Page 37 of Vicious Souls

I stumble out of my chair, as though in a daze, ignoring his skepticism as he looks down at my unfinished meal. I walk through the rose garden, my fingertips gliding against the roses as I take in their scent. I continue on through the long hall of shrubs, past a bench that looks like it has been curated from a medieval castle, and straight into the maze of trees visible from my bedroom window that look like a puzzle I really need to crack. I hear Dante behind me, realize he’d never let me enter the maze alone, knowing even the most seasoned enthusiast could get lost and never find their way out of this puzzle.

I stumble, then right myself, turn and notice the discreet distance Dante keeps between us. Watching me without crowding me. Studying me like I am an enigma he can’t understand. Questioning. Questioning. There is always that questioning look in his eyes. Like he wants to know more. As though he wants to own every facet of me, every corner and every angle; he wants to dissect and digest every morsel of information about me that he could possibly extract. I feel heat rise from the tips of my toes to the top of my head as I continue to stumble further into the maze. This is one puzzle that I will not crack.

My thoughts become a jumble with every step I push myself into the web of perfectly clipped hedges. Dante. What does he want? Why had he been following me that first night? What does he want from me? There has to be something. No one would go to such lengths to protect someone without gaining something in return. But what is it that he wants?

My foot catches on something and I surge forward through the many layers of the maze; it feels as though I am weightless as I fly through the air.

Something is not right.

Oh my God. Had I eaten something? Had I ingested something I wasn’t supposed to?

A thin film of sweat materializes on my forehead, the heat from earlier a sudden rush through my blood as the maze suddenly feels dark. Everything has gone dark. And hard. Everything around me is suddenly cloaked in darkness as my mind continues to fray at the seams, the world seemingly tipping on its axis and taking me with it.

* * *

“Kingsley. Kingsley. Moneybags?”

My eyelids are heavy, and I’m unable to keep my eyes open as a throbbing ache penetrates my head. My eyes flutter, trying hard to keep up with their needs, and I can feel and hear myself moaning as light pierces the back of my eyes painfully.

“She fainted,” a small voice says, at the end of a long and winding tunnel.

I feel a heaviness against me, something pushing me away, then pulling me back, an isolation I have never felt before.

“South entry, closest to the chapel.”

There is that voice again, giving directions. Like I want to go anywhere.

The heaviness persists, migrating to every inch of my body. There is a heady smell. Not roses, no. The woods. I am in the woods. Timber and man and spice. My hand fumbles with a switch, trying to bring back the light, but it is as though I clutch at empty air. I try again. Still no luck. The stars are not aligned tonight.

I wonder if I am drunk. Am I so drunk that I can not even stand up straight? But that’s ridiculous. I rarely drink anything stronger than water. And even that, I filter.

The throbbing pain in my head continues, drilling through me like a jackhammer. What I wouldn’t do to have the drill stop. What I wouldn’t do to stop this pain. This all consuming, never ending, overpowering pain. This loss of sight. The loss of strength. The loss of power.

I have money. Could I possibly buy back all those things with that much power? Could I just pay some money and open my eyes again? God, please, just make it go away. Make it stop. Pain. Pain. So much pain. I can’t stop feeling the pain radiating through my body.

All I want to do is sleep. To close my eyes tight and keep them that way, never to open again. But that force, that force that keeps bumping into me heavily. Pushing then pulling. Surging then falling. Up and down. Heavy thumps and bumps.

My heart. Oh, my heart. I think my heart is giving out. First it was my brain. And now it is my heart. This is certainly death. Not even an extended sleep. Most certainly, death has come, squeezing the life out of me. Sparing me none of its remorse. Death leaves no prisoners.

There’s that pulling again. That pushing and pulling. That heaviness against my body, a steady stream of curses as the small voice weaves in and out of my conscience.

A slow and steady series of beeps. A finality. A flatline. And then the world lays dormant, my life defined by five short spurts…

“Kingsley, come back to me…”

34

DANTE

The moment she starts to fall, I’m running toward her to cushion the blow. Thank God for the foresight of having the ground remain as it had for decades – dirt. Solid, brown dirt. No chance of any real damage, but just the thought of her hurting herself hurts me. Unbelievably.

I carry her all the way back through the maze, met by the buggy half way down the Plantera side, and I climb onto the vehicle with Moneybags still in my arms, refusing to let go of her, barking orders to ensure the doctor is on hand as soon as we get back to the house. I send up a silent prayer for the decision I made to take on an ex military doctor who now served as one of my soldiers. His condition was that he no longer serve as a doctor. My condition was that in an emergency, he would have to. We would now put our mutual conditions to use and see if they did indeed pay off.

I carry Moneybags to her room and set her gently on the bed, making way for the doctor to come in and inspect her. I clear the room of everyone but the doctor and myself, and ask Helga to stay. I don’t want Moneybags to awaken suddenly and be taken by surprise. Let her at least feel like there is another woman in the room, no matter that Helga is built like a torpedo. The doctor runs his stethoscope against Moneybags’ chest and checks her blood pressure. He pries her lips open and places a thermometer under her tongue. He takes her pulse, her limp wrist in his hand as he smooths his thumb against her skin. I watch every single movement with concentration, careful not to miss a beat. Moneybags is out cold, giving no indication she is aware of her surroundings, even when the doctor lifts her eyelids and flashes a light into her unmoving pupils.

“Over-exertion,” he says, when he finally straightens and tucks the flashlight in his coat pocket. “There’s nothing physically the matter with her. She’s just exhausted.”

“She spent hours in the pool this afternoon.”

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