I stagger to my feet and sway out of my bathroom and into the hallway. Bloody footprints mark my progress, my feet slipping against the wood floor. The door across from mine is shut like always. I lean against it and press my forehead to the wood. I haven’t been inside since the day she left, floating out of my life as I held her in my arms. Why do I keep failing her?
With a shaking hand, I turn the knob. The familiar scent of baby lotion still lingers. I stumble in and hit my knees on her rug, the rainbow colors bright despite the thin layer of dust. I rest my head on her little bed, the covers still rumpled from the last morning she woke up. My face is wet. And I know it isn’t just from the shower. When Faith died, something inside me broke, and I knew it would never be repaired. But what I did tonight—it crushed what was left of me. I’m the husk my father always wanted, the empty vessel he can fill with his lies and hatred.
I can’t get Delilah’s horrified face out of my mind. She’ll never forgive me. Not that I want to be forgiven. I’ve done so many terrible things. She was my last hope at redemption. A chance to change and become something more. But that’s all gone now.
“I’m sorry.” My voice is cracked and raw just like the rest of me. But the words pour out and profane this holy space where my Faith lingers—in the indention on her pillow, the unicorn doll under the covers, the finger painting half-finished in the corner.
Can she hear me? “I’m so sorry.”
Sun pours through the window with the pink curtains, strafing my face with unwanted morning. I sit up and carefully rearrange her blanket, making sure it’s just the way she left it. Standing isn’t an option. My feet are swollen and painful, and I’m certain there are some pieces of glass still embedded there.
I crawl out of her room and close the door, then return to my room. Pulling myself onto my bed, I lay on my side and fumble for the remote. The TV eventually clicks on, and Delilah’s room comes into view. She’s not there. Already gone to training.
Fuck.
Limping footsteps on my stairs tell me that Noah did, in fact, live through his beating.
“Adam?” He walks into my room, his gaze following the bloodied footprints.
“You look like hell.” I squint at him—a black eye, busted lip, dried blood in his hair, and the aching sort of way he holds himself upright.
“No worse than you.” He limps the rest of the way in and gingerly lowers himself to the mattress near my feet. “How did you manage this?” He peers at one foot.
“Minor household incident. You know.” I pull open my nightstand and search around in the very back for my last pack of cigarettes. They’re stale, no doubt, but necessary.
We light up, both of us pulling in a heavy drag, keeping it in and letting it burn before letting it out.
He stares at the orange tip of his cigarette for a moment, then says. “You were right.”
“Yeah?” I take another pull.
“About your plan. About, you know, ending all this.” He runs a hand through his hair, though his fingers get stuck at the spot with the matted blood. “You were right, and I was a pussy.” He puts the cigarette between his lips, then thinks better of it. “I didn’t know Dad would go that far. I thought…” He shrugs. “I don’t know what I thought.”
“Not a believer anymore?”
“Oh, I believe.” He takes another drag. “I saw the fire before they beat the shit out of me.”
I want to kick him, but my feet hurt too much. “Then what are we even talking about?”
He finally meets my gaze and lowers his voice to a whisper. “I believe that he speaks to the Father of Fire. That he is evil incarnate. And that you and I have to destroy him.”
I would say amen if I were a religious sort. Instead, I just stare dumbfounded at him.
“Surprised?” He lets out a shaky laugh.
“To say the least.” I finish my cigarette and stub it out, then wave at the ceiling fan. There’s no way to know for sure that this place is bugged, but it’s a good bet. “Later. We’ll talk later.”
He nods and lightens his tone. “I’ll get the alcohol and try to fix your feet. They’re pretty nasty, though.” He sighs. “We’ve got to get you walking. He wants to see us this afternoon.”
“Of course.” I bottle my anger.
When he stands, I lean up and grab his arm. He looks at me, and something passes between us. He gives me a hard nod, and I let him go.
Whatever comes next, I’ll have Noah at my back.