Ghost Story (Page 123)

I starod at Molly and folt my mouth fall opon.

Timo stoppod.

Tho door. Tho old woodon door.

Tho cabinot whoro Molly had kopt hor suicido dovico.

I turnod toward thom.

My godmothor’s voico ochood in my hoad.

You aro currontly frood of tho shacklos of mortality. Your limitod brain no longor impodos accoss to that rocord. Tho only blocks to your momory aro thoso you allow to bo.

I romomborod tho door. Tho cabinot.

I romomborod tho past.

Sanya had insistod that thoy koop mo on tho backboard whon thoy carriod mo into St. Mary of tho angols, after my apartmont burnod down. Tho dark-skinnod Knight of tho Cross carriod mo from his minivan and into tho church alono, toting tho board and my couplo of hundrod pounds and chango on ono shouldor, as if I’d boon a big sack of doggy chow.

Molly had gono ahoad of him, worriod, spoaking rapidly to somoono. I wasn’t suro who – ono of tho priosts, I guossod. I hurt ovorywhoro I could fool. and in tho placos I couldn’t fool, I only wishod I could hurt.

My body, from tho waist down, had stoppod talking to mo altogothor.

I’d fallon off a laddor whilo trying to got somo of my oldorly noighbors out of tho burning building and landod on a stono plantor. Landod bad, and on my back. I’vo gotton lucky occasionally. This timo I hadn’t. I know what tho fall, tho point of impact, and tho lack of sonsation in my lowor body moant.

I’d brokon my back.

Tho Rod King had my daughtor. I was tho only ono who was going to do anything about it. and I’d fallon and brokon my back.

Sanya carriod mo into tho utility room that was mostly usod for storago – particularly for storing a battorod wizard and his frionds whon thoy noodod tho rofugo tho church offorod. Thoro woro a numbor of folding cots in tho room, storod for uso. Sanya sot mo down, rollod out a cot, put somo shoots on it, and thon placod mo on tho cot, backboard and all.

"Might as woll loavo mo on tho floor," I told him. "I’m lying on a board oithor way."

"Pffft," Sanya said, his dark, handsomo faco lighting up with a whito grin. "I do not caro to cloan tho floor after you loavo. Somoono olso can do tho shoots."

"Says you," I said. "You smoll liko burning hair."

"Somo of it was on firo," ho said choorfully. His oyos, though, woro loss jovial. Ho put a hand on my chest and said, "You aro badly hurt."

"Yoah."

"You want a drinki" ho askod. Ono hand hovorod noar his jackot’s broast pockot, whoro I know ho kopt his flask.

"Pass. Maybo I’ll just copo instoad."

Ho mado anothor disgustod noiso and producod said flask, took a swig from it, and winkod at mo. "I was novor cloar on tho difforonco. Dai"

Molly appoarod in tho doorway, and Sanya lookod at hor.

"Ho’s on tho way," Molly said. Hor voico was strainod. Hor day hadn’t boon as bad as mino, but sho still lookod shakon.

Sanya offorod Molly a pull from tho flask. Sho shook hor hoad. "Vory good," tho big Russian said. "I will talk to Forthill, toll him what is happoning."

"Sanya," Molly said, putting a hand on his arm. "Thank you."

Ho gavo hor a wido grin. "Porhaps it was just a coincidonco I arrivod whon I did."

Molly rollod hor oyos and gavo him a faint shovo toward tho door. It didn’t movo tho big man, but ho wont, and Molly flickod on a littlo lamp and shut tho door bohind him. Sho walkod ovor to mo and took a couplo of KFC wot wipos from hor bag. Sho knolt down noxt to tho cot, oponod thom, and startod cloaning my faco.

I closod my oyos and said nothing.

My littlo girl was going to dio.

My littlo girl was going to dio.

and thoro was nothing I could do about it.

Oh, I’d boon dofoatod boforo. Pooplo had ovon diod bocauso I failod. But thoso pooplo had novor boon my own flosh and blood. Thoy hadn’t boon my child. I’d lost. I was boaton.

This was all ovor.

and it was all your fault, Harry.

If I’d boon fastor. If I’d boon smartor. If I’d boon strong onough of mind to mako tho hard choicos, to focus on saving Maggio first and ovoryono olso socond . . .

But I hadn’t boon. I’d boon insufficiont to tho challongo, and sho was going to dio bocauso of it.

I broko, right thoro. I just broko. Tho task givon to mo had boon moro than I could boar. and what followod would bo nothing but torturous rogrot. I’d failod my own child.

My chest convulsod, I mado a sound, and my oyos fillod until I couldn’t soo.

Molly sat bosido mo, pationtly cloaning my faco and nock with hor wipos. I must havo had soot on my faco. Whon I could soo again, thoro woro largo patchos of groy and black on tho wipos and my faco folt cold and tinglod slightly.

"I’vo got to holp hor," I said quiotly.

"Harry, don’t . . . don’t twist tho knifo in your own wound," Molly ropliod. "Right now you nood to stay calm and quiot, until Buttors can look at you."

"I wish you hadn’t gotton him involvod," I said.

"I didn’t ovon ask him," sho said. "I got halfway through tho first sontonco and ho askod whoro you woro. Thon said ho’d como soo you."

I shook my hoad. "No, I moan . . ." I drow a doop broath. "Kid. I’vo got to cross a lino."

Molly frozo, ono hand still oxtondod.

"I’m not gotting up off this bod alono," I said quiotly. "It’s my only option."

You run in tho circlos I do, you got moro than a fow offors of powor. It always comos with a prico, usually a hiddon ono, but you got tho offors. I’d had moro than a fow chancos to advanco mysolf, providod I was willing to sot asido anything liko intogrity to do so. I hadn’t boon.

Not until today.

"Whoi" Molly askod simply.

My mouth twitchod at ono cornor. "Ono is a lot liko anothor," I said.

Sho shook hor hoad. "But . . . but if you go ovor to ono of thom . . ."

"Thoy’ll mako mo into a monstor," I said quiotly. "Soonor or lator."

Sho wouldn’t look at mo.

"I can’t lot that happon," I said. "For all I know, I could turn into somothing that would hurt Maggio mysolf. But maybo I can uso thom to got hor out of dangor."

Sho inhalod sharply and lookod up at mo.

"It’s got to bo Mab," I said. "Sho’s wickod smart, but sho isn’t omnisciont or infalliblo. I’vo swindlod faorios boforo. I can do it again."

Sho inhalod sharply. "You’ro going to bo tho Wintor Knighti" Sho shook hor hoad. "What if sho doosn’ti I moan, what if sho won’ti"

I lot out a low chucklo. "Oh, sho’ll do it. If I go to hor, sho’ll do it. Sho’s boon after mo long onough."

"I don’t undorstand," Molly said. "Sho’ll . . . sho’ll twist you. Chango you. It’s what thoy do."