Absolution by Jennifer Laurens
Krissy’s mom. Her dark hair was slicked in a tight knot. Her empty eyes latched on us. Nerves fluttered in my stomach. Her face sharpened like a knife glinting under light. The officers glanced at us, but continued escorting her to the exit. What was going on? The answer was on the woman’s back in the form of a horde of inlaid black spirits, just like her husband’s.
The sight caused me to gasp. Chase and Luke both looked at me.
Chase’s gaze followed mine to Krissy’s mother, now disappearing with the officers through the double-door exit.
“Krissy’s mom?” he asked.
I nodded.
“She was cuffed.” Luke shook his head, disbelief whitening his face.
“I’ve got to talk to Krissy, see if she’s okay.”
“I know, I know.” I wrapped an arm around his tense shoulders.
Luke’s blue eyes turned to mine, struggling hope in them. “You said she has a guardian?”
I nodded. “He’s with her, I saw him.”
Luke’s gaze turned down the empty hall.
y y y
We didn’t get to see Krissy. When we asked about her, the hospital staffer only said she wasn’t privileged to give out any information. I asked the nurse to let her know we’d been there. We left not knowing anything more than what we’d known when we’d arrived.
During the drive home, Luke asked me about Albert. I told him everything I knew, watching his blue eyes brighten with fascination. His gaze lingered on mine, his expression ponderous. The two of us were getting closer through these experiences, and nothing felt better. Stronger. If Albert was trying to tear apart our family weave, he’d have a harder time now that Luke was aware.
“I want you to tell me next time this douche-bag shows up, k?” Luke pulled his car to the curb in front our house and parked. Overhead, the skies darkened with troubled clouds.
“Yeah, okay.”
He extinguished the engine. Didn’t move. I waited. Outside, the sounds of an impending storm brewed: rustling naked branches of nearby aspens.
After long moments of quiet, Luke’s gaze shifted to me. In those wordless moments, unspoken feelings passed between us and I thought, oddly, about Albert. How wrong he was.
Family wasn’t overrated.
There’s no rest for the wicked, or so the saying goes. I think the saying should be: There’s no peace for the victims of the wicked. Luke and I barely walked inside the house to find another mêlée. At least I wasn’t completely alone in this battle any more.
Sure Chase and Weston knew some things, Chase more than Weston.
Mom and Dad knowing about Matthias also helped. But Luke knowing about Albert lightened my load, spread the armor and the battle strategy to the both of us rather than me hefting the heavy responsibility alone.
Luke and I paused in the entry, Luke tentatively closing the front door at our backs. We exchanged glances, our gazes then shifting to the closed French doors to our right, where the unmistakable, gut-wrenching tempest of our parents’ voices gusted from Dad’s office.
“Okay, fine,” Dad hissed out a sigh. He stood on one side of his desk, Mom on the other. “You win.”
“I win?” Mom sneered. “This is about all of us winning as you so democratically put it.”
“Not when we can’t afford it, Deborah. A conference will cost us a couple thousand dollars between the flight, hotel and the conference itself. We can’t spare that right now.”
“When will we ever be able to spare it, Joe? In five years when Abria’s lost developmental ground? She’s still young. She can still make headway if we do something now. I’ve heard the conferences are life-changing. They have experts in the field of autism and they talk about everything from diet to supplements to—”
“I said fine, didn’t I?” Dad boomed.
Luke swallowed, his eyes blinking fast. I laid my hand on his stiff arm.
“You said it but you don’t want to do it.” Mom’s sharp tone sliced the fight in two: his and hers.
Albert was here.
The thought, so close to his last encounter, drained me.
Torrential silence followed, drowning the air with implication, censure and blame.
“He’s here,” I whispered. “Albert.”
Luke’s head jerked my direction, though I couldn’t see Albert in the office, I was certain that’s where he was—smack in the thick of the fight.
“Keep your cool,” I whispered to Luke. “He hates peace.”
Mom and Dad hadn’t noticed our entrance, and Luke swung open the glass door. “Mom, Dad—” After entering the office, Luke looked around, but of course saw nothing.
The tension bouncing between them notched up a level with Luke and me there. Albert sat like a king in the leather wing chair tucked in the corner, legs crossed in his sleek onyx suit. He looked ready to proclaim you’re fired.
“Now’s not a good time,” Dad barked.
“It’s never a good time,” I mumbled.
“Maybe if you two respected our privacy, we could get some time alone,” Dad snapped.
“Well, maybe if you two listened to each other instead of screaming at each other all the time, you’d want to talk,” Luke’s voice rose with agitation.
“Bravo,” Albert laughed. “Bravo, young Luke.”
I stepped close to Luke and took his sleeve. “Dad’s right. Let’s leave them alone.”
Luke looked at me as if trying to read some quiet message I might be trying to share. Gradually, the frustration taut across his face, softened. His blue eyes swept the room. “Yeah, okay.” I was relieved he seemed to be letting go of his anger.
Then Luke hemmed a moment longer. “I’ve got some money from unloading my stuff. You can have it. Maybe it’ll help with this conference thing.”
No one spoke for a few minutes. I blocked any frustration and anger trying to surface, and kept a wary eye on Albert whose delighted face gradually drew into hard angles and planes. The air slowly began to shift from heavy and suffocating to clear and cleansing. Dad bowed his head.
“That’s a nice gesture,” Mom’s voice broke. Her eyes glistened.
“A hundred bucks,” Luke put in, hope in his tone. “I had a ton of stuff.”
He looked at Dad. “The conference sounds important.”
Dad nodded, his gaze on Luke’s, gratitude for the offer deepened his green eyes.
The mood around us softened, gentle fingers of appreciation working each heart. Albert stiffened. He uncrossed his legs. His shoulders pressed against the tall back of the chair, his cocky demeanor gone. Annoyance brewed in its place.
I wanted to smile at him. See what just happened here, Al? But his image started to break into zillions of microscopic specks, diffused by the eternal law that good can override evil.
I awakened the following morning to my cell phone vibrating on the table next to my bed, the vibration disturbing as it rumbled through me. Grey streams of light peered through my shutters and the air in my bedroom was chilly. I reached for the phone. 6 a.m. Weston.
u up?
yeah
i need u
I sat up, pushed the hair out of my face with my left hand, texting with my right.
what’s wrong?
The phone rang and I clicked it on. “Hey.”
A short silence caused my heart to trip, wondering what had happened.
“My dad walked out last night.” His voice sounded hollow.
“Oh, no. Weston, I’m sorry.”
“They were screaming at each other all night. I tried to talk to them but it was like jumping into a bonfire. Then I got mad and we screamed at each other. This is my mom’s fault.”
“I’m sorry.”
“She screwed that loser. She screwed my dad. She screwed Max.” His voice hitched. “I’m so—I’ve never wanted to kill anybody before, but I really think I could do it.”
My heart skittered. Was Brady there, making things worse? “Calm down, Weston.”
“I c
“Weston, don’t—”
Click. The phone was dead. My hands shook. I ripped back my covers and stood, my fingers pressing the redial button over and over, but Weston didn’t pick up.
In a flash, I yanked on a white hoodie, green sweatpants, and tugged on some thick, fur-lined boots. I grabbed my bag and went out the door, passing Mom—still in her robe and on her way to Abria’s room—as I ran down the stairs. “Can I please borrow the van for a second? Please?”
I tore through the family room and to the kitchen, making a grab for her keys, sitting on the counter.
“Where are you going?” she called from upstairs.
“Weston’s.”
“This time of the morning?”
“Mom, yes. Please?”
“Be back soon.” Her words were eaten up by the door closing behind my back.
“Hold on, Weston. Hold on.”
Chapter Fifteen
____________________
I started the engine and backed out, careful not to screech this close to the house. Right hand on the wheel, left hand on the keyboard, I tried Weston over and over. His masculine voice greeted me in his recorded message: “This is Wes. Say what you want.”
After I was half a block away from home, I pressed on the gas pedal, flooring it. I cursed and threw my phone onto the passenger seat. “Don’t do anything stupid.”
I sailed through the handful of residential streets it took for me to get to Weston’s sprawling brick estate. I parked in the circular drive, turned off the engine and threw open the door, flying across the yard to the porch. Snow dotted my face, lancing my eyes with thin flakes of ice.
I pounded on the front door. “Weston!”
Images of him being dragged to jail assaulted my mind and I continued to pound, until the door finally swung open and a woman with Weston’s dark hair and eyes glared at me. Her red-blotched face appeared swollen. She wore a blue satin robe with a furry collar.
“Is Weston here?”
“Who are you?” she demanded.
“I’m Zoe. I need to talk to Weston.” I swallowed. “Is he here?” I searched the darkened entry over her shoulder. She crossed her arms over her chest, tightening the silky robe.
“Zoe?” Weston’s agitated voice came from the darkness behind his mother.
Mrs. Larsen eyed me with renewed interest.
Weston sneered at his mother and shouldered her aside.
Mrs. Larsen pinned him in the doorway with a look meant to kill.
“Watch it,” she growled.
Weston advanced, and his mother jerked back. The two glared at each other for a long, sweaty moment before Mrs. Larsen swiveled around and took off down the hall. A black spirit rode her back.
Weston’s fury filled the area like a raging fire. “I hate her,” he hissed.
At least he hadn’t killed her. “Can I come in?”
He let me pass and slammed the door. When he turned, I saw Brady inlaid inside of him, his grinning face peering at me from the back of Weston’s head.
I sucked in a gasp, covered my mouth with my hand to keep a roll of nausea from coming up my throat.
“He’s where I want him, Zoe,” Brady laughed. “Soon, we’ll be even.”
Weston paced in rigid silence. “Weston.” My voice shook. “Brady’s here.”
He stopped. Shock flashed in his eyes. I hoped he would see this for what it was and let go of his anger. But the alarm slowly faded. “So what? I hate her.”
“I know she hurt you, and you have every right to be angry. Just control your anger so Brady—”
“I don’t care if Brady’s here. Bring it on.”
I made a grab for Weston’s arms, hoping my touch would calm him, but he jerked away, eyes wild and ferocious. “Where is he?” he demanded.
“Right here, buddy.” Brady’s image wafted in and out of Weston then began circling him fluidly, like black spirits did.
Weston followed my eyes and began grabbing at the air. “As if that will do anything, loser,” Brady snickered, dancing in and out of him.
Weston let out a growl.
“Don’t you feel him?” I asked, goosebumps all over my body. I tried to reach for Weston again, but he was too caught up in chasing an invisible ghost to notice.
“You’re letting him get to you, you have to stop,” I pled.
“Is that the best you can do?” he shouted.
Brady fumed. He slid inside of Weston and Weston swung around and faced me. My heart banged against my ribs. “You want me to be rough, like Britt did.”
“That’s disgusting.”
Weston lurched forward and shoved me against the wall, pinning me.
His hot breath seethed out between his clenched teeth. Brady’s ghosted image lifted through Weston’s, his face sneering.
Weston’s hips ground into mine and he reached up, grabbed a handful of my hair and yanked my head against the wall, then dove for my lips. “Baby make it hurt so good, huh? You like it like this, don’t you? Britt did, too.”
My lungs nearly collapsed from the pressure of his body against mine.
“No. I. Don’t.”
“Uh-huh. Now we’re talking.”
“No. You’re. Not.” I grunted, jerking my right knee upward. Weston bowled over, clutching his balls. Brady jumped out of him, laughing. Weston crumpled to the floor, paralyzed in the fetal position.
“Man-oh-man. That sucks, buddy.”
A burst of white light filled the entry, causing Brady to whirl around.
Matthias extended his hand. Brady’s arms shot up to shield himself and then he dissolved. Blinding light slowly softened, and Matthias’ concerned gaze met mine.
Back still against the wall, I let out a tight breath, muscles beginning to relax at the sight of him. Matthias didn’t say anything. His blue eyes held mine for what seemed like endless seconds, concern emanating into the white purity of his aura, causing the colors to shift to white gold.
He looked at Weston on the floor. This is serious business. The power in Weston’s body just moments ago reminded me of how helpless my mortal efforts could be.
Thank you.
Weston let out a moan and started to uncoil.
I closed my eyes. Am I destined to lose the people I love because Albert and whoever else he recruits will forever be out to get me? The thought deluged me with grief. If this keeps up, I’m not going to make it.
Matthias came toward me and his light surrounded me in an embrace.
Weston is susceptible, just like any other mortal. He has to make his own choices.
I nodded, tears gushing up my throat. What should I do? It seemed every life I touched, I bruised.
Not so. Matthias’ gentle fingers traced my jaw bone.
Weston lay on his back, his hands coming away from his crotch, dragging up to his face. He scraped his fingers over his skin as if waking from a dream, looked around and his gaze found me.
“Zoe.” He stood. His shoulders slumped as if a sack of guilt was lodged on his back. His dark brown eyes remained averted. “I’m sorry.” Weston covered his face with his hands again. “I can’t believe what happened.”
I crossed to him. “I’m sorry I had to hurt you. Brady was inside of you, I couldn’t let him do that.”
Weston’s face twisted in disgust. His skin blanched. “What?” He swallowed. “I—don’t know—that was—I’m sorry, Zoe. That’s disgusting. I can’t believe I did that. I felt different. Pushed. Driven. You know? Out of control.”
I laid my hand on his arm. Weston’s fearful eyes glanced around the entry. “Is he still here?”
“No.”
“How did you get rid of him?”
“Matthias.”
Weston’s eyes widened. He inched back, breaking our contact as his gaze searched the room. “I didn’t mean it. I didn’t. I’m sorry, I would never hurt Zoe.”
Matthias’ silence sliced my nerves into shreds of distrust and