Page 125 of Crossed
And building.
And building.
It’s been snowing since I left the monastery, a thin layer of white making everything glow a little brighter now that the sun has set. I burrow deeper into my peacoat, rushing up onto the small, cracked front porch, a sense of nostalgia hitting me when I glance over and see the edge of what used to be Amaya’s bedroom window peeking at me from the corner of the alley.
I maneuver up the icy steps and knock on the front door, my stomach tense from both the need to make sure Quinten is safe and the need to hunt Parker down and get back to Amaya quickly.
Nobody answers, so I knock again, something heavy pressing on my shoulders, pushing down until the weight makes it hard to stand.
Come on, Dalia. Answer the door.
I knock one more time, then hop off the stoop and peer into the front window through the open blinds, but there’s nobody inside. At least not from what I can see. I move back to the door again, my breathing growing choppy as I reach out and twist the knob, part of me hoping it’s locked, because at least then, I can fool myself into thinking that most likely, they’re just not home. That Dalia was smart enough to recognize danger before it happened.
The door unlatches easily, as though it was just barely resting in place to begin with. A lead weight drops in my gut.
It’s eerily quiet when I move inside, and a heavy sense of foreboding washes over my skin.
“Quinten!” I call out. “Dalia?”
Nobody answers, and the silence has never screamed so loud.
Moving down the small hallway off the kitchen, I peer in the first room on the right, but it’s empty. Nothing but a few shelves and a made- up bed with Buzz Lightyear on the quilt. Then I head back more to where I know Dalia’s bedroom sits, the door already ajar. Light filters into the dark hallway, and I push the door fully open with my toe, the creak of the wood sounding like a cannon in my ears.
My hand flies up to cover my nose.
The smell is…strong.
Merde.
Dalia is here, but I wish with everything in me, for Amaya’s sake, that she wasn’t. Her stomach is sliced open from beneath her chest to just under her navel, the bottom half of her body naked and severely abused.
I am a violent man. But even this makes bile rise in the back of my throat until I’m forced to swallow down the vomit.
My heart stalls as I move farther into the room, knowing this is going to break Amaya apart and already trying to come up with ways to make sure she survives the pain. The guilt that I know she’ll feel, blaming herself for something that was out of her control.
Breathing through my mouth, I walk over to where Dalia’s dead body lies broken and bruised, reaching out and covering her eyes with my gloved hand until they close. “I commend you, my dear sister, to Almighty God and entrust you to your Creator. May you return to Him who formed you from the dust of the earth.” I place my fingertips on her forehead and say, “In the name of the Father,” then on her chest right above where her body splits and the smell of death emanates from her flayed skin, “the Son,” and then both shoulders, “and of the Holy Spirit, amen.”
The words feel empty as they roll off my tongue. Simple words that before held so much truth, so much blind faith in every syllable, but now they fall from my mouth and drop onto Dalia’s corpse, disintegrating into ash. Meaningless.
I stand rigid at Dalia’s side, my hands in fists and my jaw clenching so tightly, pain radiates up my jaw. I spoke His words as though they were my own, the same way I have for years, but instead of finding peace in Him, I can only feel the rage for her. For Amaya. Because I know this will break her heart.
And I’ve realized that having my faith means nothing if she isn’t at the center of it all.
The fury inside me grows, rolling from a small ball into a blazing inferno, the need to make Parker hurt as much as he’s hurt Amaya pounding through my veins until I feel it prick against my fingertips.
Spinning around, I take in the scene, debating on whether leaving her here or calling it in is the best course of action.
But then something catches my eye, in the corner of the room next to an overturned table and a smashed- up lamp.
Clearly, she put up a fight.
I walk over to the glimmering object, seeing a small gold cuff link with the initials PE across the front.
Messy, messy, Parker.
My mind buzzes as I come up with a plan.
I need to find Quinten as quickly as possible, but it would be silly of me to not make sure there are no other stops needed after I do. I’m not sure what’s coming, but I know when I leave Festivalé, hopefully with Quinten in tow, Parker Errien will be dead and gone. And if things go badly, I need us to be able to escape quickly. So I stop by my cottage first because if I need to flee, I can without worry of what I won’t have.
