Page 40 of The Last Feast
But Hana urges him to leave, reminding him of the child who’ll be freezing if she hasn’t managed to get to safety. The auto locks don’t allow them to open the door, so he breaks the window with the promise Hana will meet him.
She stands amongst the blood and watches him race out of the house, how he runs through the snow for a second time to save another girl. This time, he’s not searching for her, and he’ll never find her again.
23
LOST
AUGUSTE
My lungs and limbs burn as I run through the snow, searching for a girl whose name I don’t even know. The overpowering stench of blood fills my nose, but I wait until I’m deeper through the trees to remove the mask, given Hana’s strange mood about covering my face.
Wiping the smeared blood off my skin, I look through the trees for any sign of a child. There’s nothing, not until I reach the edge closest to the road to find a doll lying on the ground. Someone must have found her, so I run back to my woman. Fuck waiting for her—I’ve been waiting my entire life.
The compacted snow has turned to ice, tripping me as I run with an urgency I’ve never felt before. There’s a feeling in my gut telling me to prepare for something catastrophic, but I ignore it. If I get to her, we’ll be fine.
A strange humming fills the air as I get closer to the tree line surrounding the property. It shakes the branches and sends snow down around me, but the shattering of glass rips my heartfrom my chest. It’s followed by a deathly crackling roar and unnatural heat in the cold air.
The entire ground floor of the cabin is quickly engulfed by flames, and I search the broken window for Hana. Nothing. She’s not climbing out as the air fogs from the heat of the flames. I take a step forward, ready to burn with her. But before I can breach the tree line, movement in the guest bedroom window gets my attention. She stands a few steps away from the glass, no flames behind her. She’s alive, it’s fine. I’ll catch her.
As I take a step to do that, she slowly shakes her head then lifts her hand to wave at me in that creepy way that looks like a one-handed clap. She doesn’t stay in the window; she walks a-fucking-way, so she must be coming to me. But there’s no movement in the house as the flames lick up out of the blown-out windows.
Fuck this.
I’m not allowing her to leave.
I take another step when something sharp digs into my nape, and I’m abruptly pulled back as my head becomes heavy. My legs go out from under me, but someone catches my weight, and then it all goes black.
I wakeup on my knees in a black room with a singular source of light. Heels click against the floor before I can attempt to free my hands from the chains keeping them at my back. I squint into the light as metallic clicking moves around the room, echoing and making it impossible to pin the location of the noise.
A woman steps in front of me with flaming red hair and deep red lips. The contrast against her white woolen coat is glaring with all the darkness around me. The singular bulb swingingabove my head keeps her eyes out of view as she presses the gold-tipped toe of her heel against my abs.
“Good, you’re awake. Have you begun working with The Three yet?” she asks, like I have any idea what it means.
I’ve never heard of The Three.
I shake my head with only one word on my tongue. “Hana?” It turns into a cough as my dry throat revolts at any more syllables.
Elegantly lowering to her haunches while keeping her head tilted so I can’t see the top portion of her face, she softly says, “Unfortunately, she chose death. Would you like the opportunity to get revenge on her behalf?”
“She’s not dead,” I croak, trying to stand.
The woman holds my shoulder, forcing my weight down. “She is. I’ve answered your question. Now, be so kind as to repay the grace, and I’ll get rid of the murder charges about to be issued in your name. Have you given your oath to The Three?”
“I don’t know who the fuck they are!”
“Auguste,” she clucks. “You’re an intelligent boy, studying to be a doctor. I’m sure Erik introduced you to his friends in the medical industry?”
There’s a vague memory of an American family friend who would visit my grandparents when I was a child, but I’m lost in the first stage of grief—denial. Hana can’t be dead. She’s mine, and she told me to wait in the forest.
“I…” My voice comes from somewhere else, like I’m under water and drowning again. “Dr. Leroux. My grandparents had a retirement party, and he was there with his wife and children.”
“Good,” the woman coos. “And did he gift you his cufflinks with a position?”
“No.” I shake my head as I try to remember if I saw any movement after Hana walked away from the window.
The wall to my right flickers, and then footage plays of the cabin burning. The flames lick out through the shattered windows, and the top floor hasn’t escaped their path.
“No!” I fall forward as I watch the black plumes of toxic smoke billow from the sharp edges of the glass.
