The Devil's Fire Page 11

  “Rose?”

  I shook my head. “Yes, her name was Rose. How did you—”

  She continued. “Did he cheat on you, Abi?”

  I touched the I.V. in my arm and stared at my wrist. “Is this necessary? I mean the I.V. and all of this?”

  She stood up and walked to the side of my bed. She touched the white blanket that was covering me up. “You lost a lot of blood. You were unconscious when you arrived.”

  “Oh, wow, what a mess.” I closed my eyes and covered my face, then I let my hands drop.

  “Listen, I wasn’t in the market to commit suicide, I swear. I know how bad this looks, and I don’t blame you, or anyone else for thinking that I was out there ready to go out in a blaze of glory, but I didn’t want to die. I swear.”

  She studied my face. I must have sounded convincing. I hoped that I did, because my intention was not this, it was never this at all. I just wanted to feel him again, to summon Jack to me. I wanted to taste that passion on my lips. I wanted what drove him crazy—I wanted the blood.

  “So why did you cut yourself?” she asked. That was the million-dollar question, and the only way I could dig my way out of this hole was to be honest. I had to be, or I may end up in a padded room.

  “It was our thing,” I said quietly.

  She narrowed her eyes.

  “You mean, you and Jack?”

  I nodded, lifting my head. I stared at her as she wrote something down on the chart. I continued, I assumed that it would be best at this point to just lay it all out for her. “He—one of the first times we did anything serious, he—he cut himself, on the thumb, and drank it while he—you know.”

  I looked down at my wrist, and she took her seat and rolled it up to the side of my bed. “Go on.”

  “Well, Jack has a thing for it, tasting it, I guess. He is into pain. It wasn’t my thing, but I won’t lie and say that I didn’t find it fascinating.”

  “And sensual?” She added.

  I nodded to her. “Everything about him is sensual, everything that he does.”

  She opened her chart and jotted a few more things down.

  “Renfield’s syndrome.”

  I crinkled my brow. “What?”

  She looked up at me. “It’s clinical vampirism, where the subject feels as if they have to drink blood to survive.”

  I shook my head. “No. Jack doesn’t drink blood because of that.”

  “Well, then why does he?”

  I paused. “He does it because it excites him—sexually.”

  “So tell me, how long have you felt the need to drink blood?”

  I rolled my eyes. “Oh no, I don’t have to drink it, I just—that was—” I trailed off. How could I explain it? How could I tell her that they looked like Jack and Rose on that slab and that I felt compelled to cut myself for him? How do I say this and not sound insane? I didn’t even want to mention the dream that I had, which pretty much set this all in motion for me.

  “I was drunk, that was all. I mistook them for, well, they looked like—”

  “Jack and Rose,” she added.

  I pushed my hair behind my ear. “Yes and then I accidentally broke the bottle, and the glass was just lying there in front of me—it was just a memory.”

  She was writing everything that I said down in her chart on me. I couldn’t blame her. I would too.

  “A memory about Jack?”

  I looked at her and grinned while I held my finger up to her and showed off the pale scar. “I cut my finger and Jack stitched it up. I enjoyed it, a lot. The pain excited me.”

  She closed her chart and tapped the pen on the top of it.

  “This was sexual to you, then? The stitches, I mean.”

  I nodded. “To both of us, it was the first time that we—I mean, he—well, we have never actually done that. He’s never, but anyway, yes. I liked the pain, I didn’t know that I liked it until it happened. I don’t blame Jack for that. It was all me.” I looked down, and she sighed.

  “Are you a virgin, Abi?”

  I parted my lips as my mom came rushing into the room. The doctor stood up and extended her hand. My mom shook it, but she never took her eyes off of me.

  “Abi, honey. Are you okay?”

  I held my arm up and shook the bandage. The doctor placed a hand on my mom’s arm, leading her to the door. They started to step out of the room and into the hallway as my mom looked back at me. “I’ll be right back, honey.”

  I nodded to her. I watched the door close. I leaned back into the soft pillow and tried to relax. I couldn’t believe how quickly things had turned. I guess that when you let your guard down, anything can happen, and in my case it was Jack Landon, once again.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  ASK AND YOU SHALL RECEIVE

  __________________________

  The mild sedative that they gave me helped me sleep better than I had been able to in weeks. Mom stayed with me, curled up on the small couch next to my bed as the hours ticked away. She had spent some time speaking with Cynthia about my experience with Jack and how I had returned home for the remainder of the summer. Whatever she said stopped her from coming back in and questioning me anymore about it. I was grateful.

  I woke up and turned to see my mom lying there, covered in a blanket and fast asleep. I sat up and pulled the I.V. from my arm with a quiet hiss. It stung, but not nearly as much as thinking about Jack did. I had no idea how deeply I had buried him in my psyche. I guess I had convinced myself that the worst was over, that I had passed through the eye of the storm.

  I hadn’t, but maybe now I could make it to the other side and feel the sunlight on my face.

  To be honest, I didn’t want to talk about Jack and how I felt about what had transpired between us. I didn’t wish to face the inevitable reality that what we had was short lived, like the fireflies that swarmed the fields in the summertime.

  We had flashed and burned out in the blink of an eye. More intense than anything I had ever experienced in my life and more heartache than I think I could endure.

  Jack was blood to me. An addiction that I didn’t even know that I had. Something that I had craved all of my life, just keeping it at an arm’s length until he had successfully caught my attention. He kept me, like a precious relic. I was on display and at his mercy to visit from time to time whenever he felt like it. My mind was bridging the gap between us.

  I slid from the side of the bed, my bare feet hitting the cold floor. My mom adjusted on the couch and muttered something, it was inaudible. I stopped and then carefully turned toward her. All I could think about was leaving, getting out of this place and never talking about it again.

  I felt unbearable guilt. I knew that the call that she must have received probably brought back terrible memories of when my dad died. I was all that she had left, and I should be more careful with the gift of life that had been given to me.

  I walked to the door and opened it up, peeking outside for a moment to make sure that the coast was clear. I didn’t see anyone until a nurse crossed from one room to another. I backed up, my heart pounded in my chest and I held onto the door with a firm grip so that it didn’t make any noise at all.

  I peeked out again, and she was gone, giving me the opportunity to escape.

  I had no idea where I wanted to go until I wandered into the chapel on the same floor as my own. I stopped and looked down the long aisle that led up to the pulpit. A huge cross hung overhead suspended by thick silver wire.

  I stared at the wire. My eyes running the length of it. Each line was fastened to the ceiling of the chapel with oversized silver hoops. I felt like I was wrapped in wire now. It cut into my flesh and bound me to this loss. It wouldn’t allow me to move, it wouldn’t allow me to breathe. It tightened around me, coiling like the snake that it was.

  I fingered at my bandage on my wrist and then slowly made my way down the aisle. I stepped in between two benches about four rows back from the front. I sat down very slowly, glancing up at the
suspended cross. I paused, trying to hold back the fear that lurked just beneath my skin. No amount of stitching could stop it from stepping forward and claiming me. I looked down into my lap. I touched the scar on my fingertip and the first tear rolled down my cheek, then a second one.

  It wasn’t overwhelming, it was more like a huge weight was being lifted off of me. I leaned forward on my knees and clasped my hands together, pressing them against my lips. The tears wouldn’t stop and it escalated until I found myself sobbing harder than I ever had in my life.

  The grief that I felt could only be compared to when I lost my dad. It was all encompassing and took me to an emotional place that I had not been to in years.

  A place where nothing else mattered but getting past this initial wave of loss and onto a new day. I was ready to step over that threshold, ready to let go of everything that I had bottled up inside me.

  The pain.

  The anger.

  The disillusion.

  The loss and despair.

  All of it.

  I finally understood that my love for Jack would never be returned to me in full. I felt cheated. As if the universe was playing some big joke on me. Dangling what could be eternal happiness right in front of my face only to snatch it away while mocking me in the process.

  I loved Jack Landon. I loved him with every fiber of my being, every heartbeat, every breath that I took. I loved him as only someone who had completely submitted, could.

  And I had. I had submitted to him, and I wasn’t sure how to retract it.

  I wasn’t even sure if I wanted to, but I knew that it had to be done.

  He had taken so much more than my heart from me.

  He had taken my soul along with it.

  I closed my eyes and his face flashed into my mind. All of the memories played out: me seeing him for the first time in the coffee shop, me dropping my things outside the door and his shoes coming into view. Raising my hand to block his brilliant light that rained down on me.

  Then I cried harder as his lips brushed against my own while camera’s flashed. The words “You taste like Christmas morning,” echoed in my ears. The tip of my finger ached as I could see the delicate stitches, the way his eyes caressed me. His softness paired with his rough touch.

  “Jack,” I whispered, as the tears flowed, and my voice cracked with heartfelt emotion.

  I looked up at the cross, barely able to catch my breath. I could feel him leaving me, for good. I didn’t want to fight it, I knew that it would be for the best.

  “Abigail.”

  I turned, pushing myself up, almost falling as I heard his voice behind me. I held onto the side of the bench as Jack walked down the aisle, slowly at first and then he picked up speed. I stepped out as he rushed into me, holding me against his chest as tightly as he could. I closed my eyes and sank into him. If it was a dream, then let me dream forever.

  He pushed me back and placed his hands on my face. They felt cool against my heated skin. His thoughtful gaze penetrated my very being as he pushed some of my hair aside so that he could see my eyes. He wiped away the tears with his thumb.

  “Oh my God, baby. What have I done? What have I done to you?”

  I parted my lips, and he leaned in and kissed me. His kiss was so soft and haunting. It was filled with compassion and despair. With everything that I desired of him and more.

  I accepted him just as he was.

  Broken, just like me.

  His lips pulled back from mine. I wanted to speak, to say so many things to him, but his presence slowed everything around me. His words like a siren's song to my ear. His touch, all that I needed to feel whole again.

  He lifted my wrist and looked at the bandage, he unwrapped it slowly, letting it fall to the floor. He raised it to his lips and gently kissed the stitches. His eyes were closed, his breath slow and steady. My breath hitched, the act alone seduced me, watching him gently caress my wound with his full mouth. He sighed against my cut, savoring it. Absorbing my pain.

  He lowered my hand from his lips and then scooped me up into his arms, turning to walk me down the aisle and away from salvation.

  He stepped out into the hallway and started to walk with me, my head rested against his chest carefully listening to each heartbeat, Jack’s heartbeat. Something I never imagined that I would be listening to again.

  He took a few steps and then stopped when I heard Sam yell at him.

  “Put her down, Jack.”

  I stared at Sam with my tired, red eyes. I was sure that I looked terrible, I felt like it. I was hungover, somewhat sedated and the blood loss had done me no favors at all.

  Jack held onto me, standing his ground and refusing to listen to him.

  “Step aside,” Jack said quietly as his hair fell into his eyes. Sam took a step toward us and then stopped as I looked over at him.

  “Sam,” I whispered. Sam tilted his head.

  “Look what you’ve done to her, look, Jack!” he yelled as Jack set me down, my bare feet gently touching the floor. He moved me behind him with one hand while Sam took another step toward us. Jack held up one hand to him and spoke in a calm tone.

  “You need to leave, Sam. I’ve got this.”

  Sam looked at my wrist, now exposed and clearly stitched up.

  “Abi, no,” he said. His voice sounded so sorrowful it almost broke my heart. His eyes hardened as he set his gaze back on Jack. The hatred that he felt for him was boiling to the surface.

  Sam spoke, the muscles in his jaw tightened then relaxed. I had never seen him this way before. “You are not welcome here, ever again.”

  Jack glanced at me and then back to Sam. “That isn’t up to you, now is it?”

  Sam grit his teeth and then ran at Jack, tackling him and they both fell and slid across the floor. I slammed my back against the wall and got out of their way. Sam ended up on top of Jack, and he punched him as hard as he could in the mouth. Jack’s head turned. He spit blood onto the floor, turning his face back and smiling up at Sam. His teeth were now stained with blood. His expression was that of pure defiance.

  “I think you can do better than that, can’t you Sam?”

  Sam yelled as Jack pushed him off of him, and Sam fell backward. Jack stood up and took off his black jacket. I had failed to notice how dressed down he was until now. He wore that, a white t-shirt and dark jeans. His black tennis shoes rounded out his odd ensemble. I was so used to seeing him in suits that this version of him almost seemed foreign in nature, but I liked it.

  He tossed his jacket aside as Sam rose up and clenched his fists at his sides. His head lowered. He looked at me for one quick second.

  “Sam, please, listen,” I started to say as he rushed Jack again. Jack punched him in the right side, then the left. Sam cried out, I covered my eyes. I couldn’t watch this, it was horrible, and I was still lightheaded from whatever they had pumped into me. It all seemed as if it could be a dream and I hoped that it was. I pinched my arm, and nothing happened, it only left a red mark behind.

  “Crap,” I muttered to myself.

  I looked back up just as Sam shoved Jack into the wall. They rolled down it together. Fists were flying from both sides.

  Sam lifted his knee and kicked Jack in the stomach, once, twice, then a third time. Jack fell to his knees and tried to catch his breath, holding his stomach with one hand and holding himself up with the other.

  Sam looked back at me and then lifted Jack’s chin, striking him across the jaw with the full force of his swing. His closed fist made contact with a terrible sound that echoed in the hallway. He jerked him back up and struck him again and then one more time. Jack fell onto the white floor, blood running from his mouth.

  I screamed at him. “Stop! Sam, please, stop!”

  Sam started to lower and I ran up behind him. I jerked his arm back right before he could strike him again, the look on my face must have told him everything he needed to know because he immediately backed away. I dropped to my knees next to Jack and
placed his head on my lap. Jack spit some more blood out, wiping the side of his mouth with the back of his hand.

  I looked up at Sam.

  “Leave. This isn’t what you think it is at all. You’re wrong, Sam. I don’t want you here.”

  Sam narrowed his eyes and rubbed his neck. He was confused and hurt, but he listened to me and backed away, quickly turning and leaving the hallway as a couple of nurses ran toward us.

  I looked down at Jack and touched his hair. He looked up at me, his eyes piercing blue, capturing me as always and placing me back in my gilded cage.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  FROM THE BEGINNING OF TIME

  __________________________

  I stared out the window that overlooked the hospitals beautiful garden. I heard my mom’s voice behind me. I turned, fully dressed and ready to leave.

  “It’s time honey. They’ve released you.”

  I nodded to her. It had taken a full week of talking to Cynthia daily to convince her that I had not tried to commit suicide. I had no choice but to be honest with her. I was fearful that if I lied about Jack and what made him so special to me—well, then she would have me committed.

  My mom also spoke to her on my behalf and whatever she said had solidified my release. To be quite honest, there probably wasn’t anyone else in the world who knew me better or what I had felt when it came to Jack Landon than my mom did.

  I turned back to look at the room and grabbed my jacket, placing it on and hiding the white bandage on my wrist. The wound remained, but my heart had started to heal. I could feel the change inside myself and the parting of the storm clouds overhead.

  I had to believe that something beautiful could rise out of the ashes.

  “I’m going to talk to him, Mom, I have too,” I said quietly. I hoped that it would not spark a debate, because I didn’t want to engage in one with her.

  She sighed and tilted her head. “Are you sure that you need to do that?”

  I nodded to her. “I love him. I just do.” I shrugged my shoulders. “I can’t change that. I don’t want to.”