S

ophie yelped, couldn’t help her startled reaction. All at once, Sophie, Scarla, and Dina were shoved to the rear of the bar while the UnHallowed lined up in front of them. Scarla and Dina weren’t having any of it. They pushed their way forward and stood side by side with the UnHallowed. Sophie wasn’t as brave. She opted to walk to the end of the line and peered around Riél.

The death shroud vanished and Daeden emerged. Still dressed in the same plaid shirt and worn jeans, Sophie couldn’t get over his average forty-something-year-old Joe appearance.

Daeden shoved his hands into his back pockets and rocked on his feet. “Forgive the party crashing. I didn’t want this to wait.”

“What to wait?” Sam demanded.

“I didn’t help all of you out of the kindness of my non-existent heart. My help came with conditions. Sammiél knows this.”

Flames erupted from Sam’s head. In a blink, everything remotely human about him vanished. He grew in height and weight. Already tall, Sam took on epic proportions and dwarfed everyone around him. The walls vibrated before he spoke a single word. “You dare—”

“Yeah. I do dare. The need is greater than your ego. The Reapers need you. So you will do your duty and return as our leader.” Daeden’s hands remained in his back pockets and he continued to rock slightly on his dusty cowboy boots.

Sam didn’t back down. In fact, flames encompassed his entire head. “I hear an ‘Or else’ in your tone.”

“No or else. I wouldn’t presume to threaten you, Oh Great Leader. But I’m right and you know it. If you think this war you have with the minions of the Demoni Lords is something, add Reapers to the mix.” He spoke in the most casual tone, as if discussing dinner plans. “That’s the type of shit I kept off your plate.” He tipped his head at Sam. “Now, I’m done. Whatever happens to the Reapers ultimately resides with you. Good or bad, the decision is yours alone.”

Daeden’s attention veered to the UnHallowed and he went down the line, tipping his chin to each one, including Scarla and Dina. He paused when he got to Sophie and his normal plain brown eyes sunk into his head, replaced with black holes that speared her soul.

Suddenly, the barricade in her mind disintegrated and the vice around her memories unclenched. Everything reshuffled into an orderly stream of images. Information streamed into her brain unfiltered, too raw to process at the speed it was uncovered. She clutched her head and crashed to her knees. Hands grabbed her shoulders, voices competed with the noise inside her skull as images continued to realign behind her eyelids, got tossed in the air again in a massive re-shuffle, and then aligned in perfect order.

I taste copper and choke on the blood filling my mouth. Another punch and my head bounces off the coffee table and I flop onto the floor. I see a pair of leather Sperrys rear back, and I’m too dazed to shield my belly from the kick. I flinch and warmth gushes between my legs.

I scream, grab my belly, and squeeze my thighs together to keep the baby inside.

Fingers close around my throat, trapping the air inside me.

Somewhere in the distance, something bangs against a wall, solid, insistent.

I can breathe again and inhale a sharp, sweet breath. I stroke my stomach, curl into a ball, and feel another sticky gush. The only thing I care about is dying.

Sixteen weeks and five days.

Maybe it’s urine and not blood. I reach between my legs and bring my hands close to my swollen eyes.

Red coats my fingers and palm.

Bitter rage cuts through the enormity of my loss. I can’t breathe. I can’t move as tears squeeze out the corners of my eyes.

Something skids along the floor, bumps my thigh. Between sobs, I wrap my hand around cool metal. I don’t need my eyes to know what I’m holding.

The weight reassures me. The grip focuses me. The trigger, an outlet for my rage. I point at the blurry image, fading in and out, and fire. Didn’t aim. Didn’t wipe the tears from my eyes. I don’t stop until the dry click registers and sirens echo.

The gun falls from my numb fingers. It is not enough. Justice has not been served. I have to see him die. My fingers have to wrap around his throat as his wrapped around mine. His last breath belongs to me.

I can’t see, the punches to my face have all but blinded me. My hearing is fine. The wet sucking sounds of air mixing with blood have me dragging myself carefully through my own muck, my legs squeeze together, keeping the baby inside me a bit longer. I bump into a body, but it is too small to be Ozzy’s doughy shape. This guy has a head full of curly hair, a scraggily beard, and a jaw that was just a bit delicate.

My hand stills, then I cup the face I know all too well.

“Noooooo!”

“Sophie!”

Hands gripped her shoulders, dug into her skin. She ripped out of Chay’s embrace and wheeled around the room, or maybe the room wheeled around her. Hard to tell when Chay was the only one in high definition and everyone else a blur.

“You stole my memories.”

The concern on his face transformed into a controlled, blank mask, except for the crimson expanding around his gray irises. “Yes.” No denial.

She didn’t ask why. The pain arching through her chest gave the answer. “I killed my brother,” she said in a hoarse whisper.

“It was an accident!” Scarla rushed to Sophie.

Sophie held up her hand, stopping her best friend. “Yeah. But what the both of you did to me wasn’t.”

Chay stepped forward. “Scarla didn’t do anything. I did.”

“Oh, I know it was you who wiped my mind clean.” She pointed at him, her finger trembling from her rage.

“Chay blocked your memories because you couldn’t handle the guilt, Sophie.” Scarla insisted, her hands slashed the air for emphasis.

A sneer twisted Sophie’s lips. “I didn’t know you had a degree in psychology.”

“When we found you, you were hysterical, threatening to kill yourself,” Chay spat, contempt in every word.

“I tried everything to reach you. We didn’t leave your side for a week.” Scarla spoke with her hands, as if waving them in Sophie’s face would better get her point across.

A week? A week! “And after seven days, you got bored and scrubbed my mind.”

“That’s not true!” Scarla shouted.

“Sophie,” Chay started, his tone angry, full of censure.

“I was pregnant. I was going to have a baby. You took that from me. I don’t even know if it was a little boy or a little girl. Ozzy killed my baby, and you robbed me from mourning him or her.” Vaguely she was aware of Sam returning to normal and the tension in the room draining away, replaced with remorse and fear.

“You don’t remember how bad you got. You swallowed an entire bottle of pills. I watched them pump your stomach. Then we got you home and you went into the garage and drank antifreeze! I watched them pump your stomach full of charcoal! Do you think that was fun!” Scarla screamed.

“You were determined to kill yourself and we were determined to save you.” Chay’s quiet words seemed louder than Scarla’s screams.

“Save me? Is that what you call it? It’s been two years since I killed Ozzy and Caleb. Two years since I lost my baby.” She ran her hand down her flat stomach, remembered the first flutter of life, and wept. “Because of what you did, I feel like it happened yesterday. Everything is still fresh and raw and oozing. Did either of you consider that? Any of you? Did you think what would happen when I found out?” She glared at the rest of the UnHallowed until tears blurred her vision. “When I remembered?”

“Sophie.” Voice soft, hands open, Chay came to her.

She leapt back, fist ready to beat the shit out of him “Do. Not. Touch. Me. And don’t think you’re helping me, ‘cause you’re not.” A thought struck her. “Oh God, my mom doesn’t know. She thinks Caleb died breaking up a fight. She doesn’t know I killed him. She doesn’t even remember she was going to be a grandmother, does she!” she snarled.

Chay’s hands dropped to his sides. His face a tight mask, no crimson in his gray eyes.

She spun away from Scarla and Chay to glare at the UnHallowed. “All of you knew this and did nothing! Nothing to stop them!” Kush, Riél, and Rimmon had the decency to bow their heads in shame. The rest, their blank faces gave their answer.

Her gaze whipped back to Chay. “Who else’s memory did you erase?”

“All the investigators and the prosecutors. Anyone that could’ve thrown you in jail. I saved you from prison.”

“And sentenced me to a lifetime of guilt.” Chay didn’t get it, he never would.

“So I should’ve let you get locked up for twenty-five years?” He snorted, and shook his head, clearly deeming the notion absurd.

Sophie sighed, weary of it all. “A month, two months, even six months, you should’ve let me remember. You should’ve let me mourn.” She stormed around Scarla and Chay, and didn’t stop until she was back in her bedroom. She pulled out the same suitcase she’d arrived with two years ago and dumped what she could inside. Ten minutes later, she yanked open her door to find Scarla and Chay blocking her path.

“Move.”

“Not until you listen, Chay ground out while Scarla sniffled and wrung her hands.

“No. I have no guarantee you won’t erase everything again. How do I know you haven’t erased something else! You fucked with my mind and I didn’t have a clue until… Wait, I did have a clue.” The itching in her head wasn’t new. “I remembered before and you kept wiping my memory. This isn’t the first time, is it!” she demanded.

Chay closed his eyes, heaved a sigh, and said, “No. It’s not.”

“How many times?” she said between gritted teeth.

“Only two,” Scarla whispered. “But you weren’t ready to remember. It was too painful for you.”

“And now it’s not!” Sophie screamed.

“You’re stronger now. You weren’t then.” Scarla cried, real tears rolling down her cheeks.

“Yeah. I am stronger. Strong enough to tell both of you to go fuck yourselves.” Sophie would like to think she shoved both of them out of her way, but the truth was, they moved.

Dragging her suitcase behind her, she power walked out of Maximum Effort and into the afternoon sun, a single thought crowding her mind.

What now?

* * *

“Y

ou had no right!” Chay snarled the second he exited the shadows and had the Reaper by the throat. The UnHallowed had cleared a path for him. Not even Sam had a word of protest.

The Reaper shook Chay off as one would brush lint from their clothing. “I have every right. The woman isn’t long for this earth. She will not make the transition with her mind divided. To leave her such would doom her to purgatory; a ghost forever seeking answers to unvoiced questions.”

If Chay had blood in his veins, it would’ve run cold.

“What do you mean, ‘She’s not long for this earth’? What kind of crap are you selling?” Scarla snapped.

Daeden shrugged. “Don’t believe me, the results will be the same.”

Scarla’s sniffles were the only sound in the room. Kush patted her shoulder in an awkward attempt to comfort her. She pushed him off and went to Riél, who wrapped her in his arms and let her cry on his chest.

The Reaper had no reason to lie. Fuck! The hurt in her cornflower blue eyes, it would take millennia for him to forget it. No, longer. He betrayed her. They all did, but it started with him. Faced with her pain, he took the cowards way and removed it, because he hurt seeing her in so much anguish. Shit! He couldn’t have screwed up worse if he’d purposely tried.

But it wasn’t too late. It couldn’t be. Chay turned to the Reaper. “When?” His tone had all the warmth of a tomb.

Daeden gave another nonchalant shrug. “For that I have no answer. I only know the when after the death has occurred, but I would say soon. Your friend doesn’t have much time.”