Race the Darkness (Fatal Dreams, #1)(77)

She had fractured. She’d broken like a wishbone snapped in two, and all that remained of her was a body that hadn’t died yet and a mind incapable of emotion. Or could this lack of feeling be an indicator that she had died?

Darkness surrounded her, blinded her. The exact opposite of that endless white from her dreams. She blinked hard to clear her eyes. Nothing. No shapes. No shadows. No shades of color. Maybe this black void really was death.

“And the Lord commanded”—the words sounded odd and diluted—“all his Faithful to rid the land of demons and devils. And the kingdom of…”

Nope. Not dead.

She recognized the voice. The man who killed Gran and Xander. Just thinking about Xander should be devastating, but her emotions were blessedly anesthetized.

The man continued to spout Godly phrases and holier-than-thou platitudes, but she wasn’t listening.

“Where are you?” she asked more out of curiosity than any real caring, cutting him off in the middle of some prayer.

“You’re awake. Bless the Lord. I’m here. Outside. There’s so much I need to tell you before the end.”

She supposed he meant to kill her, and yet she didn’t feel any horror at the thought of dying. Honestly, she couldn’t wait. She’d simply reached her limit. She had no more tolerance for this life that had given her nothing but terror, pain, and heartache, with only the briefest glimmers of happiness.

“Mister, why don’t you just kill me and get it over with?” Her tone was all attitudinal teenager trying to get her way.

“I do not like you referring to me as mister. I’d prefer you to call me Father.”

“Oh yeah. I forgot. You’re a priest.” Psychotic laughter bubbled up from somewhere inside her. “What are you preaching to people? Thou shalt kill?”

“I am an ordained man of God, but wish for you to refer to me as Father because Shayla was my wife and I am your father.” He spoke with the same authoritative tone Alex had used on Xander.

White sparklers of color exploded in her head. She had to have heard him wrong. But her ears still rang with those words. Shayla was my wife and I am your father.

Chuffing, sniffling noises came from outside. “Shayla… She… She…” He hiccupped a sob. “She died. The same way you’re going to.”

“You killed her? I’m not surprised.” The person speaking these words, using the bored tone of voice, wasn’t her. It was her broken self.

More evidence of the fracture her psyche had suffered: The old her would’ve been clamoring for more information about her mother. Any detail. Anything about the woman Isleen had never met and knew nothing about. But this version of her had moved beyond pain to a state of apathy. Her mother was just another loss on the necklace of bones hanging from her neck. And this man claiming to be her father…well, she didn’t need to know anything about him other than he’d killed Gran and Xander and her mother.

“Your mother was vivacious and alluring. The type of woman every man noticed and few had the courage to approach. I was so brave back then.” He was having a moment. She heard it in the nostalgic way he spoke, as if he were in another decade, inhabiting another space. “As simple as it sounds, it really was love at first sight for both of us.”

She didn’t care—didn’t want to care—about anything he said. “Well, Daddy-o, let’s get this funeral started. I’m going to die like my mom. Let’s go.”

“I loved everything about her, and she loved me. She was the only person to ever love me unconditionally, at least until the end. Then she hated me. And I hated myself even more. I’ve never gotten over what happened to her. I try to not think about it, to pretend she never existed, but it’s like lying to myself. I always know I’m lying.”

“What did you do to her?” The question popped out before she could contain it.

“While she was pregnant with you, she began having these dreams. Odd dreams about benign things, like getting invited to dinner by my father or that the car wouldn’t start one morning. And then those things would happen. I chalked it up to bizarre coincidence. But then her dreams turned dark. She kept dreaming this one dream over and over—my dad, my brothers, and me killing her. It tested her mind. She withdrew from my family, became paranoid they were going to hurt her. And then she withdrew from me. Not in any outward way, but it was like I was no longer with all of her. She was keeping part of herself secreted away. She swore it wasn’t true, but I could feel it. I could feel the loss. Finally, I mentioned her dreams to my father. I figured he’d know what to do. I figured he’d offer me guidance on how to help her. I hadn’t figured his answer would be to kill her.”

Isleen didn’t want to listen, but she heard every nuanced word. If she didn’t know him to be a killer, she would’ve sworn he sounded contrite and heartbroken.

“My father—your grandfather—is a very special man. He’s the Lord’s Chosen One, and my brothers and I are the Faithful. We were raised on the verse: ‘There shall be none among you who practice occultism, no seers or spell casters, nor any who use prediction, prognostication, or prophecy. Whoever commits these acts is an abomination to the Lord. And the Faithful shall drive out the demons to become righteous in the eyes of the Lord.’”

He had said that to her in the woods, just before Xander—