The Retribution of Mara Dyer (Mara Dyer, #3)(84)

I swallowed my sadness, for him, for myself.

“It’ll just look like I’m going to sleep.” I glanced at the laptop. Jamie’s eyes were wide with horror. My brother’s were closed. I realized I’d never see them open again, and that was the moment I started to cry.

“Jamie,” I said, catching my breath, “Tell my brother—tell him I love him.”

Jamie nodded silently. Tears streamed down his face.

“Tell him I’m sorry.”

“Mara,” my friend said.

“Tell him he’s my hero. And, Jamie?”

He sniffed. “Yeah?”

“Make him forget what he knows about me. Make him forget all of this. Can you do that?”

“I don’t know.”

“Can you try?”

His chin trembled. “God, you’re so demanding.”

A laugh escaped from my mouth.

“I’ll try,” he said. “You know I’ll try.”

“You’re a good friend.”

“I know,” he said back. “You’re not so bad yourself.”

“Yes I am.”

“Mara,” David said. “You should hurry.” He didn’t say it unkindly.

I hated him, but it was a cold, distant kind of hate. I would see him in hell, someday, and punish him there. But right now I just wanted to love Noah. I wanted to leave the world feeling that.

I looked at the boy I loved, the one who saved me, every day. He was so hurt. I didn’t know what to say to him, but he seemed to know what I needed.

He scooped me up from the table and carried me, the way a groom would carry a bride. We walked a little bit, but not far; I needed to be able to see my brother. I wasn’t ready to leave him yet.

David and Jude gave us space. They knew we weren’t going anywhere. There was nowhere else to go.

Noah unfolded me into his half-kneeling lap. He wrapped one hand around my stomach and the other over my chest. My soft cheek was against his rougher one, his mouth pressed against my shoulder. Once upon a time his lips on my skin would have made me forget myself. I could laugh and joke and pretend with him, and his voice would drown out the thoughts inside me that no one should ever hear. But he couldn’t change me. No one could. I was still poison, and even Noah couldn’t make me forget it anymore.

My chin trembled as I said what Noah needed to hear. “It’s not—it’s not my fault,” I whispered.

“Again.”

“It’s not my fault,” I lied, louder this time.

Noah uncapped the syringe, his face ashen, and I held out my arm.

I think that was when I knew, for real, that there would be no SWAT team barging in to save us. No epic battles would be fought in some cinematic climax. There would be no screaming, no explosions. It was just us. Two people and a choice.

“I won’t even feel it,” I said, trying not to imagine all of the conversations we would never have. That was what I would miss most, I realized. Just being able to tell him things. There was still so much to say.

“I love you,” I whispered against his neck. Noah held me tighter, not saying it back—I knew he couldn’t speak. Then, without warning, I felt a tiny prick in my arm, which deepened into a burning sting. I managed a crappy smile as Noah plunged the contents of the syringe into my veins. “Thank you,” I said when he was done. He held his fingers over the puncture wound. His breath caught, trapping a silent sob. He was so brave.

“If Daniel’s still—” My chest felt tight, and I opened my mouth, trying to swallow more air. “If he’s still sick when I’m—and your father doesn’t—”

“I will,” Noah said hoarsely. He looked so fierce and beautiful. I would miss that face.

“Find him,” I said. My words slurred, and my eyelids drooped. My breath was too shallow. “Fix him,” I said with my last one, and then the world went dark.





60


BEFORE


Laurelton, Rhode Island


Naomi gave birth to a healthy baby boy that day. You have just been born.

When your mother was pregnant with Daniel, I spent countless nights wondering if he would be Afflicted, like me. But within hours of his birth, the professor declared him safe and healthy. The second I saw you, I knew you would not be so blessed.

The professor told me about the Shaw child, what he would become, but not the consequences of it—that you would become something too.

I’ve discovered what actually happened on that night when I believed I seduced the professor.

He had known it would happen. He knew that your mother would be born, that you would someday as well. I’d thought I was his partner, but I was only a tool.

I raged at him for what he had allowed to happen. For what would someday happen to you. He lied, said he couldn’t have changed it. Said, “She cannot become other than what she is.”

He is right about that.

You will make a difference in this world, child, whether you want to or not. Most people are like sand, the impact of their lives washed away by years. They cause no lasting damage, no lasting benefit.

You are not most people.

You are like fire; you will burn wherever you go. If contained, channeled, you can bring light, but you will also always cast a shadow. You can choose to end life or choose to give it, but punishment will follow every reward. And if your fire is unchecked, you will burn through lives and history. The closer anyone gets to you, the more at risk they are of falling under your shadow, or being consumed by your flame. You will have to pretend to be other than what you are. You must wear enough armor so that no one can see or touch you. It isn’t your fault. It’s nothing you did. You cannot change who you are, any more than you can change black eyes to blue. You can only accept it. If you fight yourself, you will lose, and fighting leaves scars. But you will survive them. I have survived many. You will do good things you will regret, and bad things you won’t, but you must keep going, for my daughter’s sake if not your own. She loves you so much already.