Salvation in Death (In Death #27)(48)

“I’m not here about my sins.”

“Sins are the weight holding us down, keeping us from reaching up for the hand of God!”

“Want some absolution?” Lino offered. “I give it out daily, twice on Saturday. Can’t buy that ticket into heaven without paying for salvation.”

“Neither of you are who you pretend to be.”

“Are any of us?” Jenkins demanded. “Let’s see the playback.”

The screen behind them flashed on. Dull red light blinking, blinking. Through the small window, SEX! LIVE SEX! beat that red light into the room where Eve, the child she’d been, shivered with the cold as she cut a tiny slice of a molding piece of cheese.

In the dream her heart began to thud. Her throat began to burn.

He was coming.

“I’ve seen this before.” Eve forced herself to keep her eyes on the screen, willed herself not to turn and run from what was coming.

He was coming.

“I know what he did. I know what I did. It doesn’t apply.”

“Judge not,” Lino advised as he shoved up the sleeve of his robes. As the tattoo on his arm began to bleed. “Lest you be judged.”

On-screen, her father—drunk but not drunk enough—struck her. And he fell on her. And he snapped the bone in her arm as he raped her. On the screen, she screamed, and on the stage, she felt it all. The pain, the shock, the fear, and at last, she felt the hilt of the knife in her hand.

She killed him, driving that knife into him, again and again, feeling the blood coat her hands, splatter on her face while her broken arm wept in agony. She stood on the stage and watched. Her stomach turned, but she watched until the child she’d been crawled into a corner, huddled like a wild animal.

“Confess,” Lino ordered her.

“Repent your sins,” Jenkins shouted.

“If that was a sin, I’ll take my lumps with God—if and when.”

“Penance,” Lino demanded.

“Rebirth,” Jenkins preached.

Together they shoved at the table of the altar so that it crashed to the stage, broke into jagged pieces of stone. From the coffin beneath, the bloody ghost of her father rose. And smiled.

“Hell’s waiting, little girl. It’s time you joined me there.”

Without hesitation, Eve drew her weapon, flipped it to full. And killed him again.

Wake up now, wake up, Eve. That’s enough now. You need to come back.”

She felt the warmth, the arms strong around her, the heart beating quick against hers. “Okay. Okay.” She could breathe here. She could rest here. “It’s done.”

“You’re cold. You get so cold.” Roarke pressed his lips to her temples, to her cheeks even as he rubbed the frigid skin of her arms, her back.

“She wasn’t there.”

“Who?”

“My mother. I thought, if I dreamed of any of it, if I went back or it came, she’d be there. Because of Solas, because of that. But it wasn’t about that. It wasn’t about her. I’m okay.”

“Let me get you some water.”

“No.” She tightened her arms around him. “Just stay.”

“Then tell me what it was about.”

He held her as she did, and the chill left her skin, left her bones, left her heart. “I killed him again. I didn’t feel all that fear or the rage or the desperation. I didn’t feel pleasure. It was just what I had to do. I could stand there, and I could watch it all happen on the screen, even feel it happening. Like I was in both places. But . . .”

“But?”

“It didn’t hurt as much, or scare me as much. I could watch and think: That’s over. It’s going to be all right. However long it takes, it’s going to be all right, because I’m going to do what I have to do. However many times I have to do it, he’ll still be dead. And I’m okay.”

“Lights on,” he ordered, “fifteen percent.” He needed to see, to see her clearly enough to be sure. And when he did, he cupped her face in his hands, kissed her brow. “Can you sleep again?”

“I don’t know. What time is it?”

“Nearly six now.”

She shook her head. “It’s nearly time anyway. I’ll get up, get started.”

“All right then, I’ll get that energy shake.”

She winced. “I knew you were going to say that.”

“And because you’re the love of my bloody life, I’ll drink one, too.”

10

SHE’D HAVE PREFERRED COFFEE, BUT SHE DOWNED the shake, which wasn’t as disgusting as it should’ve been.

“It tastes like a fruit bowl,” she decided. “On Zeus.”

“That’s rather the idea.” He studied what remained in his own glass, sighed just a little, then drank it. “Well then, that chore’s down.”

“Why don’t they make coffee-flavored ones?”

“There are all manner of coffee-flavored drinks, aren’t there? The point of a protein shake is drinking some-thing healthy. Something good for you, easily and quickly done.”

“Maybe more people would drink it if it tasted like something that wasn’t healthy that they actually liked. Then people who only drink them under duress might start going, mmm-mmm, I love me those fudgy, whipped protein shakes.”