The Savior

He wanted to ask what Xhex recalled about his mahmen and the lab, but he had a feeling he didn’t want to know. He’d seen enough for himself. He’d had enough done to him.

“Are you over it?” he asked roughly. “What they did to us?”

It was a while before the female answered. “No. I don’t think about it much, but I don’t believe it’s because I’m over it.”

“Am I going to be okay?”

“Yes, you are. I promise you that.”

Nate shivered and braced himself … and then looked over at the simple pine coffin that had been put on a platform in the clearing. He had hammered himself the latter from trees that he had cut down with an axe and honed as best he could. His palms were torn up. His work was shoddy. And the scent of pine sap was still thick in the air.

But he had made the pyre himself. As was proper.

The coffin had just appeared, about twenty minutes ago. Murhder and John had driven it into the clearing on the back of a beautiful truck, and they had just taken the vehicle back to wherever it had come from—

One by one, two figures materialized in the clearing. Murhder and John reappearing.

“Hey, son,” Murhder said as he came over.

They embraced, and the older male said, “You did fine work with this. Very fine.”

Nate took his hands out of his pockets. He meant to say something, but he choked. His torn up palms spoke for themselves, though.

Murhder squeezed his shoulder and then John was giving him a hug, too. As the males stepped back, he wished Sarah were here. Even though that made no sense, he supposed.

Yeah, except for the fact that she had found him. Helped get him free. Taken care of him.

He missed her presence from this like a family member’s.

Nate took a deep breath and stared at the coffin. While he’d been staying in the training center, he’d asked everyone who came by to visit him how they honored their dead. The humans had one way. The symphaths another. The vampires a third. After a couple of nights, people had started to seek him out to share their stories. Doggen had come to him. Two Shadows.

And then a blond-and-black-haired male who had seemed like a vampire, but who, he later learned, was actually a fallen angel.

A real, live fallen angel. Which was pretty magical.

He’d never met an angel before. Other than his mahmen, of course.

Actually, he hadn’t met many people.

The fallen angel had given him the best advice. He’d said that there was no right or wrong way to honor the dead. The living could pay their respects in any way they chose. The important thing was that the deceased was sent unto the afterlife on a wave of love.

Because it helped the departed souls find peace in their new place.

At least that was what the fallen angel maintained. And if anyone was likely to know about these things …

In the end, Nate chose the way of the Shadows. He didn’t like the idea of his mahmen’s remains rotting and disintegrating in the ground. And the heat would carry everything to the heavens, to where he’d been told the Fade was.

Off to the side, he had a torch that he’d stuck, handle first, into the snow. The top of it was kerosene-soaked cloth wound tightly around a steel-and-wood shank. He lit it with something called a Bic that one of the Brothers—the one with the tattoo on his temple—had given him.

Flames burst to life, orange and yellow, bright in the darkness of the woods.

As he approached his mahmen’s remains, he decided the clearing he’d chosen was almost made for this kind of thing, a near-perfect circle barren of growth.

As he touched the flame to the supports of the pyre, the gasoline he’d splashed onto the fresh-cut lengths of pine caught fire in a blaze that spread all around the construction in a matter of moments.

The resulting heat multiplied and multiplied until he had to step back.

A hand was laid on his shoulder. Murhder. And then Xhex held his hand. And John put his palm on Nate’s back.

The three of them stood together and watched the coffin and the body burn, the white smoke rising up into the black night in curls that carried countless sparks ever higher.

Unto the Fade.

He desperately wanted to know if she thought he’d been a good son. But he was never going to have the answer for that. What he could do, however: Live his life in honor of her. Even though he wanted to lock himself in that patient room in the training center for the rest of his nights because it felt safe and familiar, he would not do that.

In service to his mahmen, he would try to live the freedom she had been so cruelly cheated of. He would force himself to acclimate to this too-big world. He would conquer the fear that dogged him.

Everything he did would be for her.

“Goodbye, Mahmen …” he whispered into the cold wind.

 

 

Up in Sarah’s attic, all she could do was stare at the envelope as it lay facedown on the floorboards. When she was finally able to think, she looked stupidly at the jacket. The thing must have fallen out of one of the pockets.

Her hand shook as she bent down to pick it up. Bracing herself, she turned the envelope over, expecting to see Gerry’s name on the front and a receipt inside. A business card to contact the tailor. Or—

Sarah.

In Gerry’s handwriting.

Her name, written by him.

As her legs got wobbly, she sat where she stood, dangling her feet out the folding steps’ hole in the ceiling. She trembled so badly that she almost dropped the thing as she opened the flap. Inside, there was a single piece of paper, folded in three, and she needed to breathe for a bit before she could flatten things and try to read.

He’d handwritten the entire note. Something she had never known him to do.

Her eyes could not focus. Part of it was tears at the sight of his scribbles. Part of it was fear at what he was about to tell her. Most of it was the idea that he was communicating with her. After all this time, after her recent searching … he was answering her from the grave.

Dear Sarah,

If you are reading this, it means things did not go as I hope they will. It means I’m gone. It means I will not have a chance to wear this suit proudly and stand with you at the altar to become your husband. This breaks my heart.

I know I have been distant these past few months. Maybe even longer. Please forgive me. I am not even sure where to begin. About a year into working at BioMed, my security clearance was increased. You remember this. We felt it was a promotion. Shortly after I had more access in my division, I learned of an inhumane experiment being conducted in secret on the premises. It is not the first time BioMed has done such and I gather that at least one researcher has been killed because of it.

Without going into specifics, because the less you know, the safer you will be, I have to try to stop them. I am exporting information and will be going to authorities as soon as I can be sure that I can do so without endangering the subject’s safety. Believe me when I say this, I am afraid for my life—and by extension, yours. They will stop at nothing to protect their interests and their research. This is why I have not been talking to you about my work anymore.

If I am dead, know that Dr. Robert Kraiten either killed me himself or had me killed on his behalf. There is a safety deposit box at our bank under my name. Go there. Take the disk and the security clearance out and go to the FBI with them. This is an interstate crime of incomprehensible scope and implication.