Souls Unfractured (Hades Hangmen, #3)(93)

Because there was one haunting memory that Flame had yet to overcome. One barrier that he had yet to confront. Taking a deep breath, I prayed that it worked. Because if it did not, I was unsure if Flame would ever be freed from the cage in his mind.

Stepping out of the bath, I dried quickly and changed into leather pants and a black sweater, then tied my hair back in a tight braid. When I was ready, I left the bathroom to find Flame in the same position he had been in for days. He was slumped against the wall near the unlit fire, his finger travelling down the long blade in his hands… and his intense dark eyes were fixed on the end of the living room... to the hatch... the replica of the hatch that brought him so much pain in his younger years.

I noted his muscles tensed when I entered the room. And as he had done for the last few days, his hand tapped the floor beside him, wordlessly indicating for me to sit beside him.

This time, when I approached, I crouched at his feet instead. His eyes barely registered that I was wearing my leathers; he didn’t move. Reaching out, I took hold of his hand, and when his lost eyes blinked up, I gently demanded, “I need you to take us somewhere.”

Flame’s facial expression did not change, but the rise and fall of his chest told me he did not want to leave. I squeezed his hand, and whispered, “For me, Flame. Please do this for me.”

Flame dropped the blade, and he pushed his large body to his feet. Refusing to release my hand, he pulled me into his chest and asked, “Where are we going?”

"I need us to go into downtown Austin."

Flame numbly nodded his head, then asked, “Where?”

I closed my eyes, knowing this was going to be a battle. Then told him the street name. As soon as the words had left my mouth, Flame’s body had tensed, the hard muscles in his arms and chest pulling to their splitting point.

“No,” he snapped fiercely, and held me tighter. “No,” he repeated, just as powerfully.

Pushing back from his hard chest, I stretched to the tips of my toes. Placing my hands on his arms, I pleaded, “Trust me. I need you to come with me. I just… please, Flame… for me.” I pressed his hand against my heart and continued. “I love you. I would never do anything to hurt you. So, please, trust me. I am your Maddie. I would never steer you wrong.”

“Maddie,” Flame murmured, his dark eyes blinking.

“Trust me,” I pushed, and reluctantly Flame dropped his head. In seconds he had taken me outside to his bike. Minutes later we were on the road.

He drove slowly, and I knew he wanted to avoid what I needed him to face. I held him tightly the whole way. When we arrived, Flame parked our bike in front of the familiar white building.

His body was taught with apprehension. And I knew this was going to be difficult. But I wanted my Flame back. I wanted him to claw through whatever dark fog plagued and tortured his mind.

I slid off the bike, and stood beside Flame. Running my hand down his arm, I laid it over his hand. Flame sighed, then slid off his bike, his fingers immediately wrapping around mine.

As we stood on the sidewalk, Flame’s feet were firmly planted on the ground. Slowly, I coaxed him forward. He panicked, and admitted, “I don’t think I can go in.”

My heart clenched at the lost look on his face. Pulling him gently, I nodded my head. “Yes you can. This is not a bad place. You need to see that for yourself, Flame. You need to see that the places, the atrocities we endured growing up, were not the norm.” Flame’s expressionless face never moved. I reiterated with emphasis, “Trust me.”

Then Flame’s feet began to step forward. He followed me up the steep white steps, hand gripping mine iron-tight. Then we reached the top. The wooden doors were open.

Looking up at Flame’s tight jaw, I asked, “Are you ready?”

Flame’s teeth gritted, and he shook his head. “No,” he rasped, his eyes darting all around the church looking for what, I did not know?

“But will you follow me?” I prompted.

Flame, this time, did meet my eyes and he replied, “Anywhere.”

Releasing a sigh, I led Flame forward into the main body of the church. When I looked up, I saw him scanning the large building. We were alone in the church. For that, I was glad. Flame needed to see that this church was nothing like the one that had tied him down, and mistook his unique ways and look on life, as evil.

Guiding Flame to the pews, I sat down. My eyes caught sight of a picture of Pastor James hanging in the altar surrounded by candles and flowers, and my body washed with sadness. I knew that Styx had organized for her family to be told of her death, though anonymously. I didn’t know the details, but Mae had told me the conversation had transpired. And I knew they had been sent money. But seeing her kind face smiling from the picture, I did not think I would ever purge her death from my mind. And at the hands of a child, no less.

Flame sat beside me, as still as night. I could hear the heaviness of his breaths, and felt the rigidness of his hands. I was so unbelievably proud of him for coming here. Because he would do anything for me.

Flame’s head twitched as he absorbed the inside of the church. Then sighing, he looked to me and asked, “There are no snakes? No people writhing on the floor?”

“No,” I replied with the minimum of fuss, and laid my head upon his shoulder. “It is not the place you believe it to be.” I looked over to the statue of Jesus I used to hide behind, and said, “All those weeks ago, when you came here for me, fearing I was hurt. I was not.”