Page 157 of Let the Game Begin
“And what’s that?” I looked again at the paper where he’d written out his reasoning using a series of diagrams, but it was hard to find a thread in such a complex labyrinth.
On the note right beneath the padlock, there was this sort of poem thing:
“Look not to any god, only one savior exists. Given to us each a devil and I am yours. No man escapes me for long.” He recited what sounded like some sort of macabre religious-themed poem, and I shivered, frowning in confusion.
“Fuck, Selene,” he said, getting impatient with me. “It’s a tanka; it’s a type of five-line poem with a five-seven-five-seven-seven syllable structure. In Japanese, they’re written in one line, but in English, they’re broken up. And if you break this one up…”
Look
Only
Given
And
No
Logan.
“Oh, God,” I whispered, swallowing thickly because my throat had gone dry. I looked at Neil and noticed the tension behind his bright eyes.
“Logan was just that sick fucker’s first hit. Player’s going to keep making moves; he’s going to strike again and again until he destroys whatever scrap of sanity I have left!” He clenched his fists at his sides, as though longing to smash up something and vent his anger. Wordlessly, I begged him not to do it, to get control over himself because I understood now how hard he had to work to manage his impulses.
“We’re going to get out of this.” I drew closer to him and locked my eyes on his. Neil wasn’t good with words, but he could hold entire conversations with his eyes. In fact, they frequently screamed out his feelings for anyone who was looking.
“We’ll get out of this? When? When Logan dies?” His tone grew sharper. “Or when someone else does?” he continued, his jaw tight.
“I don’t know, but I do know we are going to fix this, all of this.” Actually, I was mortally afraid, but I didn’t want to torture him or make him even more anxious.
I watched his expression grow stiff and allowed myself to reach outone hand as if to rub his arm. He glanced down at my silent request and then back up at my face. I expected him to brush me off roughly, but oddly enough, he didn’t. I rested my hand on his arm comfortingly.
“There’s no point in getting riled up now; we need to stay calm and clearheaded. I’ll be with you, whatever happens,” I promised him again. I would have done it a thousand more times, too. Whoever this psychopath intent on hurting us was, we would face him together.
Neil gave me an unreadable stare. I had no idea what sort of thoughts were buzzing around inside his head. He was good at masking what he was thinking, just like he was good at being unpredictable.
Suddenly, he lifted a hand and cupped the back of my neck. His fingers tangled in my long hair, which he then used to pull me to him. His touch sent my heart racing at exhilarating speeds. It reached a peak when, with his own brand of possessiveness, he kissed me.
The kiss was firm but almost chaste, without indulgence. It wasn’t one of his rough or violent kisses, far from it. It was innocent yet still dominating. My hands were pressed against his chest and my fingers splayed over his powerful musculature. I could feel his soft, plush lips against mine. Our breath hung suspended in the air, fused together in an inexplicable yet perfect fit.
After what felt like an infinite moment, he broke the kiss and rested his forehead against mine, breathing in deep. I should have been afraid that someone would spot us. If I were thinking rationally, I would have pushed him away and told him not do impulsive things like that when we were with our family, but at that moment, all I really wanted to do was stay in his arms and soak in the scent of him.
“It’s impolite to kiss someone without their permission,” I whispered, staring at the perfect lips that had so recently been pressed against my own. Neil quirked one corner of his mouth in a teasing smile.
“Then I must be very rude because I don’t ask for kisses, Tinkerbell. I take them.”
34
Neil
I thought that life had already given me enough storms, enough rainy days, enough sunless ones. Enough losses and injuries. But I was wrong. I was wrong because now I could see that there had been something worse coming all along: my brother in a hospital bed. I had gone with Matt to Logan’s room, which I would not normally be allowed to enter, and it was there that I truly realized exactly what had happened to him.
“Here we are. Logan’s in a coma at the moment, so I don’t…” Matt was trying to say something, but I couldn’t listen to him. My head was spinning and my temples were still pulsing from all the screaming I’d just done.
“I want to stay with him, Matt. I need to.” The Boy and I both needed it—we had survived thanks to him. Logan was a part of us. Of me.
I stared at the door to his room for a few moments, hesitating before I went in.
I knew I wasn’t ready to see him in that state, but I had to do it anyway. I had to be with him. Sighing heavily, I walked inside slowly, and it seemed like I could almost feel a gust of cold air against my face. Finally, I could see him there, lying on the hospital bed, intubated. One of his monitors showed a heart rate that was far too slow, almost imperceptible. I leanedtoward him and gulped, swallowing down the sharp thing that was suddenly in my throat.
