Well, she’s definitely friends with Michael Realm.
I don’t entirely understand their history together. Realm said that he loved her, and Ithinkshe cares about him—but she seems pissed. And it’s about more than him not alerting James about getting sick sooner. This goes deeper. It feels a little brutal.
James eases Realm into the back row of the SUV, leaving him moaning, his breathing shallow. Sloane gets behind the wheel, and James sits in the front while Wes and I get in the middle row.
Realm calls out the address from the back, and Sloane has a lead foot as we race in that direction. Realm sits with his head against the window, gasping occasionally. Sloane continues to monitor him, silently taking in his condition. They don’t speak to each other.
“I’m sorry,” James murmurs to Sloane. “I should have told you about the nosebleed.”
“Yep,” she replies, and when James turns to her, she keeps her eyes on the road. James leans over in the seat to put his face in Sloane’s hair, snuggling into her, his palm on her neck. Sloane rests her cheek against him, and I hear James whisper that he loves her. That he loves her so fucking much.
“Good,” Sloane says. “Then let me drive.” James pulls back, and Sloane smiles at him, making him laugh, before he turns toward the window. He keeps his hand on her thigh.
The sky is dark and without stars, the clouds still too heavy. I wonder then if Marie is expecting us—if she has the same uncanny ability of knowing shit like Realm does. I’m pretty angry with her right now. She planned to send in a handler to ruin my relationship with Wes. After we save the world, I’m going to tell her she’s a real bitch sometimes.
We end up in a residential neighborhood with small bungalows, several Craftsman homes. Most are run-down with overgrown yards. Cars with parking violation stickers line one side of the street.
I glance back at Realm and find him staring out the window, awake.
“You sure this is the place?” I ask.
“I am,” Realm says, and when he turns to me, my heart dips. His lips slightly blue, gray in the low light. He must not be getting enough oxygen. I don’t understand what’s happening to him.
“Realm,” I start, worried. “What—”
“My brain is shutting down certain body systems,” he says in explanation. “I can’t diagnose it, but I can tell you that it sucks. My joints ache, my head hurts. My lungs are filling with fluid, so I guess I’m drowning.” He says the last part like it’s an inconvenience.
“I can stab you in the chest with a pen to relieve the pressure,” Wes suggests brightly. Realm laughs and tells him to fuck off before turning back toward the window. I glare at Wes, letting him know he shouldn’t joke.
“Should always joke,” he says under his breath. He might be right about that. The minute we stop laughing is the moment we start crying.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
SLOANE PULLS UP IN FRONTof a duplex and parks behind a black car, one nicer than any other on the block. I have a spark of worry, but we don’t have time to be methodical right now. We need to get Realm inside.
Sloane and I help Realm out of the back, while James rests his palm against the SUV, gathering his strength. I’m alarmed at how quickly he’s deteriorating. This is faster than how it happens to returners. It’s not the typical crashback—this is a system-wide shutdown.
We all get to the porch, and Realm rests against the railing with James, Wes standing with them, a little helpless in his sling. Sloane and I wait together at the screen door, and Sloane rings the doorbell.
There’s no immediate response, and Sloane and I turn to each other before she sighs. In the humid night, her hair has become unruly, wild and curly with a layer of frizz. She pulls it over one shoulder, twisting it to keep it out of her face, and then takes a step back to glance up at the second-story window, where a light is burning.
“James,” Sloane asks. “Any chance you’re up for scaling a wall?”
“Anything for you, baby,” he responds easily, although he doesn’t move. Sloane smiles, then opens the screen door and begins to knock loudly on the wood, eventually closing her fist and pounding.
There is a click of an inside light, and then the quiet padding of feet on stairs. Sloane lowers her arm, and I move closer to her, both of us prepared to confront Marie and beg for her help.
The handle turns, and the door opens. Marie is haggard, her face devoid of makeup, her sweatshirt stretched out at the collar. I’ve never seen her disheveled like this. Sloane sweeps her eyes over Marie and then nods to her. I’m not sure how well they know each other.
Marie smiles weakly at me and then takes a step onto the porch and looks sideways to where Realm and James are against the house. Realm holds up his hand in a wave, pathetic.
“I figured,” Marie says to him. “The Treatment is speeding up your decline.”
She moves back and holds open the door, telling us to come inside. We all file in and start up the stairs toward her apartment. When Marie closes and locks the door behind us, she says in an exhausted voice, “I’m not alone.”
Wes is beside me as Sloane and James help Realm up the stairs. We don’t make it to the top before the door opens. I nearly trip when I find the monitor, Dr. Wyatt, standing there, her arms crossed over her chest.
“Holy shit,” Wes says, moving in front of me protectively. “What the hell’s going on, Marie?” he calls back to her.
