conscience. And the way he knew that was because as he thought of the fact that he’d killed a relatively innocent man, in front of a woman who loved him, the pain got exponentially worse.
Wasn’t this ironic. Somehow, in the depths of his sin, the sociopath had found his soul.
Too late.
Ah, hell, that was okay, though. He was going to be dead soon, and after that nothing mattered. The white light that had come for him before, when he’d coded on the operating table a couple of times, was going to stick around this time. He didn’t think it was Heaven. The shit was probably a figment of some ocular malfunction, just another part of the mechanics of dying—
Isaac appeared in front of him, standing tall and strong, his sweatshirt open to show a bulletproof vest.
When he was certain he was seeing correctly, Matthias started to laugh . . . and the pain in his left side abruptly eased.
“Son of a . . .” He didn’t get out the
After it had passed, he could feel blood leaking out of his mouth and down his cheek as his heart started to bang around in his rib cage like an animal thrashing in a cage.
As Isaac got down on his haunches, Matthias thought about that tattoo on the man’s back. Grim Reaper, indeed. He wondered if the soldier would go and get another notch tattooed on the bottom.
How much you want to bet it would be the final one, too?
Isaac shook his head and whispered, “I have to let you die. You know that, right.”
Matthias nodded. “Thank . . . you . . .”
He lifted his frozen hand and, a moment later, felt it encased in something warm and solid. Isaac’s.
So weird how things worked out. Back in that desert, Jim had set out to save him, but here and now, in this kitchen, Isaac was giving him what he’d wanted all along.
Before Matthias closed his eyes for the last time, he looked over at Alistair Childe. His daughter had freed him and he was embracing her, holding her safe, his head down next to hers. As if the man felt the stare that was upon him, he glanced up.
The relief in his face was epic, like he knew Matthias was dying and never coming back—and that even though that wouldn’t resurrect the son he had lost, it would protect his and his daughter’s future for evermore.
Matthias nodded at the guy and then shut his lids in preparation for the great nothingness that was coming. God, he was hungry for it. His life hadn’t been a gift to himself or the world, and he was looking forward to not existing.
As he waited out the stretch of neither here nor there, when he wasn’t really alive, but not quite dead, he thought of Alistair the night his son had died.
“. . . Dan . . . ny . . . boy . . . my Danny boy . . .”
Matthias frowned and then realized he hadn’t just thought the words, but spoken them aloud.
They were the same ones he’d said right before he’d put his foot on that bomb trigger.
At that moment, white light came upon him, a product of the numbness . . . or maybe it had walked through the sensation as if the feeling was a door. Upon its arrival, a great, peaceful calm overtook his mind, body, and soul sure as if he had been wiped clean of all the sins he’d imagined or wrought during his time on Earth.
The illumination was so much more than anything his eyes were doing. It was all he saw, all he knew, all he was.
Heaven did actually exist.
And oh, the lovely nothingness . . . ah, the blissful—
In the corners of his nonvision, a gray fog boiled up, at first appearing as nothing distinct, but then expanding and darkening to a blackness that started to eat at the light.
Matthias fought against the invasion, his instincts telling him that this was not what he wanted—but it wasn’t a battle he would win.
The fog became tar, coating him and claiming him, pulling him downward into a spiral that tightened, tightened . . . tightened . . . until he was flushed out into a sea of others.
As he writhed against the choking, cloaking tide, he bumped into flailing bodies.
Trapped in an oily black infinity, he screamed . . . along with the rest of them.
But no one came. No one cared. Nothing happened.
His eternity had finally claimed him and it was never going to let him go.
CHAPTER 50
“He’s dead.”
As Isaac spoke the words, he rose to his feet and took a deep breath. Across the way, Grier and her father were wrapped tightly around each and he gave himself a moment to appreciate the sight of them alive, and well, and together.
Thank you, God, he thought—in spite of the fact that he wasn’t a religious man.
“Stay here,” he told them before going around and shutting and locking the back door.
It took him ten minutes to search and secure the whole house and the final thing he did was go to the front door and double-check that the dead bolts were properly engaged—
Isaac frowned and looked through a window onto the lawn. There was a small dog out there . . . standing on stocky legs, with his head cocked as he stared in at Isaac. Cute little thing . . . could use a haircut, but that happened to the best of men and boys and terriers.
Isaac cracked the door and called out, “You live here?”
While that head tilted to the other side, Isaac searched the front yard and prayed that at any minute Jim Heron would step out of the trees.
Nothing but the dog, however.
“You want to come in?” he said to the animal.
The thing seemed to smile as if it appreciated the kind invitation. But then it turned and trotted off, a slight limp listing him to the right.
Between one blink and the next the thing disappeared.
Theme song of the fucking night, Isaac thought as he shut the door again.
As soon as he walked into the kitchen, Grier broke away from her father and came running at him, hitting his body hard, her arms wrapping around him with vital strength. And with a sigh of gratitude, he held her against him, tucking her head into his chest, feeling her heart beat against his.
“I love you,” she said against the bullet proof vest. “I’m sorry. I love you.”
Shit, so he’d heard her right when he’d been on the floor.
“I love you, too.” Shifting her face up, he kissed her. “Even though I don’t deserve you.”
“Shut up.”
Now she was the one kissing him and he was more than willing to let her—but not for long. All too soon, he was breaking off the contact.
“Listen, I want you and your father to do something for me.”
“Anything.”
He glanced at the clock. Nine fifty-nine. “Go back to town—somewhere public. One of your private clubs or something. I want you both to be seen tonight, together. Tell people you had dinner or saw a movie. A father- daughter thing.”
As her eyes shot to Matthias’s body, her father said, “I can help.”
“
Isaac stepped back and shook his head. “I’ll take care of the bodies. Better that neither of you know where they end up. I’ll deal with this—but you have to go now.”
The Childes looked like they were in the mood for arguing, but he was having none of that. “Think about it. It’s all over. Matthias is dead. So is his second in command. With them gone, XOps will return to what it should
