Noneof them spoke on the way back to HQ. Judah wiped his face suspiciously often, but he didn’t make a sound. Nathan focused on driving calmly and predictably. If they were pulled over now, even the guild wouldn’t be able to help them.
At HQ, he drove around to the medical wing at the back of the administrative building and sent Aidan in for Maxwell, who trundled out with a black body bag on a wheeled cot within a few moments. Nathan held his breath as he and Frederic gently laid the body into the open body bag. None of them moved as Maxwell zipped it up. As soon as it was out of sight, Nathan sent the others home.
“I’ll write up the report and let you all sign off on it in the morning,” he said, aware of the hollowness of his own voice but unsure how to change it. There was pressure in his throat, and his stomach churned like ocean water after a storm, frothy and dark. He watched them all trudge away silently, every set of shoulders slouched with defeat.
“You’re injured,” Maxwell noted as he positioned himself at the foot of the cot, preparing to push it back inside.
He’d wrapped the bite wound and the scratch marks from the demon’s bony hand with some gauze, but it’d been a hasty job. Some of the gauze had started coming loose from the tape on the drive here. He’d been more worried about getting back to HQ. The adrenaline would fade eventually, but for now he barely felt the pain.
“Come inside, and I’ll clean you up.”
Nathan wanted to protest. He really wanted nothing more than to go home and be as far away from the body as he could get, but Maxwell wasn’t to be trifled with when there were injuries that needed tending. He followed sedately behind him, until Maxwell gestured for him to go into the examination room. All six of the cots in this room were empty, the sheets clean and white. The curtains around the beds were pushed back, and the whole room seemed to be waiting in anticipation of a human who needed tending.
He sat on one of the cots and waited silently while Maxwell delivered the body to another room, trying to swallow the pressure in his throat and calm the churning of his stomach.
“You’ve looked better,” Maxwell said when he returned, his gaze soft and knowing.
“I’ve felt better,” he croaked. “That was… the worst thing I’ve ever seen.”
Maxwell’s dark eyes were soft with sympathy as he wheeled a metal tray laden with supplies closer. “You’re lucky to be alive, sounds like.”
That was truer than Maxwell knew. Nathan tugged the plastic bag from his pocket while Maxwell removed the gauze from his left arm.
“The boy tried to make me swallow this,” he said. Inside the plastic baggy was the pill capsule he’d forced into Nathan’s mouth.
Maxwell stilled, then took the bag from him slowly.
“I managed to spit it out. I’m sure we’re all interested in knowing what it’s made of.” He imagined there’d be bone fragments and sulfur inside it, and a shiver went down his spine at how closely he’d come to ingesting it. Would he have been like that boy, then? Enslaved by a possessor demon who wanted to burst out of his chest like an alien?
“You’reverylucky to be alive,” Maxwell said grimly.
He nodded dumbly. “Feels that way.”
Maxwell set the baggy aside, pursing his lips. “I’m afraid Commander Sloan won’t like that you found this.”
‘Found’ was a generous term for how he’d come across that pill. “You think so?”
Maxwell dipped his head. “He informed the council of your ‘twisted theory,’ as he called it. He suspects you’ve been swayed by the traitors and their demons.”
Nathan sighed. He was still too numb from everything that had happened to give that the outrage it deserved.
“If it’s all the same to you,” Maxwell went on easily, setting Nathan’s bloodied gauze aside and turning his arm to inspect the bite, “I’d like to test the contents of the pill before I take it to the council.”
Nathan unstuck his tongue from the roof of his mouth. “Could you tell me what you find? I’d like to inform the—traitors.” He stumbled over the word, too strung out to pretend he meant it.
Maxwell nodded. “Of course.”
A handful of stitches and antibiotic shots later, he was declared healthy enough to head home. The good doctor promised to fill Sloan in first thing in the morning and demanded Nathan take until at least noon before coming in and writing up his report tomorrow. Nathan couldn’t even summon the energy to argue.
He desperately wanted to go home. It didn’t make much sense to him. He’d still be a murderer at home, but somehow he felt like familiar ground would make it easier to digest.
His body moved on autopilot without his permission, carrying him to his car. The drive passed in a forgettable blur, and soon enough he found himself sitting in his driveway. The porch light was on, like the house had been waiting up for him.
He turned off the ignition and stepped out of the car. A cool breeze blew gently through the trees, and his chin wobbled. His squad was gone. There was no one left to be strong for. This was the safest place he could be, and his body was done waiting.
Nathan crashed to his knees on the path, his keys clattering to the concrete as he vomited into the grass. In his mind, he saw the boy, his chest broken open and his eyes blank and unseeing. He could still feel the resistance of his spinal cord as he killed him, like hitting a root in the dirt. Mercy killing or no, he would never forgive himself for failing that boy. If he died and woke up in Hell, he would know without a glimmer of doubt that he deserved to be there, and he wouldn’t even have to ask why.
He heaved until there was nothing else to throw up, leaving him shaking and sweating on his knees, tears streaking down his face.
