and sable—nature throwing out all the wrong colors. I had taken everything that was right and perverted it. It was only fair that it should follow me into my dreams.

  Skyla, Logan trembles as he comes upon me, offers his platonic embrace before pulling me in, wiping my tears away with the soft of his lips. Will you forgive me? His sincerity catches me off guard. Logan who owned me, still does, he wants to share the blame, dive into this ocean of grief with me.

  I don’t think fate knows what it’s doing. I shake my head, convinced of this. I should never have fallen in love with you. It was a mistake.

  There’s a reason for everything, Skyla. Logan is drained, bone tired. Death has mopped the floor with him, made him drink down the dirty water, and he’s had enough of it all, I can tell. Gage will understand. Chloe portrayed you in the worst possible light.

  It didn’t take much, I say.

  I didn’t know about Dudley. He squints a sad smile before tilting his head. I had no idea he was playing you every chance he could.

  He was showing me—

  He cuts me off. Visions, I know. Giselle filled me in.

  There it was. My shame had spread over two dimensions, heaven and earth knew of my offenses, how abhorrent I was to have let it happen while Gage pined only for me. He loved me with everything—bore his soul on paper, dreamed of my face before he even knew me. I bet he wishes I would throw myself off Devil’s Peak and break my neck.

  Gage made me feel safe. And now I was alone, as good as naked in a forest full of Fems. Nothing will be right again. Gage is gone, our relationship as dead as Logan.

  I struggle to wake, fight to open my eyes and when I do, I’m all alone on my bed with the storm wailing its wrath outside my window.

  ***

  In the morning I awake to incessant knocking. For a fleeting moment I think Gage has come to see me and bolt up out of my restless slumber.

  “You going to church?” Mom appears from the other side of the door. Her glossy hair lays over her shoulder, her lips fully outlined and colored in a dewy scarlet. I had never seen my mother pay such careful attention to her appearance as I have of late.

  “I’m not feeling so good,” it comes out hoarse.

  She speeds over and checks my head for a fever. “You weren’t drinking last night, were you?” Her anger comes out disguised as concern.

  “No,” I fall back on the pillow. Just drunk on sorrow, I want to say, but don’t.

  “The rest of us are headed out the door. If you need anything call. I can always stop by the store and pick something up.” There’s a sadness in her eyes like maybe she knows. I’m sure Chloe has deposited a copy of my infernal DVD on every doorstep on the island by now—uploaded it to YouTube. Crap, I hadn’t even thought of that until now.

  Mom leaves and clicks the door shut behind her.

  I’m going to be alone.

  Ezrina stalks the outer recesses of my mind, causing me to bolt up and do a quick change. I need to see Gage. Apologize until the sun goes down if I have to. I pause in the mirror, horrified at the girl staring back at me, her face bloated with grief, eyes like bloodied tumors. Instead of giving my best to Gage, this malfeasance would be all I could offer.

  I grab my purse, my keys and head out the door.

  The brisk air slaps against my skin with its glacial bite, the sky washed anew from the storm. The soft glow of fog, the gentle lamp-lit grey that illuminates the island cuts into my tender eyes. It makes me wish I had sunglasses. I’d gladly dip the world in washed tones of sepia.

  Nevermore lands on the hood of the Mustang.

  “Nev,” I groan, placing my hand over his back. The strong smell of tailpipe emissions leftover from the minivan burn my nostrils.

  Word has reached the Justice Alliance over your agreement with Ezrina. He twitches his neck three times.

  “Great,” I lack enthusiasm but mean it nevertheless.

  Not great, Skyla. They’re annoyed at the prospect. Do nothing more with the situation, I implore you with my life.

  “OK, Heathcliff,” I whisper his name with human lips, a foreign sound to him after hundreds of years.

  Enough! His wings expand with fury. Why must you delve where you don’t belong?

  “I made a covenant. I belong here now. You and Ezrina, belong. Love should always prosper. You can’t tell me otherwise.”

  Not under these conditions, not with eternal damnation awaiting one and ceasing to exist the reward for the other. Skyla, you are about to foolishly end my days. Stand back from my life. Remove yourself before you cause any more turmoil. I demand it.

  Nevermore bolts into the sky quick as a spiraling arrow. With amazing pent up fury he screams into the quiet reserve, blackens the sky with his pulsating wings.

  Damn it all to hell.

  It takes real talent to piss off a bird.

  Soon I’ll have to add blipping Nevermore out of existence to the growing list of things I’ll never be able to forgive myself for.

  Chapter 34

  Sit a Spell

  I give a series of spastic knocks at the Oliver’s door. God help me if Holden opens it. Logan’s face or not, I’m going to clock him a good one. I’m in the mood to administer a serious beating, and the first imbecile that gets in my way will most likely reap the reward.

  Emma pulls back the door with a semi-complacent smile on her face.

  “Skyla,” she downgrades to less than a frown.

  “I need to see Gage.”

  “He’s not well.” She folds her arms tight across her chest.

  A pang of embarrassment envelops me. She must know what a horror I’ve become to her son. How he’d rather eat dead rats for dinner than see my face ever again.

  “Can I come in?”

  “No,” her lips droop with displeasure.

  God, she really hates me now.

  “Emma,” Dr. Oliver appears from behind, “of course you can come in, Skyla. Join us in the living room if you don’t mind. Logan has company in the kitchen.”

  I bypass Emma with a palpable discomfort. Michelle gives a slight wave from the breakfast table with a deck of cards in her hand. She looks bored. I like bored. The last thing I want is Holden fornicating with anything that moves while occupying Logan’s mortal being, not that I want him fornicating with Michelle. I’d strap a male version of a chastity belt on him if I could.

  Then, like some anomaly, I see Logan standing over Holden, and he stretches back a smile
.

  I jump a little at the odd sight.

  “Skyla?” Barron calls for me, concerned.

  “I’m right behind you.” I give a quick wave to the hologram hovering in the kitchen, and he glides over to me with ease. I follow Barron and Emma to the living room, safely away from Holden and Michelle.

  Emma eyes me like I’m some kind of savage. It’s clear they know what I’ve done to Gage, or at least she suspects as much. She probably has all along. I bet you there was an I told you so involved when he came home and branded me as the heartless bitch who used his heart as a chew toy.

  “Do you think I can go up and see him?” I ask, taking a seat on the distal end of the sectional. Logan, cloaked in his invisibility, sits beside me with his arms flexed over the sofa ready for the show.

  Barron shakes his head. “He stomped upstairs last night and locked the door, says he’s not feeling well and that we should leave him the hell alone.”

  I jerk when he says it.

  “Why should we leave him the hell alone, Skyla?” Emma sits straight as a pin. Her face set in a perpetual scowl. This is not going to end well.

  “I…well, Chloe…there was this film, but it was fake, part of it was real. It just looked bad.”

  “English,” Emma snips.

  “I sort of…I really didn’t mean to…” Then it bleeds out of me. Marshall and his true Sector identity, the steady stream of worthless visions, Logan who surprised me with his kisses. How I never told Gage. How I would have taken it all to the grave if I could have. How I suddenly wish I were in one.

  “This is what you did to him?” Emma exasperates herself just getting the words out. “He loved you like he’s never loved anybody before.” She circles me with her disappointment. “My nephew—you used him.”

  “No,” I shake my head, “I swear, I never used anybody.”

  “She didn’t use me,” Logan’s voice comes through, just barely audible.

  “What was that?” Barron tilts his head in curiosity.

  “She’s throwing her voice,” Emma narrows in on me, “like a ventriloquist. Those Celestra are capable of any number of tricks.” She says Celestra like it’s a dirty word.

  “It wasn’t me,” I say. In a minute I’m going to knock her out of my way and go Celestra all over the door to Gage’s room until I gain entry.

  “It was me.” Logan materializes, slowly.

  A series of choking sounds emit from Emma’s throat while Barron twists his lips at the curious site.

  “Knew it,” Barron seethes. “Who’s the dim-wit taking up space in this residence?”

  “Holden Kragger,” I say it below a whisper. “Sorry.” I mouth that last part only because I killed Holden to begin with.

  “To the mortuary with him,” Barron tries to stand, but Emma pulls him down by the elbow. “Hypothermia—we’ll drown him to preserve the tissue. We must reverse the situation.”

  “You’re dead?” Emma’s face crumbles, contorts in a pinch of anguish so sharp I have to look away from her grief. “You did this, Skyla?” She asks breathless.

  “No, I don’t know who did this. I swear, I was standing next to them just before the Mustang hit.” I point over at Logan who has metamorphosized into his perfect coat of flesh.

  “Travel back and find out,” she shouts the words at me.

  God, why didn’t I think of that?

  “I will.”

  “She can’t,” Logan corrects. “There’s a binding spirit. It was there that night—still is.”

  “Oh,” I reflect, “that’s why Nev couldn’t come. And the two of you couldn’t push the car out of the way. But you traveled.” Just when Logan is about to redeem himself, another shady action rears its ugly head.

  “I used my supervising spirit,” it comes out sober. “It’s of no use to me now.”

  “I know it was Chloe without a doubt,” I offer. “Marshall would never have gone after Gage. You were the one who knifed him. It was you he was after.”

  “Logan!” Emma bounces in her seat.

  The woman is going to have a cardiac episode if this conversation continues in this direction. She’s so freaked, you’d think Ezrina was in the vicinity. Speaking of Ezrina…

  “I need Giselle immediately,” I say to Logan. If I don’t get that meeting with my mother ASAP, I’m going to have a whole other set of problems, and for most of them, I’ll be wielding an ax.

  “Giselle?” Emma whispers her name.

  Everything stops in the room. I thought they knew. I thought—

  Emma falls into a comatose state as Barron fans her with a magazine. I leave Logan to fill them in on the details and bolt up the stairs because I’ll be damned if I’ve come all the way to the Oliver’s house to not see Gage.

  ***

  I traipse through the dark halls painted a shade reminiscent of dried blood. Not a seam of light beneath his door, not one sound to give evidence of life beyond its border.

  I press my cheek against the cool of the wood, pick up on the sweet scent of his cologne and ride its intoxicating wave. I listen for footsteps, the television, but nothing. The wall of silence presses into me, painful and crushing, so I give a gentle tap.

  “Gage?” I love the sound of his name as it leaves my lips. Although uncertain and broken, it’s a song I could listen to night after night. “Gage? Can I come in, please?”

  I twist the knob, but it doesn’t give. I would go in uninvited, kiss his bare feet, wash them in tears while begging forgiveness if he let me. I’d knock down every wall on Paragon just to prove my affection for him.

  “I love you,” I say. “I swear I do.” I rub my open palm over his door as though it were his skin, press my lips in soft against the veneer. “Forever.”

  Chapter 35

  Marshall Arts

  Marshall sends a text and asks me to meet him at the West Shore, says it’s most important, so I drive over still reeling from the aftereffects of a newly broken heart.

  Marshall waves at me from the waterline as powder white sand dusts his shins. He’s sporting a pair of inky blue swim trunks and nothing else besides his immaculately chiseled body. My stomach lurches at the sight of him, even at this distance Marshall is an amazing specimen, a testament to testosterone in general. He shines in all his glory like an opulent shell, some exotic being that has washed up on shore. It’s a wonder he hasn’t amassed a harem by now.

  The island burns with a molten red sky. It climaxes with heated rain that feels tropical in nature as it needles its aggression out over the vicinity.

  “I’m getting wet!” I hold out my hands and scream as I run down the beach towards him.

  “That’s entirely the point,” he shouts back. He darts a finger at me and a sudden blast of frigid air hits my newly exposed skin. My clothes have disappeared and I’m wearing a rather itsy bitsy, teeny weenie, yellow polka dot bikini.

  “Very not funny,” I say, covering my girl parts in haste.

  “Very well,” he says, pointing over at me again and the two-piece is replaced with a modest navy one-piece. The rain softens its harsh bites and reduces itself to a drizzle.

  “Better,” I pant, landing beside him. “I’ve got news for you. It’s too cold to swim.”

  “Swim?” His eyes ignite in flames. “The amphibious exercises I’ve planned for us hardly qualify as a leisurely swim. This is work, Skyla. Intense training is about to commence and I suggest we begin by confirming our commitment with of a kiss.” He slides into a seductive grin as he pulls me in by the waist. He’s morphed to the younger version of himself, which weird’s me out, but I find it intoxicating and exciting all the same time. It’s amazing to see him this way.

  “No kiss, but I am committed—to the war. I assume that’s the topic of conversation,” I say, plucking his arms off my waist.

  “You assume correct.” He takes up my hand and walks us towards the cool damp sand. An errant wave rides high on shore and covers our feet with its bubbling reserve.


  “So not going there!” I scream, running back a few good feet to get out of the glacial line of fire. “I’m going to die in there. I’m a human remember? I need to maintain a body temperature, and anything below zero takes me out of the running for this little thing called life.”

  “Don’t idle.” Marshall points next to him for me to return.

  “I’m not your child. I don’t have to listen to you.”

  The beginnings of a lewd grin twitch on his lips. “Oh, dear Skyla. I would never even venture to think of you as such.” His chest expands as he takes me in. “Now, the first subject we’ll cover is how to circumvent this little obstacle of heat loss you seem to be ruminating over. Simply raise your body temperature to a comfortable level.”

  “Oh, just like that?”

  “Yes, just like that,” he huffs. “You’re a Celestra. You’re capable of virtually anything. You have yet to tap the depth of your capabilities. Might I remind you, your mother is a Caelestis? If you can believe it, you can do it. The limit to your possibilities lie within your own lack of faith. Now,” he looks down at the far end of the beach where the waves detonate over the boulders loud as a car crash. “Run to the point and back, that should get your adrenaline surging.”

  “Surging? For what? And I don’t have any shoes.”

  A pair of bright orange running shoes encase my feet as soon as the sentence sails from my lips.

  “Satisfactory?” He tips his head into me. Marshall is alarmingly handsome. I’m not sure I should be alone with him considering my heart is lying all over Paragon in pieces.

  “Satisfactory,” I breathe.

  “Good,” he pats me on the back. “You’re going to run, Skyla. Fast—using more strength and endurance than you’re used to exerting. When you think you’re incapable of moving any quicker, immediately revert the thought and believe you can. You should hit the point and return to this very spot within ten seconds.”

  “Ten seconds? The point’s, like, a mile away. It would take me an hour to run there.”