Page 50 of Not Today, Satan
She’s come tofind me.
Of course she has. That’s what mothers do.
“Mom, wait! I’m over here.” I chase her, my legs aching from running through the mud.
But how? How did she get here? She’s either dead or a figment of my imagination. And neither of those bring a happy ending.
I skid to a stop and drop my head, panting into my chest.
It’s another of Father’s ruses. It has to be.
My throat tightens as tears threaten my vision. This lot shows you things you desire most. I wanted her to be here so badly. To need me enough she’d cross the Underworld for me. But it’s an illusion. I’m as alone as Nate.
My chest heaves from sprinting. I bend over my legs to catch my breath and frown at a broken branch.
Icouldhave her now if I want. The mom in this lot may be more accepting of me than the mom that’s not waiting for me on Earth. This lot will give me what I want most: a mother who not only loves me but accepts me. A parent who wants me. As long as I’m okay with chasing phantoms.
Tears spring to my eyes, and my palms shake against my thighs. That would mean staying here forever, while she’s given to me only to disappear, over and over. It would be the torture Father intended when he built this place.
No. Even if she walks away from me in person, it’s better than living with a ghost.
“You’re not real.” I clench my eyes shut, a tear trailing down my cheek. My hand curls around the hilt of my sword, the metal digging into my palm. “Leave. Me. Alone.”
The rustling stops. A breeze ruffles my hair, then settles. When I open my eyes, she’s gone. All that’s in front of me is rotting wood painted with the muddied handprints of the damned.
I wipe my face with the back of my hand and take a moment to steady my breath, then head back to Nate on legs that tremble with exhaustion.
“Okay,” I say as I break through the trees. “Don’t say a word. I’m embarrassed enough that I fell for that. I… Nate?”
He’s not where I left him. The soles of our boots still imprint the damp earth, but his trail off in the opposite direction.
I groan.
Not again.
“Nate? Where are you?” I follow his footprints, my small boots swallowed by the outline of his large ones. “Now’s not the time for games. I’m tired. And dirty. And have I mentioned how much I hate being in lots?”
He’s at the edge of the woods, his back to me, hunched over a tree stump. I exhale when I spot the large door looming behind him.
“Oh good,” I say. “You found the exit. You seem to be good at that. Way to actually be useful on this trip.”
He doesn’t respond. It’s not like him to leave a compliment hanging unclaimed. I frown and move closer.
He’s doubled over, retching up air as he grabs his stomach, tears streaming through the dirt and blood on his face.
What the—?
I touch his back, and he jumps, his body trembling so hard his teeth chatter as loud as ice against a glass.
My throat tightens. “Nate? Are you okay?”
He shakes his head. His voice is low and monotone, like he’s speaking from far away. “It was so real I could smell it. The carrot cake my mom used to make. Our house smelled like cinnamon and cream cheese frosting for an entire day. She’d let me lick the beaters when she was done.”
“Oh, Nate.” I sigh. “Tell me you didn’t eat it.”
He turns to me. White icing flakes at the side of his mouth, and he gags again. “It tasted exactly like hers. How did it taste exactly like hers?” He moans and falls onto his stomach.
I drop to my knees and shake his shoulder. He doesn’t move. I drum my fingers on my knee and try to recall my lessons with Mr. B. and the things we studied about this lot.
