I took his life! The man who terrorized me for most of my life lost his to me. I don’t have time to dwell on the enormity of it. I must help Daisy.
With one of my hands free, I work to loosen the other. It only takes me a few seconds. All of my thoughts are on my friend. I fumble to untie the rope around my ankles and swing myself around to face her.
“Daisy? Wake up. Please. You need to wake up.”
I push her hair away from her face, which blurs beyond my tears. I put my palm under her nose, trying to feel her breath, and then place my fingers to her throat, searching for a pulse.
There is nothing.
“Untie her! We need to untie her.” I yank at the restraints still holding her to the wooden pulpit, but I only serve in pulling them tighter.
Panic takes over, and I struggle to make my hands and fingers work. I’m aware of the men, of Malachi helping to untie Daisy from the pulpit, and Cain unbinding her ankles. Together, they lay her out on the floor of the church. Malachi checks herbreathing and pulse, just like I did. He shares a glance with Cain and gives a tiny shake of his head.
“No!” I scream. “No, no, no. Do something. You have to do something.”
Mal pushes Daisy’s hair from her face, then pinches her nose and covers her mouth with his. He blows hard twice, then Cain starts chest compressions. Roman crouches beside me, his hand on my back.
“Please, please, please,” I beg, tears streaming down my face. This has to work, ithasto.
They keep going—Mal giving her his breath and Cain using his strength to start her heart. The seconds stretch to minutes, and there’s no reaction from Daisy.
“It’s not working,” Malachi says eventually. “I’m so sorry, Ophelia.”
“You can’t stop! You can’t!”
They exchange a glance and keep going, but deep down, I know it’s no use. Another minute or so passes, and I sense the energy and determination seeping from Mal and Cain. They know it’s hopeless.
I howl like an animal and lunge for her. Hands are on me, trying to pull me away, but I fight them. I don’t care who it is.
I scoop Daisy’s limp shoulders and head into my arms and hold her to me. I bury my face in her neck, rocking her. “Please, Daisy, wake up,” I sob.
Even though I know she won’t, I cling to some desperate part of me that hopes this is all just a nightmare and I’ll wake from it at any moment.
“Angel, no, don’t.”
Cain tries again to pull me away, but I turn and snarl at him like a wild animal. “She’s dead,” I cry. “Because of me. Make her wake up. Is there an antidote? Something we can give her? There must be.”
“She’s gone, baby.” Mal crouches down into my line of vision. He reaches for one of my hands and holds my gaze. “Breathe, baby. Just breathe, okay?”
His words, his dry warm hands holding mine, take me back to a time that seems like eons ago when he talked me through a panic attack at the college.
This time, though, I don’t think his breathing exercises are going to cut it. I feel as if my mind is splintering. I turn from Daisy to look at the Prophet, lying dead on the church floor. His eyes are wide and staring, and he’s horrifying to look at.
“We can’t leave her here.” I shake my head. “I won’t.”
“Ophelia,” Malachi says, but he trails off, as though he has no idea how to finish his sentence.
Movement comes from the front of the church, and it’s followed by a piercing scream, and a shout of, “What’s going on in here?”
A rustle of maroon material and long braided hair rushes toward us, and the next moment, Daisy’s mother, Susan, drops to her knees. I realize she’s the one who screamed.
“Oh, Daisy. My darling girl. Oh, no, no. Please, no.”
I turn on her. “You were going to let her die moments ago. What’s the difference now?”
“This isn’t the way,” Susan cries. “She was going to ascend—that was different.”
“You stupid, hypocritical bitch.”
