Chapter 5: A Good Apple and an Old One

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I have no idea why there are cops at my door.

I’m not exactly suspect number one for anything. I’m boring. Actually, I’ve skipped over boring and headed towards something fancier, like droll. I’ve had precisely one edible in all my life, and all it made me want to do was roll over and find designs on my ceiling. Hurrhurr, that water stain’s an elephant.

“Lydia Grace?” The pounding is louder this time, loud enough that I wonder if he’s resorted to kicking the door in. I hear muttering on the other side — a conversation I can’t quite make out, so I know there’s more than one of them. Maybe if I just—

Wait. Wait. Why am I doing this? They’re cops. I’m not a criminal. I’ve got nothing to hide.

I slide my gaze towards Lucas. “You,” I hiss, keeping my voice low. “Don’t. Do. Anything.”

He gives me a doe-eyed look, as if to say who, me?

I glare at him, then raise my voice and stand, setting my coffee reluctantly on the table near my futon.

“Sorry! Sorry, I slept in,” I shout. “Hang on, I’m coming!”

I step to the door, twist the deadbolt, and swing it open.

Sure enough, two cops are standing there, dressed in smart blues and polished shoes. One of them is surprisingly young — a rookie, probably, a black man with a sweet, open sort of face and round brown eyes. The other man is older — mid fifties, by the look of him, with faint liver spots on pale skin. He looks almost surprised to see me.

“Miss Grace?” The older man asks, staring.

“…Yes?”

“…We got a request to make a wellness check on you,” he says. “Some students from Capital Community College put in calls saying you weren’t there for tutoring? They claimed they tried to get in contact with you, but you weren’t answering your phone.”

I blew out a long, shaky breath. Of course. I hadn’t bothered to check any of my messages yet. School was out, but I still had some stragglers in the area wanting to play catch up over vacation. I bet Nancy called it in. Nancy Muller is a gifted student, just graduated from High School, whose parents are paying tutors to get her ready for university. The girl has a heart of gold. I have no doubt she would have been worried sick.

That thought unbalances me for a moment. In other circumstances, Nancy’s thoughtfulness might have been the factor that saved my life. Or at least got the police on my killer’s trail.

“Lydia?” The younger cop was speaking now. He had a pleasant voice, the sort that was naturally soothing. “Are you alright?”

I snap out of it, plastering a smile on my face. “Oh, yes. Yes, I’m fine. I’m really sorry. I, uh. There was a…”

A lie is poised on the tip of my tongue. Under usual circumstances, I’d spill my guts to these two. I’d tell them anything and everything, just in case Lucas and his cronies weren’t the only ones on the prowl around Capital. But trying to find an explanation about that night, trying to figure out a way to step around all the details that would land me in a psychiatric ward. Well. It was no small feat.

Just as I’m about to crank out a fabrication about some family emergency, though, another thought hits me. Larry, Curly and Moe are still out there somewhere. Lucas might have been in charge, but that doesn’t mean they won’t go looking for another woman. What if they find one? What if they manage to complete the ritual with her? I don’t necessarily know that they need the book.

“Actually,” I say. “You should come in. I have something I need to tell you. A couple nights ago, while I was locking up on campus, I was…”

“She was out with me.”

Lucas’s voice comes as a surprise to me. I’d practically forgotten about him. At some point he’d come up behind me, and now he places a hand on the small of my back. It’s my instinct to shove it off, but I don’t want to make a scene in front of the cops. They already look suspicious enough as it is.

“And you are?” The older cop again. I can see displeasure written all over his face, but it’s dad-displeasure, the ‘whatever-you-do-to-my-kid-I’ll-do-to-you’ sort.

“Lucas Hallowsworth,” he replies, stretching out a hand and offering it to the officer. After a moment’s hesitation, he takes it. Lucas waits, shaking the younger cop’s hand as well, smiling all the while. “I must personally apologize for Miss Grace’s absence. The fault is entirely mine.”

“That so?” The older officer crosses his arms over his chest. He casts a glance at me for a moment — I just smile stupidly at him. “People are just a phone call away, with smartphones and everything.”

“Oh, I know. It was irresponsible of me, but Lydia has been working so hard lately and I decided she could use a break. I took her on a camping trip. Sort of out in the middle of nowhere — no service.” Lucas gives a hopeless shrug. “It’s nice to get away every now and then.”

The cop swings his gaze back to me again. “This true?”

I hesitate. There could be consequences to going along with the lie. Obstruction of justice or some such shit. But just as I’m about to deny it, I hear a murmur at the back of my mind.

‘Trust me, Lydia. I know what I’m doing.’

Fantastic. Now he can talk to me. I’ll just add hearing voices to the list.

I adopt an expression I hope registers as sheepish. “…Yeah,” I say, “It’s true. I’m sorry for all the trouble. I got my schedules mixed up — I take every other weekend off for tutoring.” That wasn’t true, but I was hoping they wouldn’t check on it. “Really, I’m sorry for all the trouble.”

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The man’s expression shifts from concerned to irritated in a second. He scowls. “Try to be more responsible next time, kid.” Before I can offer a response, he turns away from the door, marching down the hallway and saying something into the walkie talkie affixed to his shoulder.

Strangely, the rookie cop doesn’t follow him. Not right away. I’d sort of forgotten about him while I was being grilled, but getting a look at him now, I realize there’s a lot more shrewdness in his gaze. He’s studying the two of us carefully. He’s better at hiding it — he has that easy expression still in place — but he’s sharp. I can tell. He’s not buying it.

Oddly enough, more than me, he seems to be scrutinizing Lucas. It’s almost like he recognizes him.

“Dakota Hunter,” he says abruptly, and offers his hand out towards me. “Sorry about my partner. It’s been a long day already, and he wakes up grumpy.” I accept his hand. It’s comfortingly warm. His smile is utterly disarming. “We’re really glad to see you’re alright. Don’t be afraid to call if you need anything, yeah?”

He looks at Lucas again. The smile never wavers from his face. “Police station isn’t far from here,” he says, meeting his eyes. “We’re just a few blocks away. Keep that in mind.”

Dakota releases my hand, gives me a friendly bob of his head, then turns around and joins his partner, retreating down the hall.

I close the door behind me and slip the deadbolt into place before walking back to my coffee. I’m too wired now to sit, so I pick it up and sip it while I pace back and forth.

“The other men are gone.”

I blink owlishly, turning my head towards Lucas, who’s still hovering by the door. His head is cocked to the side, like a dog listening to something I can’t hear.

“What did you say?”

“The other men. The ones that kidnapped you. They’ve been taken care of. You needn’t worry about them.”

My mouth goes dry. A ripple of fear courses through me. Lucas claimed he couldn’t leave my apartment — or at least that he couldn’t leave me — but I have no way of knowing that’s true. I certainly had no love for those men, but I also don’t want to be tangled up in a triple homicide.

“It wasn’t me,” he clarifies. For some reason his words are clipped, and at first I think he’s angry with me. But as I watch him, I realize he looks paler than he did before. Strained. Almost like he’s in pain. “It was someone else. An associate of mine. Evidently she was tailing my book. Planning to intervene during the ritual, but you acted before she could.”

“…You were going to stab me,” I say flatly.

Lucas shakes his head, giving me a wane smile. “Well. Not me, technically, but I understand how that would seem like semantics to you. From what I recall, she was always one for drama. I imagine she was simply waiting for just the right moment to put a bullet through Lucas’s eye.” He squints, looking contemplative. “Or maybe something more elaborate. Definitely would have been the eye though. Again, drama.”

I stare at him for a moment, still noting the paleness of his skin. There’s a little pinch between his brows, and now that I’m paying attention, I realize that I can see his jaw moving. His teeth are clenching. Probably wouldn’t be so noticeable if it weren’t so damn chiseled.

I shake my head. Focus, Lydia!

“What’s the matter?” I blurt.

He gives a quizzical tilt of his head. “I’m not sure what you mean…”

“Oh, don’t give me that shit,” I snap, surprised at how short my fuse is. But I’ve been flying at a million miles an hour for days now and unconscious in between. I feel like I haven’t slept in a week, and I’m pretty sure this coffee is the only thing keeping me from drooling. “You look like hell all of a sudden. It’s practically wafting off of you. Like I can smell it or something.”

I pause at that, thinking. Actually, now that I consider it, I do smell something. It reminds me of my Aunt Tilda’s place. They had a water issue there, something to do with old pipes, and it always smelled vaguely of rotting eggs. I never understood why they didn’t move out.

Lucas is watching me closely now, and his scrutiny is laced with something. Again, I get the impression that he’s afraid. Of what? Me?

“You gave me an order,” he says, finally. “I defied it. There are consequences, and they are occasionally…” He pauses, looking for the right word. “Uncomfortable.”

I squint at him. “What are you talking about?”

“You told me to do nothing,” he clarifies. “Thankfully it’s a very broad command, so it isn’t as pointed as it could be.”

“…What isn’t as pointed?”

He gives me a strange look. Somehow I get the impression he’s weighing his options. Considering how much to tell me. Eventually, he just shrugs and replies:

“The pain.”

The words send a visceral reaction through me. I’m horrified. I’ve never considered myself a violent person — punching kidnappers notwithstanding — and the thought that I’m hurting this guy…ghost, demon, whatever he is, is mortifying.

“Jesus. Why didn’t you say something?” I set the cup down, moving towards him with my hands out and fluttering at the air uselessly. “How do I make it stop?”

Confusion ripples over his face. “Really. It’s not—”

“Do I just tell you to do something else?” I hesitate, pursing my lips. “Uh. There’s a jar of cookies on the kitchen counter. Go eat one.”

His eyes widen for a moment, then startled laughter bursts out of him. “Eat a cookie? That’s what you come up with?”

I bristle. “What?! I said what I said!”

He peers at me for a moment more. I’m closer to him than I ever have been — maybe a foot away — and for the first time I get a really good look at his eyes. Gorgeous hazel eyes, soft brown flecked with bits of green and gold. His hair is a rich, dark brown, so soft it makes me want to run my hands through it. Lucas takes a step closer to me, studying my face, his lips twitching at the corners as if he’s fighting a smile. He leans in for a moment, and I find I can barely breathe.

“Sorry,” he murmurs. “It’s just, most people would have come up with something else.”

He holds my gaze for a moment more, then steps past me, his shoulder brushing mine as he heads for the kitchen. I hear him open the jar and begin munching away, turning around with a flourish as if to prove that a cookie has, indeed, been consumed. Brushing the crumbs meticulously from his fingers, he performs an elaborate bow.

“Your wish is my command,” he says, his voice dripping with suggestion as he straightens out again.

At first, my mind wanders down that path. It really has been a while — I hadn’t expected my Biology Major to be as brutal as it has. There hasn’t been much time for prowling around looking for someone to take home with me. And Lucas is gorgeous. Plus, I rather like the new personality. Cheeky and charming. Decidedly less stabby.

But then something clicks in my head, and the train of thought shatters into a million pieces. Bile rises up my throat.

“Wait. Wait wait wait. You have to do what I say, or you feel pain?”

Lucas stands with his arms at his sides. He’s still watching me with that odd shrewdness of his, like he’s trying to get the measure of me but finding out he doesn’t have the right scale. “Correct,” he says, simply. The words are simple, at least, but just for a moment I feel something behind them. A weight. A heavy, horrible sort of weight, agony and rage and helplessness. I feel these things ripple through me, and I realize that these emotions aren’t mine. Not entirely. Somehow, in some way, they’re coming from him.

“Oh my god,” I breathe. I feel hot tears spring up behind my eyes, a ball forming in my throat. “Oh, my god.”

His brows furrow in confusion. He casts a glance over his shoulder, as if surveying his surroundings, then looks back at me. “What? What is it?”

The emotions continue to ripple out from him. And then there are images. Memories. I see glimpses of faces that I don’t recognize. A man with a glass eye and a scar down the left side of his face, leering. A beautiful woman with flowing blond curls in a 1920s bob, smirking as if hiding a secret. The woman receives most of the ire. She’s old-Hollywood pretty. Delicate features, a pretty upturned nose, bright blue eyes. But the hate I feel — the memories attached to her — the pain and the degradation and the bone-deep sorrow…

“Lydia.” Lucas strides towards me and seizes me by the shoulders. The touch barely registers. “What’s happening? What’s wrong?”

I can hardly speak. It’s as if decades of that pain have suddenly been stacked on top of me, but it still registers as alien. As other. I know this pain isn’t mine, and yet somehow that almost makes it worse. I can’t do anything about it. It crashes into my empathy and tears start streaming down my cheeks. Before I realize what I’m doing, I reach out towards him, moving to wrap him in my arms. He stiffens as I place my hand on the back of his head, pulling him close.

“I’m sorry,” I say, my words hoarse, barely squeezing past the ball in my throat. “I’m so sorry.”