“What the f**k was that?” he hissed, his hand squeezing too tight.
“You’re hurting me!” I pried his fingers off, shaking my arm and wincing. There would be bruises. Beyond him, I could see the kid, gathering the rest of his things, looking left, then right, then back again. Flipping open his phone. Dialing.
Zander followed my gaze. “You think you did him a favor, Cassie? You didn’t. He’s going to die anyway. Maybe even tomorrow. When I won’t be there to help him.” Zander’s face was flushed with anger, his fists tight. “And what about the other person? The one you killed by saving him? Does it feel good to know you’re responsible for that? Does it?” He shook his head, fury clear in his furrowed brow. “Did you feel bad for him because he’s just a kid?” He said the last part mockingly, singsong, his face contorted, almost ugly. “You are way too human,” he told me again, adding, “and in case you think that’s a compliment, let me be clear. It’s not.”
Zander spun on his heel and walked fiercely away, his footsteps sharp punctuation in the cold tiled hall.
I sagged against the wall, feeling sick. Then, startled by the thought that it wasn’t over, that Zander could be going after him right now, I checked on the boy.
The mark was gone. Just like that.
I should have felt elated. There was a flat sort of joy, but I couldn’t help thinking of what Zander had said about the other person. And worrying that he might still try something, not realizing that already his chance had passed. I darted to the hallway opening, looking left and right for Zander, but he was gone. Maybe he could feel it, too. That the boy’s time was no longer today or any day near.
The boy had started walking and, as much for something to do as to protect him, I followed, staying far behind, out of sight. He did exactly as I’d said, keeping out of stores, going directly to the food court, sitting nervously at a table, his back to the wall. Good boy, I thought dully.
I sat too, watching the people pass, half expecting to see the mark having magically jumped to one of them, but of course that would be too convenient. I could imagine it, though. On that lady, pushing a stroller. What would become of her little girl if it were her? Or the man busily talking on his phone, a concerned look on his face. He might be a daddy too, or a son taking care of an elderly mother.
I rested my head in my hands, desperately rubbing my temples. Maybe Zander was right. Maybe I was too human.
I felt, more than saw, the boy stand and I looked up. His mother hurried over and he reached for her, relief making his body sag into her hug, not at all embarrassed at the way she cupped his face, palms on either cheek to stare into his eyes in the middle of the mall. She had a nurse’s uniform on, her tag still pinned to her chest. It told me she’d dropped everything when she heard his voice.
She led him carefully to the door. He stayed unmarked even as they pushed out into the frigid and darkening night.
It might have been a full minute or two later that I noticed it, a tiny spark of feeling, warm and fighting for space against the gloom that usually came after seeing the mark. I had done something good. I had saved that boy. I had made that woman’s life better, happier. Even more, I sensed that I had kept it livable.
It was impossible to prove or quantify, but deep down in my heart, in my conscience, I knew. I believed.
Chapter 28
I texted Jack that night. I thought about it for a long time first, scrolling back over the notes I’d sent him these past months. A string of light, conversational updates, all unanswered. I’d failed him miserably, I knew now. I’d had a chance, more than one, to tell the truth, to open up to him the way I’d wanted Zander to open up to me. The difference was that Jack wasn’t someone I’d just met a few months ago. He was part of my childhood, someone I knew was safe. And still I’d held back. Not just my secret, but my feelings. I owed it to him—and to myself—to tell him how I really felt. Just so he would know. Just in case.
“Life is hard. I miss you. I love you. Still.”
I pressed Send, my message floating out into the dark blue void of cyberspace.
I dreaded seeing Zander at school on Tuesday, but he wasn’t there. I’d thought maybe he’d call or text or come by the apartment, the way he had after Lucy Edwards. Just to be sure I was okay. He didn’t. It made me nervous. Scared, if you got right down to it. He was pissed, and it isn’t good to have Death angry at you.
I went right home, turning down Liv’s offers to come over or go to town.
“C’mon,” she said. “I finally have an afternoon free—no work, no tutor …” The tutor was the compromise she’d made with her parents to keep the job at TREND, which she loved. “And you’re blowing me off ?”
“I can’t, Liv,” I said, too tense to pretend I wasn’t. “Soon. I promise.”
I jogged home, feeling safe only after I was shut inside, the door tightly locked behind me. Petra gave me a funny look.
“Everything okay?”
“Sure. It’s just really cold out there,” I said, immediately changing the subject. “How’s work?”
“You haven’t been in for a while,” she said. “You’ve been a bit … distracted? But they’re releasing Demetria this week.”
“When?”
“Tomorrow.”
I had to get special permission to see her because guests were usually barred on release day, but they made an exception for me, Demetria’s most faithful visitor.
It took me a minute to adjust to the way she looked. She was in her usual place on the sofa, but her hair was clean and freshly brushed, held neatly by a dark headband. She was wearing a gray sweater set, jeans, and ballet flats. She was prettier than I’d realized, beautiful even, in an innocent and sad-looking way, her eyes downcast, watching her hands. They lay loosely on her lap, palms down, so I couldn’t see the marks I knew were there. The bandages were off and the cuts healed, but who knew about Demetria herself. Petra said she still hadn’t spoken to her doctors, but had to be released anyway. Her family would just have to watch her carefully and continue intense therapy sessions. It sounded like a shaky prescription for success at best.
I lowered myself gently to a chair, knowing by now that my silence was no less welcome than my speech.
She wasn’t like me, didn’t see the mark or sense strangers’ impending deaths. Her visions were nothing more than a fear of being followed by a guy she somehow knew was beyond the natural realm. Not so crazy, really. Except for the fact that she’d slit her wrists.