Bone Music (Burning Girl #1)(22)

The day before, Jason texted: Hi Savior, it’s J. New phone. Leaving now.

The response: E-mail when you reach Flagstaff.

Jason: Can’t e-mail. Switched to a disposable phone. Only text and call.

The response: Smart. Text when you reach Flagstaff. No calls.

He’d done exactly that at about eleven o’clock the night before.

Then, that morning, he’d texted again.

Getting ready for the last leg. All good?

The response: Everything’s good. Will let you know if her schedule changes.

Her heart hammers. So whoever this Savior person is, they’ve been watching her throughout the day. Longer than that, if they knew she was out here.

Where were they now? Why hadn’t they come to Jason’s rescue?

The next text turns her stomach. It’s from Jason.

Code is 1986474. Thanks for the tips.

What could that even mean, thanks for the tips, aside from the fact whoever this fucker is, he’s got the alarm code to her house now, too?

Call the police, she tells herself. But just thinking these words reminds her of her one trip to the Scarlet police station to register her alarm system: two deputies, a dispatch officer, and a weary-looking sheriff, none of whom seemed ready for a short jog, much less a biker gun battle.

And whoever’s helping Jason, their phone number’s right here.

If they come out now, maybe she’ll be able to deal with them as effectively as she’s dealt with Jason. Whoever they are, they’ve lost the element of surprise.

Jason texted once more. I hope I’ll make you proud.

“Jesus,” she whispers.

Proud. What could Jason have planned to do to her in her own house that would make this monster proud?

Later, around evening time, the Savior texted, She’s on her way back.

The text was sent at almost the exact time she left Dylan. She scans her memory for any lurkers outside his office. The bikers, maybe. Were the bikers a part of Jason’s plan? Did that even make sense?

She dials the number.

There’s an answer after three rings.

“I said no calls.”

The breath doesn’t leave her; instead it’s as if the air inside her lungs simply ceases to exist. Like the last breath she took was some childish idea she was foolish to put faith in. She wants to say his name, but now she wonders if it even is his name. If anything he’s told her about himself is true. If a single word he shared in that cramped second-floor office that smelled of coffee from the AA meetings downstairs was anything more than a prelude to this night.

“You’re the Savior,” she hears herself say.

“Charley?”

“You told Jason where I lived. You helped him break into my house.”

“Charley, I need you to listen to—”

“Go to hell.”

“I need you to tell me how you’re feeling.”

“Are you kidding? Are you fucking kidding me? You’re gonna try to be my therapist now?”

Cool as ice, Dylan says, “No. I want you to describe what you’re feeling physically. I don’t know if you’ve been injured, but my guess is that if you’re alive, you haven’t been. So please, Charley, tell me how you’re—”

“You drugged me. You gave me a goddamn Valium and sent me home to be raped in my own house by that sick fuck.”

“No. No, Charley. I didn’t. That’s not what Zypraxon does.”

“Who are you?”

“Just take a deep breath and tell me what you’ve done, Charley. Tell me if you can believe what you’ve done with your own two hands.”

At first she thinks he’s accusing her of something, but there’s wonder in his tone, as if the fact that they’re talking to each other at all in this moment is a magical thing. Nothing about him sounds guilty or even hostile. Instead he sounds animated by a higher purpose.

He knows. He knows that she’s capable of crushing metal in one hand, that she can throw a grown man several feet in the air. That she can snap bone without meaning to.

“What did you give me?” she asks. “What the fuck are these pills?”

“A miracle. You on Zypraxon is a miracle. I saw what you did to those two bikers, Charley. You’re the first person it’s ever worked on.” Those two bikers. How long has he been following her? “Trust me. I didn’t want it to happen this way, but—”

“You helped Jason find me and break into my house. What was the point of our sessions? Just to figure out what kind of security I had?”

“You needed a trigger. Charley. Please. Listen to me. I’ll take care of Jason, and I’ll explain everything. But you have to trust me. This is bigger than you.”

“A trigger? What the hell does that mean? Are you completely insane? What did you give me?”

“I took the power you try to derive from your guns and your security system and your walls, and I put it in your bare hands. I put it in your bones. That’s what I gave you, Charlotte Rowe.” There’s a confidence she’s never heard in his voice before. “That’s what Zypraxon is. It literally converts your fear into strength. Into survival. That’s what you did tonight, Charley. You survived. And no matter what happened with Jason inside that house, you have nothing to be ashamed of. There is never shame in surviving.”