Rapture

“I knocked,” Ad said dryly.

The other guy finished the job, cranked the sweatpants’ tie tight around his waist, and tucked in his Caldwell Red Wings T-shirt. “You’re lucky I didn’t shoot you.”

Sure enough, the gun wasn’t far, and Ad knew for a fact that it had been reloaded after the showdown in the forest. Still, it wasn’t like the forty was capable of doing anything more than annoy him.

“You off to somewhere?” Ad asked.

Moving fast, the man sat down on the edge of the bed and shoved his feet into those black Nikes. “You always so good with doors?”

“I’m good with a lot of things.”

Matthias paused. “You’re limping, you know that?”

Ad shrugged. “Bad foot.”

“Bullshit.”

“I’ve said all I’m going to.”

Matthias cursed as he got up to collect his wallet and windbreaker. “Okay, fine. But we’ve got to leave—the cops are on the way. Or will be shortly.”

“Why?”

“Mels is going to them right now—she figured out that Jim and I got busy in the basement here the other night. My memory’s back, by the way.”

“Everything?”

“Yup.”

Shit. “Congratulations.”

“Not really.” The man was speaking quick and concisely. “Listen, Jim said I’m going to face a crossroads?”

Ad nodded. “What happened to your girl?”

“She figured out who I really was.”

“That’s so not going to help us.”

“Well, the eye-opener helped her, and that’s more important. I should never have been with the woman.”

On that note, Matthias got quiet, and yeah, wow, you could practically smell the wood burning.

“I know what I have to do,” he said after a moment. “It’s the only way…to make things right. I know exactly what to do.”

Ad let his head fall back in frustration. What this situation did not need was any more bright ideas.

“We’ve gotta blow this place,” Matthias said, as he stalked to the door. “But first, a little breaking and entering on the way out.”

“Isn’t that an oxymoron?”

As the guy just walked into the hallway, Adrian cursed and snagged the cane from where it was by the television built-in thingy.

Turned out it was a good call—the old-man affect increased his speed. Hard to get used to needing the thing, however.

Not really his style.

* * *

As Matthias hit the emergency exit into the stairwell, and started descending the concrete steps, Mels’s voice dogged him.

It was lies, all of it—wasn’t it.

That one sentence, over and over again, like a repeating rifle—or a machine gun—until he prayed for the amnesia to come back.

The tragedy was that nothing around how he’d felt about her had been anything less than the God’s honest truth. Same with the physical condition he’d been in, and his sense of where he’d been…and where he was in danger of returning.

But over the course of his life? Shit, yeah, there had been too many deceptions to count.

And that was what he was going to take care of.

With him leaving her as she had, and his memory now back in full force, there was no way he couldn’t do something about the web of lies and evil he’d spun for so long.

This was indeed the reckoning he’d earned, and he was damn well going to pay the price…and do the right thing. Finally.

Keeping up the quick, silent pace down the stairwell, it dawned on him that his partner in crime, so to speak, was probably not making the kind of time he was. Which was so fucked-up. Glancing over his shoulder, he—

Matthias stopped dead and gripped the rail.

The bastard behind him was hovering about three inches over the stairs, ghosting above them like he had anti-gravity shoes on.

“What are you?” Matthias breathed.

Instantly, the man’s combat boots went terra firma. “Nothing special.”

“Bullshit.”

“Aren’t we running from the cops? Do you really want to do this now?”

Guy had a point, but there was a lot at stake. If only in the mental-health department. “Just answer me one thing. Which side are you on? And before you hit me with another round of ‘no BFD,’ I know where I’ve been—and I’m not talking about the Middle East.”

“I’m on the side that thinks it’s good.”

“Which tells me nothing. Even the devil believes he’s right.”

“She’s not.”

“She, huh.” As the guy shrugged like they were talking about sports…or cars…or the Thursday-night lineup on NBC, Matthias cursed softly. “So you know the devil, and you’re just a normal guy. You assume all of my injuries, internal and otherwise, and you’re nothing special.”

The roommate lifted one shoulder again, and looked utterly unconcerned with whatever mind-fuck Matthias was rocking.

It was lies, all of it—wasn’t it.

“You know,” Matthias said roughly, “I’ve heard about the devil—that he—that she is a great liar.”

“It’s the only thing you can trust.”

“Guess I got that in common with her.”

“You do, but times change, don’t they.”

“How does Jim Heron fit into this?”

Adrian exhaled like he was ancient. “Worry about yourself, Matthias. That’s the only advice I can give you— just do the right thing, even if it hurts.”

Matthias focused on that cloudy eye—which had been his own just twelve hours ago. “Speaking from firsthand experience?”

“Not at all. Now, shouldn’t we be running from the CPD?”

Abruptly, he thought about the night with Mels. Shit had ended so very badly, but the night…and everything that had had to do with her…had helped him find his soul. Without that, and without her, he would have just left Caldwell—and his past—behind.

“Thank you,” Matthias murmured. “I owe you.”

“I don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about.”

Clearly, he was knocking on a door that was locked, dead-bolted, chained, and barred. Fine. He knew how that was—gratitude could be harder to bear than pain.

At least he knew what to do. There was just one more thing….

“Is Jim like you,” he demanded.

The guy looked like he was so done with the talking, he was ready to scream, but tough shit.

“Tell me,” Matthias barked. “I gotta have some kind of solid in this.”