Page 38 of Saint of the Shadows

But Vincent crouched and looked up at her. “I’m sorry. I can’t imagine what you’re going through. But I made a promise to Quinlan to keep you safe. If it means I suffer your wrath, so be it.”

“Just... leave me alone,” Marisol said with a tinge of regret as she blinked away tears. She rolled to her room and resolved to lie in bed and stare at the ceiling. Anything. As long as she avoided Vincent.

She dragged herself from the wheelchair onto her bed. Until the numbing effect of the painkiller lulled her to sleep, she grabbed a pillow to scream into it. The muffled scream turned into crying, and the crying turned into wails. Between sobs captured in the fibers of the pillow, she begged time to run backwards, to un-hear the gunshots, to see Annie one more time. She punched the pillow and threw it across the room. It landed without fanfare; its feather filling cushioned the impact.

She looked at the dent in the pillow. She couldn’t even do grief right. Sobs racked her body as she longed for the stone-faced dignity of a widow at a funeral. Sputtering and sniffling, she wasn’t the strong and brave woman she imagined herself to be. She stretched out on the bed, lying on her good side. The weight of her cast pressed her body farther into the mattress. She imagined Abuelita’ssoft hands rubbing her back, the way she had when Marisol was a child. Her sobbing subsided into gentle hiccoughs, and then she closed her eyes to sleep.

Drums rumbled as she put on her mask and boxing gloves. String instruments repeated a driving, repetitive song in minor keys. She ran into Annie’s lab. The music shifted into major key, and she knocked the gun out of the Bloodsucker’s hand before he pulled the trigger. With a gut punch and a hook to the jaw, she had defeated him. Annie grabbed her and told her to run. Horns blasted a victorious wall of sound. Evil didn’t win today. She and Annie headed to the elevator doors, pressing the button to escape to their safety. The doors opened into an abyss.

Before Marisol turned around, Annie’s face morphed into rows of circular teeth, pulsing toward the mouth in the center. Marisol recoiled and lost her footing. She fell into the darkness, screaming Annie’s name before hitting the bottom with a jolt.

Outside her body, she watched herself bleed out. She moved her lips and tried to call out for help. Shock paralyzed her. Darkness bound her. Her fear demanded a scream, but more darkness poured into her mouth like motor oil and drowned her.

She was numb and alone.

“Marisol!” Vincent shook her awake.

Her breathing strained. She inhaled short spurts of air. Upon exhaling, her breath felt trapped within the muscles of her neck. She flailed, trying not to suffocate. Her hands struck against Vincent’s body.

“You’re having a panic attack. Look into my eyes and breathe.”

She found his eyes, even in the dark. Marisol braced her palms against his shoulders. Still, she only took sips of air.

“I’m going to hold you. You need to listen to my breathing and copy it.” Vincent embraced Marisol. She couldn’t move; she could only focus on her breath. Through her desperate gasps, she tried to listen to Vincent’s breathing. Her high-pitched wheezes drowned the sound out.

Then, against his body, she felt her rapid heartbeat vibrate back to her. Where was his heartbeat? She searched for it, squeezing tighter, and finally felt a slow, steady heartbeat, like ocean waves hitting the beach on a clear day. She listened to his breath. Deep and calm. She synchronized the pace of her breathing, as his strong arms pressed her against his solid body.

She curled against him. “Vincent? I’m scared.”

“Then I’m not letting you go yet.” He rested his cheek against the top of her head.

He held her so close, even though she was a mess of grimy skin and oily hair. She said, “That’s stupid. I haven’t showered.”

“I don’t care.” Vincent stroked the back of her head.

“I’m disgusting.”

He shrugged.

“You can’t be nice to me. I don’t deserve it.”

“Of course you do.” He adjusted his embrace and settled back onto the bed, and she lay down in his arms.

She nuzzled her head into the crook between his collarbone and shoulder. He smelled faintly sweet and woodsy, like sandalwood. Before she fell asleep again, she could smell a trace of electricity about him, like the atmosphere during a lightning storm.

Interlude

sOMETHING’S cHANGING IN mE. i nOTICE IT fIRST aFTER thAT rABID rAT bITe. nO bLOOD. bUT wHEN iZzY’S gETAWAY dRIVER sHOOts mE, AND mY bODY bECOmes sWISS cHEESE? THE cHANGE IN mE pUSHES oUT THE bULLETS lIKE WORmS cRAWLING tHROUGH THE dEAD.

tHAT dOCTOR mADE mE A gOD.

i aLMOST fEEL bAD FOR kILLING hER.

wHEN tHIS cITY iS tORN aPART BY THE cOMING pLAGUE, IT wILL bE mE lEFT sTANDING. i’LL pUT THE rUINS bACK tOGETHER IN mY iMAGE. tHEn tHE ciTY wILL bE A pLACE tHAT dOESN’T nEED TO bE rEScuED BY cOSTUMED fREAKS.

pEOPLE wILL sEE mE AND kNEEL.

FOR i aM tHEIR sAVIOR.

---