Page 139 of Crystal Iris
“But Hoyt?—”
“You wait here for the cops.”
“Okay.”
He moves, slowly disappearing into the dark. I look at my shaking hands. My body and mind are consumed with worry. I shouldn’t have let him go in.
I hear a gunshot, and my heart almost jumps out of my chest. I look around. There’s no one here to help.
I get out of the car, my heartbeat loud in my ears. I’m glad to be concealed by the night. I know I can’t do anything against a gun, but I can’t stay in the car when both of them are inside. It’s not bravery or a lack of caution; it’s something stronger—than desire to help them that moves me closer. My prism pulses, pulling me toward Hoyt.
I walk, letting my senses guide me. I quiet my mind the bestway I know how—by breathing. Between my nerves, the wind, and the humidity in the air, it’s almost impossible to keep my violet light hidden.
I stand outside the house, near the window, trying to peek through the closed curtains. I can’t distinguish the shadows inside.
The rational part of me tells me to go back to the car, but I know it isn’t up to my brain right now. I close my eyes again, asking my prism and my body’s intuition to show me what to do. I keep moving around the place until I find a cracked window. The voices inside are muffled by the wind.
I hear Hoyt say, “Let me get her out, please. I just want to get her out.”
“I can’t let you do that. They will come for me,” the man replies.
“They won’t. I won’t tell them. She needs a doctor,” Hoyt begs.
And then I hear it again—Awena’s lullaby.
I’m considering going inside when I hear another gunshot, and my entire body freezes. At that moment, my prism does something I’ve never seen it do. It blinks an indigo light.Hoyt’s light.Pulsing with my heartbeat.
I feel pain in my head, my hands, my chest. My body is tearing itself apart. I can’t help but let out a scream. I beg my prism to stop whatever it’s doing.
I hear Hoyt call my name, and then I see him—walking out, carrying someone.Johanna.He’s carrying Johanna.
As my eyes lock on him, the prism’s light fades, taking the pain with it. I run to them, toward the car, and help him put Johanna inside.
“Drive, Iris. Drive,” he says, throwing the gun into the front passenger seat.
I don’t know where the closest hospital is. I drive while my other bloody hand types on the phone. The directionsfinally appear once we hit the main road. I watch the police car pass us, heading in the opposite direction.Too fucking late.
Twenty-Nine
“Art is a line around your thoughts.” – Gustav Klimt
Idon’t know what questions to ask or what to do as I watch Hoyt ache for his sister. The doctors took Johanna almost two hours ago. She’s been shot, maybe more than once. Hoyt’s body is still covered in her blood. We’re waiting for news when the police show up.
“Awena is… here?” I ask them. Hoyt can barely pay attention.
“There was nobody else inside the house. She’s being examined now,” says the officer, glancing at Hoyt’s bloody clothes.
“You have to find him,” Hoyt growls, his voice tight with desperation.
A doctor interrupts us. Johanna is stable, alive.
“Can I see her?” Hoyt asks.
“Come with me. She hasn’t woken up yet,” the doctor replies, leading us to her room.
Johanna is sleeping, her head wrapped in a bandage.
“I didn’t know she had hurt her head,” I say aloud, not meaning to.
