Page 88 of Devoured
The metal gleamed on the table. I wobbled forward. Missed. Took two stabs at the table before I grabbed it. Flicked the hammer under my thumb, once, then twice, until finally, it fell into place like a wind-up toy. I stood up, but the room was spinning, shifting, the pendulum going back and forth, the room growing darker.
Roland wasn’t in New York.
His face was red, bleeding, the skin tinted, his lips pressed back. His voice floated in my mind:There I go, with those feelings again.
Those feelings?
I was going to see him. Jake had stopped me.
But Roland was here.
You know the ones. Those emotions that scream, I love Iris…
His voice broke through my thoughts, so clear it almost ripped me in two: “Shoot him, Iris!”
…that gothic queen with the dragonfly tattoo.
Roland loved me.Me.
But none of this felt real. It wasn’t real. It couldn’t be. Roland and Jake weren’t fighting to the death on the floor. I wasn’t trying to survive, to stay awake as I was buried alive in the nothingness of Jake’s drug.
Was this what they all experienced? Each time before Jake took them.
At least Roland was here. Imaginary. Real. At least I could tell him. Those feelings.
“I hear it too,” I said. But Roland didn’t hear me, both of them still rolling around, swinging at each other. “They scream at me too.”
“What are you talking about?” Roland yelled.
“You crazy bitch,” Jake shouted. “Both of you are going to—”
“I love you too, Roland,” I said as loud as I could. He blinked up at me, then swung at Jake.
“Shoot him, Iris. Just shoot him!”
And I pulled the trigger, sliding it into place, the jack in the box popping open wide, surprising all of us, even me. The backlash whipped through me and I fell down, everything going dark, and darker still.
