“He can’t save you. At least I was able to rid the world of a fewdisgusting.Selby.Peasants.”
Opening my eyes, I see the familiar Canopy curtains that drape down the four-poster bed, the same rose-gold embellishments—I sit up.
How did I get back to my room?
Did I dream that?
I hear the roaring of water come to life in the bathroom, and I lean over trying to get my eyes to see around the corners. Waiting to see who emerges, I crawl to the edge of the bed, unable to take the suspense any longer. I make it to the end as Oliver strides through the doorway with his shirt unbuttoned all the way. I can feel the heat rising, boiling beneath my skin.
Oh, for fucks sake, he is so hot!
My want for him is molding into the strongest need I’ve ever had in my life. “Oliver?” The words finally slip from my mouth.
“Yes, dove?”
Ah, fuck why is he so…
He giggles—not like a girly giggle, or even the typical guy giggle, this giggle was seductive… low… purposeful. I find myself staring at his mask, imagining his face beneath it, wishing he would leave it off, wanting him to feel comfortable around me so that he didn’t have to hide.
“What is it, little bird?” I shake my head. “You are biting your lip… again. Do you see something you like?”
Focus, Emory, this is important.
If it was a dream, then cool, we can embrace this moment.
What if it wasn’t, though?
“No?” I am pulled from my thoughts by his words, their tone laced withdejection, “Do you not like what you see?”
Snapping out of whatever dream state I had drifted to, “What, oh, um, no that’s not what-” I quickly look away from him,“Oliver, when you dropped me off at the garden… I saw something happen.”
His head tilts to the side. “Go on,” I tell him about the misted beings. I elaborate even further in explaining how one of them, I was sure, had to be Peter. The whole scene played out before me once more as I went into every detail—into the things I saw ‘the mist’do to Peter.
“He... he killed him, Ollie.” The confusion in his eyes did little to help me believe that what I saw wasn’t a dream. “Then there was the stabbing.” I grab my head in memory, and the pain returns with a vengeance as it haunts my mind, “The pain radiated throughout my skull.”
It wasn’t until I clasped my head to my forehead while mentioning the jabbing pain that his expression finally changed.
“Suddenly, the awful sensation of swallowing water took hold of me.” One hand messaging my temples, my other now clutching at my throat, I continue, “It was a massive amount, to the point I felt like I was drowning.”
He stood straight once I informed him of the ‘drowning feeling’. I could see the anger fume from him as I continued, “But I must have been dreaming because Peter’s spirit spoke to me.” I tried to reiterate what the Peter-like mist had said to me. I even thought about mentioning the maze, but his reaction to what I told him already is telling me now is not the time.
His fingers ball up, just before his hand meets the wall—he applies such force that I was surprised it didn’t leave behind a gaping hole.
“Not yet.” He said through gritted teeth, “I need more time. It's too soon.” Punching the wall again, he shouts, “I’m not ready.” Then, he glares back at me, fear and despair leaking from his eyes, and whispers, “She isn’t ready.”
Chapter 23
Oliver
"The scarswe bare or proof of survival, not shame."
“Ahh!” Brennan’s cries echo across the courtyard. Peter had managed to bite him, as he was unwrapping the cat-o’-nine that corkscrewed around his throat. Crawling at first, Peter claws at the dirt for traction, allowing him to pull himself to his feet—but barely. It didn’t take Brennan long to recover, grunting as he shook the pain away.
“Hmm, you know my mom always told me not to play with my food.” He rolls his shoulder producing a succession of rolling cracks from his neck to his upper back presenting a subdued sound as if thunder surged through a dense forest, “I can’t help it, though. It’s toodamnfun!”
I watch as they both disappear into the garden. My heart leaps from my chest once the realization sinks in. “Emory!” Racing to the archway, I get there just as Brennan is dragging Peter’s lifeless body out… by the collar of his shirt.
I speed past him in Emory’s direction, slamming my shoulder into him—hitting him hard enough that he must back-step. When I make it to her, she is lying on the garden floor, drenched from the water as it seeps into her clothes from the puddle she fell in.
