Total pages in book: 85
Estimated words: 82415 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 412(@200wpm)___ 330(@250wpm)___ 275(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 82415 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 412(@200wpm)___ 330(@250wpm)___ 275(@300wpm)
This guy was a murderer. And judging by his moniker, maybe a serial killer?
“Ask him if he knows about that thing in the woods last November,” Cody says.
“Answer him,” Seth demands.
“I don’t know what you mean. I told you, I just broke free from hell.”
“And why are you inside Matteo?” Luke asks, and Seth demands an answer.
“His light was so bright…so intoxicating, and when I got close enough, I saw a window…a chance at life again. I came to it before anyone else could take it. It’s mine. I’ve claimed it. I won’t let you take him from me.”
“Have you ever heard the name Kysar?” Cody asks.
I heard it when I was spying on them.
“I’ve heard many strange names, but not that one.”
I’m sure the questions they’re asking are important to them, but I remind them what’s really the priority here. “We need to get Matteo back.”
Seth nods. “How do we get you out of his body? Tell me now.”
Farras strains, struggling against Seth’s order. He grinds his teeth, his eyes widening. “I’ve claimed it. Mine.”
“You want to tell me,” Seth pushes.
“Pain. Excruciating pain. Make it unbearable for me to stay in it.” He laughs, his gaze meeting mine. “But then he won’t be able to come inside you again.”
“You piece of shit,” I snap, wishing I could punch him, but I can’t injure Matteo’s body. And I definitely can’t make Matteo’s body unbearable for it to live in.
“Do you guys have him good?” Cody asks.
“Yeah,” I say.
“Give me a go.” Cody crawls toward him.
“Are you gonna hurt Matteo?” I ask.
“Not physically, but what I do might hurt him, I can’t be sure.” I’m all tension as Cody says, “This might be our only chance.”
He’s right, and I hate that.
Seth takes Cody’s arm. “No.”
“I didn’t ask for permission.” Cody yanks his arm free.
Seth and Cody are usually all over each other. I’m not used to seeing this tension between them.
Seth grunts as Cody reaches under Matteo’s shirt, resting his hand against his chest. He clutches his necklace in his free hand, muttering to himself. I’m listening for the words, but they’re so soft, I can’t make them out. Farras grits his teeth, struggling in our hold, when I notice something in those black eyes, like a gray cloud moving across them.
“What are you doing?” Farras asks.
Cody doesn’t reply. He keeps muttering to himself until his expression twists up. “No,” he says. “Oh God, no.”
Farras rears his head back, crying out, and Cody screams with him.
“Enough,” Seth says. “Cody, stop.”
Cody continues screaming with Farras, both wailing as though having their limbs sawed off. The sound’s so loud, it’s hard to hear anything else, but then I feel a breeze, as though a door or window is open. It picks up speed around the room, like a whirlwind.
“I said stop,” Seth says, grabbing Cody by his arms, pulling back, but Cody’s locked in place, as if his hands are joined at Matteo’s chest.
Cody rolls his head back, his eyes black like Farras’s, the veins in his neck popping forward. Our bags slide across the floor as the wind intensifies, howling, drowning the screams.
Seth hooks his arms around Cody, struggling to break him free, when something gives and sends them both flying across the room. Seth’s back hits the concrete wall, and he and Cody drop to the floor together.
Farras has stopped resisting, and when I turn to check on him, he’s limp, eyes closed, bangs soaked, face laced with sweat. He’s not moving, and I can’t even tell if he’s breathing.
“Matteo?” I ask before looking at the guys. “Is he okay?”
I can tell by the worried expressions on Brad’s and Luke’s faces that they don’t know, and Seth is too busy tending to Cody, who’s also unmoving on the floor, to hear me.
“Cody?” Seth says, pulling him close to his face, his cheek near Cody’s mouth, like this isn’t the first time he’s had to make sure his friend is still alive.
I do the same with Matteo, hoping I’ll get something, but he’s not breathing. I press my ear against his chest next, listening for a heartbeat.
Nothing.
“The fuck did you guys do?” I ask. “Put him down, put him down.”
Brad lets him go, and I position him on his back, interlocking my fingers and pressing them against his chest as I start pumping out compressions like I learned in CPR when I was in high school. With his wrists bound behind his back, this is less than ideal, but I keep my pace steady, out of sheer desperation. I haven’t pumped fifteen times before Matteo’s eyes pop open and he gasps, followed by a gurgling sound. I lean down close to his face. “What’s wrong, Matteo? What’s happening?”
His gaze meets mine.
His hazel eyes have returned. He struggles like he has something lodged in his throat, then turns and coughs on the floor. A thick, dark liquid spreads on the cement. Blood? No, it’s black, not red. Matteo heaves before vomiting more and more of the tar-like fluid. It spills from him as if there’s a pipe shooting the stuff up, until he begins coughing again before taking what seems like his first real breath.