Personal Demon (Otherworld 8)

His chin dipped in a nod and that drum of chaos subsided.

He opened the door and stepped into the dark room, his head up, nose working. I could make out a dinette table and chairs, a small fridge and microwave, a sofa and a bank of maybe a half-dozen lockers. A staff lounge for the guards.

Karl's gaze moved to a closed door. Light shone under it.

"Stay right--" He bit the words off, chewed them over, then said, "Cover me."

I followed, gun ready, as he stopped outside the door, head tilted to listen as his nostrils flared. He turned the handle, then threw open the door.

A figure sat on the toilet, and my first impulse was to back out, apologizing. Then I saw the blood.

The man was slumped against the back of the toilet, mouth open. Male and under forty were the only characteristics I noticed, and not because of the extent of his injuries, but because I couldn't tear my gaze from those injuries long enough to notice anything else.

He'd been shot twice in the face, at close range. The first bullet had shattered his cheek. The second left his nose a mangled flap of gore, dripping blood.

I remembered the blinding flashlight beam and the shot. Had he seen death coming? Had he felt the bullet? Had he suffered at all? I hoped not, but somewhere from within me came an altogether different wish, not that the man suffered horribly, but that maybe, just a little spark of something, a flare of chaos that I could--

I swallowed hard and rubbed my hands over my face.

"It must be--" I whispered. "One of the guards. Paige said--"

The man's eyes opened. I fell back with a yelp.

Karl hauled me toward the door.

"What are you--?" I began. "He's alive. We have to--"

My words came out shrill and jumbled. I fumbled for my phone, but my fingers were shaking so badly I dropped it. As I wrenched against Karl's grasp, the man gave a low moan. My gaze flew to his.

His eyes were so blank and empty, I was certain that groan had been his last, that I hadn't reacted fast enough, that I should have--

His lips parted, a bloody froth bubbled and I stared, transfixed.

"He's gone, Hope."

"Gone? Are you crazy?" I tried to pull away. "He's alive. Can't you see?"

I wrenched around, saw those blank eyes and knew Karl was right. Not a lick of chaos emanated from the man--no fear, no pain, just emptiness. But I kept struggling to get to him, because there was the off-chance I was wrong and I would not walk away. The impulse to help was still there, not yet buried under that lust for chaos, and I clung to it with everything I had.

Karl pulled me to the door. I could see him talking, but his words floated past unheard. Then came two that didn't: Paige and Lucas.

I reached for my phone. "We have to call--"

He took the phone, stuffed it into my pocket and caught my hands when I went for it again.

"You won't stop me from warning them, Karl. I won't let--"

His grip went tight enough to hurt now, face coming down to mine.

"That guard is still bleeding, Hope. That means he was just shot, and whoever shot him was taking him out before going after Benicio--before heading into the house."

"Which is why we have to warn--"

"And set off Paige's cell phone? Yes, we have to warn them. But not that way."

He scooped up my gun, which I hadn't even realized I no longer held. When I reached for it, he held it just out of reach. His gaze searched mine then, without a word, he handed it back and we hurried from the building.

LUCAS