“Benito Carrera, known to be head of the Carrera Mafia family, has been confirmed as one of the many dead inside the rubble of the mansion…” The monster’s face flashes up on the screen, and I rear back, my heart hammering. “…that was last week embroiled in accusations of human trafficking, in what is now thought to have been an arson attack.” My heart seizes in my chest. It’s him, I’m sure of it.
He did it.
He ended the devastation and cruelty of others.
He ended him.
“It has thrown open what has now become an FBI investigation into some of the most elite of society. Based on information, children have been located that were due to be transported to the mansion. They are now in a safe house thanks to the disclosure from an individual from inside the group.”
Oh, sweet Jesus.
I snap my hand out to grip the couch as my entire body floats.
He saved them.
He became the savior in a world full of death and depravity. He showed me who he is, he showed them too.
“Among others confirmed dead at the scene is his oldest son, Azrael Carrera.” My lungs no longer function; the air from them is stolen as I blink at the television screen.
Oh God, no.
Please no.
I dart my eyes around the room, then focus on the television again.
Why can’t I feel it? That he’s gone.
Why does his presence remain?
He asked me to love him in his next life. Is this what he meant? Had he planned this all along?
A stab of pain perforates my frozen state, and a choked sob erupts up my throat, and I let out an almighty wail that has me falling to my knees.
I was certain he’d do it. I knew it, but in my heart, I hoped he wouldn’t break me further.
For months, I’ve lived in hopes of a moment he would return to me, willed him to succeed, to be the man I knew he was capable of becoming, to be the Azrael I know and love. I may have been living my life with freedom, but I’ve barely existed without him. He stole a part of me, and Inever want it back. I was holding out hope, waiting for him to reclaim it.
But the fact of the matter is, I’m never going to sense his touch again, breathe in his scent. I’m never going to feel him. He’s gone. I’ll never be complete.
Tears flow down my face; the pain in my heart is excruciating, worse than ever before.
“Please, no.” I clutch at my chest. “Please. Don’t do this to me.”
I don’t know how long I sob in a heap on the floor, the image of Azrael on the television screen playing on repeat, but when I stand, my legs turn to Jell-O, and I’m suddenly desperate to see his face all over the television again. This may be the only image I’m able to see of him. I flip through the channels like a woman possessed, desperate to find the plus-one channel, but I’m so lost in my grief I’m detached from my surroundings.
“Am I worthy now?” a familiar voice croaks.
My eyes snap up to the television, but it’s a random shopping channel.
“Am I worthy of you now, Hevan?” The voice sounds again. Am I so lost in my grief I’ve conjured him into existence?
I spin, then drop the remote.
What the hell?
I blink.
Once.
