Page 77 of Bound By Thorns

A scream tore through me. “Help!Help!!!” I shouted. “Ghost, c-come in!”

I was sobbing uncontrollably. Then I shifted my focus back to Logan who was chanting, “look at me” on a constant loop.

“Please, please,please. This can’t be happening!” I pleaded with whoever would hear me.

I felt a presence behind me then. Unrelenting arms coiling around my neck with a snake-like precision.

“Two birds,” Tyka hissed, “one fucking throat!”

My vision tunneled, the world narrowing to the feel of Logan slipping from my grasp, Tyka’s embrace tightening.

“Kaylan!Kaylan!”Logan screamed, but I was relentless. I wouldn’t let go of Logan. Not like this!

In a desperate, final act, Logan’s grip on me loosened as he wrestled a spare gun from his waist, aiming over my shoulder at Tyka. Time fractured. The gunshot was a thunderclap, splitting the world into before and after.

One second I was suffocating, both in fear and Tyka’s deadly grip. The next, the weight vanished.

I was suddenly, terrifyingly free—of Tyka’s hold and of Logan’s life.

I watched in helpless horror as Logan fell, his body hurtling toward the shimmering surface of the pool below.

My chest tightened, a scream clawing at my throat but refusing to come out. It stayed there, useless, as if my body couldn’t keep up with the devastation unfolding in front of me.

The water erupted as he hit, the impact too violent, too final.

THIRTY-FOUR

Logan

I evened the score.

THIRTY-FIVE

Kaylan

TWO WEEKS LATER

“We have removed a part of his skull to allow the swelling in his brain to subside. The medically induced coma should last a few more days.” The doctor spoke but all I could hear was the relentless beeping of the machine. It was supposed to be reassuring, that monotonous beep, but it grated on my nerves, echoing too loudly in the sterile silence of the hospital room.

I couldn’t understand how a sound that was showing his lifeline could irritate me. I didn’t want to have to listen to this sound. I craved the sound of his voice, the warmth of his eyes softening when he looked at me smiling. I wondered when was the last time I smiled. Probably when he told me he loved me.

‘Being in love with you is how I know I can forgive myself one day.’

Lies. All lies wrapped in a heroic guise. He had thrown himself into danger, a futile sacrifice on the altar of his own redemption. It was his plan, his foolish gambit, and now it was costing me my fucking sanity.

Anger bubbled up inside me, hotter and more fierce than the sorrow. Was I furious because I believed, somewhere deep down, that he could have chosen differently? That he could havechosen to stay, to fight, to live—to not leap into the churning waters that nearly claimed his life? Dr. Mendoza would have a field day with him when he wakes up.

My spiraling thoughts were abruptly cut by Zarek’s voice, tinged with a hesitant pessimism.

“Does that mean we have a chance for him to wake up soon?”

I wanted to punch Zarek in the face. It wasn’t about chances. It couldn’t be. There was no alternative, no other ending I could accept.

Logan had to wake up, there was no other choice.

I hadn’t moved from my chair next to Logan’s bed for days, maybe weeks; time seemed irrelevant. I felt like a fixture in that hospital room, a silent guardian rooted to the spot, watching over him while the rest of the world moved in a blur around us. I was no better than a piece of furniture lying inanimate near him.

People came and went, some trying to coax me into eating, others merely checking in. The food they brought grew cold beside me, untouched and forgotten. I ate sometimes, used the private shower for no more than three minutes every now and then.

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