the men would come back to finish the job.
Self-loathing and anger rose to the surface, lending more force behind the flow of tears and her body’s shaking. She should get off of this rooftop; she should find out what had happened to her jacket, her bike, find a phone and call for help. Something, anything but what she was doing now. Yet she didn’t, for so many complicated and stupid reasons. Because she didn’t know if the men were still out there. Because she didn’t know where to start. Because she had no idea what had happened before the moment with the Rabids, no idea where she was.
And mostly because she was afraid of finding the answers, facing the most frightening fact of all: this hadn’t been just another blackout exorcist episode. The last clear memory she held resided in her apartment. Amiel closed her eyes, a ragged sob escaping her bleeding lips. She’d done it all in her sleep.
Chapter 11
Harley
Harley stared at the clock, gnawing on one fingernail. Realizing what he was doing, he yanked the nail from his mouth, quickly grabbing a piece of gum and munching on that instead.
The kid was late. She’d been late several times over the last few weeks, which seemed out of character for her. He’d pegged her as the type that hated being late for anything, almost like it was programmed into her DNA. But in the last few weeks she’d started showing up fifteen, twenty minutes late. Today it was forty. Maybe she’d decided to just skip it and concentrate on work? Only, if she had, the kid probably would have texted to let him know. And she had promised that she wouldn’t be late anymore…
Harley picked up his phone, which he’d already looked at more often than he’d care to admit in the last fifteen minutes. The screen was blank — no new messages or calls. His eyes returned to the clock, once again facing his internal dilemma. What was the course of action here? Did he call her to double-check? Friends did that, right? Or maybe he should just drive by and see if her bike was gone, so he didn’t call and sound like a complete creeper? He frowned. He wouldn’t sound like one, but he’d sure look like one.
Sighing in frustration, Harley tossed the phone back on the counter. This babysitting gig with Amiel was getting more complicated. One would think, after doing it for so long, he would start to get the hang of it. Instead, he found himself tripping over new dilemmas, complications growing rather than diminishing. Was he smothering her with protectiveness? He tried to ensure that he gave her a respectful distance so that his presence didn’t overwhelm or crush the delicate freedom allowed in this world. But, at times, he wondered if that was the wrong choice. Because in this world, a single misstep could lead to your death, and there was no coming back from dying.
Running a hand through his hair, he shifted his accursed eyes back to the clock. Releasing a disgusted grunt, he turned his back on it. He was turning into such a wuss. He hated having to stalk the kid, but truthfully, it was easier to be in the shadows than to actually weather the inner workings of relationships he knew nothing about.
Bowing his head, he immediately took the thought back. No matter the complications of his social ineptitude, he’d never take back the friendship he’d garnered with her. He felt his eyes burning to turn and look at the clock again. The phone suddenly rang, saving him from the clock. Lunging for it, he quickly answered.
“Harley,” he stated gruffly.
“We got a problem, Harl.” Cajun’s voice came back to Harley over the phone, and an itch of unease immediately came over him.
“What now?”
“Is your bird there with you?” The unease grew.
“No. She’s late.”
“Uhh.” Cajun hesitated. “Charleen just found Amiel’s bike, crushed under a bus on the outer fringe of the Skirts.”
“What the hell?” Harley nearly choked.
“When Char found it, she called the guards at the
Self-loathing and anger rose to the surface, lending more force behind the flow of tears and her body’s shaking. She should get off of this rooftop; she should find out what had happened to her jacket, her bike, find a phone and call for help. Something, anything but what she was doing now. Yet she didn’t, for so many complicated and stupid reasons. Because she didn’t know if the men were still out there. Because she didn’t know where to start. Because she had no idea what had happened before the moment with the Rabids, no idea where she was.
And mostly because she was afraid of finding the answers, facing the most frightening fact of all: this hadn’t been just another blackout exorcist episode. The last clear memory she held resided in her apartment. Amiel closed her eyes, a ragged sob escaping her bleeding lips. She’d done it all in her sleep.
Chapter 11
Harley
Harley stared at the clock, gnawing on one fingernail. Realizing what he was doing, he yanked the nail from his mouth, quickly grabbing a piece of gum and munching on that instead.
The kid was late. She’d been late several times over the last few weeks, which seemed out of character for her. He’d pegged her as the type that hated being late for anything, almost like it was programmed into her DNA. But in the last few weeks she’d started showing up fifteen, twenty minutes late. Today it was forty. Maybe she’d decided to just skip it and concentrate on work? Only, if she had, the kid probably would have texted to let him know. And she had promised that she wouldn’t be late anymore…
Harley picked up his phone, which he’d already looked at more often than he’d care to admit in the last fifteen minutes. The screen was blank — no new messages or calls. His eyes returned to the clock, once again facing his internal dilemma. What was the course of action here? Did he call her to double-check? Friends did that, right? Or maybe he should just drive by and see if her bike was gone, so he didn’t call and sound like a complete creeper? He frowned. He wouldn’t sound like one, but he’d sure look like one.
Sighing in frustration, Harley tossed the phone back on the counter. This babysitting gig with Amiel was getting more complicated. One would think, after doing it for so long, he would start to get the hang of it. Instead, he found himself tripping over new dilemmas, complications growing rather than diminishing. Was he smothering her with protectiveness? He tried to ensure that he gave her a respectful distance so that his presence didn’t overwhelm or crush the delicate freedom allowed in this world. But, at times, he wondered if that was the wrong choice. Because in this world, a single misstep could lead to your death, and there was no coming back from dying.
Running a hand through his hair, he shifted his accursed eyes back to the clock. Releasing a disgusted grunt, he turned his back on it. He was turning into such a wuss. He hated having to stalk the kid, but truthfully, it was easier to be in the shadows than to actually weather the inner workings of relationships he knew nothing about.
Bowing his head, he immediately took the thought back. No matter the complications of his social ineptitude, he’d never take back the friendship he’d garnered with her. He felt his eyes burning to turn and look at the clock again. The phone suddenly rang, saving him from the clock. Lunging for it, he quickly answered.
“Harley,” he stated gruffly.
“We got a problem, Harl.” Cajun’s voice came back to Harley over the phone, and an itch of unease immediately came over him.
“What now?”
“Is your bird there with you?” The unease grew.
“No. She’s late.”
“Uhh.” Cajun hesitated. “Charleen just found Amiel’s bike, crushed under a bus on the outer fringe of the Skirts.”
“What the hell?” Harley nearly choked.
“When Char found it, she called the guards at the
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