Endless (Shadowlands 3)

The surprise inside me manifested itself into one big, choking laugh.

“And then? How do we get the innocents out?” I asked.

“If a Lifer opens the door on purpose, for pure intentions or whatever, anyone who doesn’t belong in the Shadowlands will be set free.”

“Are you sure that’s all we have to do?” I asked, my skin on fire with anticipation. “There’s no price?”

“Nope. I guess the powers that be or whatever figured no Lifer would ever be crazy enough to try it.”

“Well, this one is.” I dropped to my knees again to be at eye level with him. “Thank you, Pete. Honestly. You have no idea what this means to me.” I reached out and clasped his forearm. “Thank you.”

Then I jumped up and grabbed the door handle. “Let’s go!”

“What? No way,” Krista replied. “You’re totally out of your mind. Who says he’s telling the truth? Who says you’re not gonna just get sucked into the Shadowlands, too?”

“Krista—”

“No. There’s no way I’m letting you do this without backup,” she said, shaking her head as she tugged out her walkie-talkie. She hit the button to speak, but I closed the gap between us with one long stride and grabbed her arm.

“Don’t.”

“Rory.”

“Krista, they’re going to try to stop me, and I won’t let them.” I snatched the walkie-talkie out of her hand and turned it off. “I’m going to the bridge, and I’m going to get my family back.”

I stared her straight in the eye. “Now, are you coming with me or not?”

“Please don’t do this, Rory. Please. You’re my best friend on this stupid island. I don’t want you to get stuck in the Shadowlands.”

“I won’t, Krista,” I told her, even though, technically, I had no idea what was about to happen.

Her cold fingers closed around my wrist as we slipped out the back door of the police station. The mayor’s car was parked just a few yards away. “How do you know that?”

My stomach clenched and I braced myself, trying not to look as terrified as I felt. “I just do,” I lied.

Another loud roar of anger went up from the crowd out front. Krista and I both froze, and my knees went weak. Tristan had lost them somehow. My eyes darted toward the front of the building, and I hesitated.

“Tristan?” Krista breathed.

I clenched my jaw. This was not the time to go running to my boyfriend’s side. I finally had the information I needed to save my father and Darcy. We each had a role to play, and mine was not here in town. It was up at the bridge. If I could just get there, if I could just free my family and the other innocent souls, everything would go back to normal. We could usher the visitors and set things right.

“We can’t help him,” I said. Someone shrieked angrily and a cheer rose up. “If anything goes wrong, they’ll get him somewhere safe. Don’t worry. Now, give me the keys.”

Krista’s eyes were wide and teary. “Please, Rory. Don’t make me. If something happens to you—”

“Give me the keys!” I snapped, frustrated.

Krista flinched, and a single, fat tear rolled down her face. She sniffled and drew the keys out of her pocket. Guilt consumed me, but I still snatched them away from her.

“I’m sorry, but I have to go,” I said, heading for the car. “The sooner I get up there, the sooner this is over.”

Krista hesitated, looking back and forth between me and the front of the building, as if she could see what was going on with Tristan. I had a feeling that, in the back of her mind, she was wondering whether she could get through the town square and up to her house alive so that she could hide under the covers until someone came to tell her everything was okay. Then another roar of ire rose up, and she bolted toward the car. When she climbed in beside me, she was soaking wet and crying.

I bit down on my tongue, gunned the engine, and headed for the hills.

“No way, Rory. Not gonna happen.”

Fisher proved to be a tough sell on the whole opening the door to the Shadowlands question. He stood between me and the bridge like my personal Great Wall of China, his legs planted firmly apart, his massive arms crossed over his chest as rain poured freely over his closely-shaved head and down his face and into the collar of his T-shirt. The guy had lost the jacket at some point, and now stood there with nothing but the gray tee sucked to his every muscle, and cargo pants that were soaked through to a dark shade of green. In another life, this guy could have made a killing as a professional wrestler. He just needed to get himself a few well-placed tattoos and a stupid nickname, and he was gold.