Rage, page 27
Joey stopped and tipped his head, listening. Joyce tried to bustle him forward, but he didn’t move. He turned with a slow smile of recognition and started walking toward Spyder and Blaize. Joyce reached for him, but he brushed her aside and opened his mouth to join Spyder in song.
Blaize watched Joey approach. He had the voice of an angel and it blended with Spyder’s in perfect harmony. She wasn’t sure how she’d known the song was the key. She just did. Listening, she realized that Spyder had instinctively changed the lyrics, substituting the words “burn the page”. Yes, she thought. That’s exactly the way it was meant to be.
The very air seemed to crystallize around them, becoming pure and clear. Something truly magical happened. Blaize felt her body tingle as Spyder and Joey’s voices harmonized, rising with the gentle whisper of a breeze, swirling and twining, then falling like the cascade of a waterfall as two became one. Their combined voice was the singular most beautiful sound she had ever heard.
She moved toward Joey, but his eyes stayed focused on Spyder as they sang together. He passed her and she kept moving forward, blocking Joyce’s path. She held up her hands, trying to stop Joyce from dragging Joey back.
“Joyce,” she cried, struggling with her friend. “Let him go.”
The others were too far away, intent on getting to the fire. Joyce was the only one standing in their way. But Joyce fought like a tiger, clawing and scratching and pummeling Blaize’s chest.
“Joyce, look at me!” She tried to catch her eye, but Joyce’s gaze was distant and cold. She gripped her friend’s shoulders tight and shook. “Joyce, please.”
Behind her she could hear the singing rise to a crescendo, now joined by an unseen choir. The song rippled outward in translucent waves, bringing harmony to every living thing it came in contact with.
And suddenly Joyce stopped struggling. Her grip loosened and recognition came into her eyes. She blinked and ran her fingers through her hair. “Blaize?” she asked, as if seeing her for the first time.
“Yes,” Blaize said, relief flooding through her. “It’s me.” She reached out and hugged her friend, hugged her so tight she felt the air leave her lungs.
But their reunion was short-lived as a wraith-like image appeared in an upper window, screaming and gesturing madly. “Stop them,” he screamed to Joyce. As the face took substance, Blaize recognized Pierce. His voyage of madness was now complete—eyes red-rimmed, hair wild, gun waving madly and punctuating his bellowing voice.
For a moment Joyce seemed to waver. She looked from Pierce to Blaize and back, her loyalties divided. Blaize saw her struggle. But she also saw the cobalt blue steel of the gun. Pierce might not shoot at Spyder with Joey beside him, but she had no such protection. She was right out in the open and Pierce had a clear shot at her.
The next series of events happened in such rapid succession she barely had time to react or comprehend.
Joyce took a step back and turned to face Pierce, shielding Blaize with her body. “No,” she shouted up at him. “It’s over.”
But Pierce wasn’t giving up. Joyce yelped. She grabbed her shoulder, spun and stumbled backward even before Blaize heard the crack of gunfire and knew her friend had been hit. Joyce fell, nearly toppling them both over before Blaize caught her.
Joyce slid from her grasp, blood spreading like a tropical bloom across her shoulder. Her fingers clutched Blaize’s forearms. “Joey,” she gasped. “Take care of him.” Then she crumpled to the ground unconscious.
“I told you to stop them,” Pierce screamed, still brandishing the gun.
Blaize was a sitting target. She had no doubt that bullet had been meant for her and only Pierce’s incompetence had saved her life. But she couldn’t count on his bad aim a third time. Leaving her friend’s side, she started running toward the building.
She called out to Spyder behind her. “Take Joey away from here. Quick, before someone else comes.”
She was relieved to see Spyder scoop the boy up and turn in the other direction without an argument. Whatever happened, at least Joey would be safe. Spyder would take care of him.
She ran, expecting to dodge bullets along the way, but the window was ominously dark now. She pushed through the doorway, trying to remember the layout of the building. One wrong turn brought her into the kitchen area. She’d missed the stairway. She turned, trying to get her bearings. Before she could decide which direction to head, the back door off the kitchen crashed open.
She spun, choking with relief to see Gate running toward her. He was covered with soot and the smell of gasoline shimmered around him, as if he’d doused himself in it.
“You’re a mess,” she said.
“I had to drag one of the cult members out of the chapel kicking and screaming before I could set off the diversion.”
“Some diversion,” she said. “Did you have to set the whole damned place on fire?”
“It worked, didn’t it?” he shot back, turning her in the right direction and racing her up the stairs.
As they reached the upper landing, she warned, “Spyder said it was the first door on the left. Be careful, though. Pierce has a gun.”
“I saw,” Gate replied, grunting as he forced the door to Pierce’s room open.
At first Blaize thought the room was empty. The only thing moving was the licking flames from the fireplace on the opposite wall, which was littered with half-consumed manuscript pages. More sheets lay on the desk just to the right of the fireplace. She ran into the room and scooped them up, whispering, “Burn…burn the page,” as she fed them into the fireplace.
Then there was a whoop as Pierce jumped out from behind the door where he’d been lurking. He grabbed Gate, trapping his arms at his side in a bear hug, the gun pressed against Gate’s ribs. “I’ve got you now,” Pierce screamed. “I’m sending you back into the book!” Maniacal laughter was cut off mid-stream as Gate threw himself forward, sending both of them tumbling.
Locked together, they hit the floor. The impact jarred the gun loose from Pierce’s hand and sent it skittering across the floor, out of her reach. Blaize backed against the desk as the men wrestled in the opposite corner.
Gate twisted, trapping Pierce beneath him. “The disk,” Gate yelled at her, his hands clamped around Pierce’s wrists. “Find the disk.”
Adrenaline pumping through her body, Blaize turned and tore the desk apart, opening drawers and dumping them upside down as the two men struggled.
Nothing.
With a roar, Pierce threw Gate off and jumped to his feet, pointing at Blaize. “Get back in the book!” His nostrils flared and his eyes burned with a fierce glow. “Get back in the book so I can delete you!” His eyes flicked to the right and that quick, sly glance gave him away. She knew where to look for the disk now.
Gate kicked the back of Pierce’s knees, knocking him off his feet. Pierce’s jaw hit the floor with a sickening crack, and Blaize turned to see where Pierce’s glance had landed before he’d gone down. She knew she’d found it the moment she spotted the slim black laptop computer on a chair beside the doorway. She reached it in three quick strides and hit the eject button on the side of the machine.
“I’ve got it,” she yelled, when the disk slid out into her hand. But Pierce was back on his feet, coming at her again. Blood poured from his split lip and his laughter formed crimson bubbles that burst with a wet, bloody splatter. The open doorway was to her left, escape inches from her fingers.
Gate came up behind Pierce, grabbing him and pulling him away from Blaize. The two danced together, their bodies silhouetted by the roaring flames of the fire.
Blaize’s eyes widened. The gun. Their struggling had sent it skittering inches away from the fireplace. “Gate, the gun!” she yelled, knowing she couldn’t get to it in time. He turned, but not fast enough.
Without stopping to think, she threw the disk. It spun in the air, arcing over Pierce’s shoulder and landing in the fireplace. The room filled with the smell of melting plastic and buckling metal.
The fire hissed and flared, then seemed to leap forward, reaching out with hungry tongues of flame toward the gun. Blaize screamed, but her scream was drowned out in an explosion that pushed a wall of hot air into her chest.
There was a whoosh as the flames reached Gate’s flammable clothes and ignited. For a moment Gate and Pierce seemed to dance in a column of fire. She tried to fight her way toward them, but Gate’s gasoline-soaked clothing seemed to pull the flames from the fireplace. He held tightly, trapping Pierce in his grip, the two of them forming a human pyre.
Then another explosion rocked the room, throwing her back against the wall and into deep, black oblivion.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Joyce struggled upward through a shadowy curtain of consciousness. It felt as if something was gnawing on her shoulder, ripping chunks of flesh and bone, but when she waved her arms, there was nothing there. Only pain. Then she remembered Pierce framed in the upper window waving a gun. She remembered being shot, spinning down, down, down. And Blaize… Oh God, was Blaize all right?
She tried to sit up, but her head spun dizzily. Where was Joey? She tried again, propping herself on her elbow and biting the inside of her cheek to keep from screaming. She had to find Joey. It was important. These last few weeks felt like a dream. Everything but her need to keep Joey safe.
She rolled onto her knees, taking deep breaths in an effort to push herself up. But an explosion ripped through the air and nearly sent her sprawling again. She lifted her head and saw smoke pouring from the window where Pierce had been. Smoke and fire and…Gate? She sucked in a breath and focused. It couldn’t be. Gate burning, screaming, his arms reaching out to her as his face melted and blistered.
No! That had been a dream. It wasn’t real. She squeezed her eyes shut and shook her head to clear the vision, chanting over and over, “It’s not real, it was just a dream. Gate’s not here.” When she looked back the vision was gone, but the smoke was darker, the fire hotter. What if he was here? She couldn’t just sit there and do nothing.
With a grunt, she dragged herself to her feet. Her shoulder throbbed, sending spikes of pain through her with each movement she made. But that was nothing compared to the anguish in her heart as she realized that her worst nightmare was coming true.
Spyder had no intention of leaving Blaize to face Pierce alone. The guy was a freaking maniac. He’d taken Joey as far as the shed and asked him to wait there. He knew he was taking a chance, but when Joey promised to wait for him, the trust and sincerity in his eyes assured Spyder the boy would be there when he returned. He’d left Joey perched on a sleek black and neon green Arctic Cat and ran to help Blaize.
Four hundred feet from the building the first explosion hit, sending shock waves rippling through his body.
Two hundred feet and fire blew out the upstairs windows, showering him with glittering shards of glass. Tongues of flame scorched the sides of the building as they licked upward from the shattered window.
One hundred feet and he saw movement at the front door as something or someone separated itself from the billowing smoke.
Fifty feet and he recognized Joyce, hunched over and bleeding, favoring her bloody shoulder as she dragged an unconscious Blaize from the building.
“Let her be alive,” he prayed. “God, please let her be alive.” And he kept praying until he reached her and found the steady heartbeat, felt the sweet and soft rush of her breath.
“Thank you,” he breathed to whatever power had answered his prayers. He scooped Blaize up, carrying her away from the burning building.
She was all right. Dazed and bruised, but she was all right. Her eyes fluttered as he held her against his chest and carried her to the shed where Joey was waiting, as he’d promised. He laid her down and went back for Joyce, who’d passed out a few yards behind him. She was in much worse shape than Blaize.
As desperate as he was to escape, he’d waited while Joey placed his hands on Joyce’s shoulder, healing her shoulder in the same way he’d healed Spyder’s ragged wounds.
But Joyce had lost a lot of blood and remained unconscious.
“We can go,” Blaize said, her voice trembling. “It’s destroyed.”
“What about Gate?” he asked, even though he knew no one could have survived inside that inferno.
She closed her eyes and shook her head, tears streaking her cheeks. He didn’t ask her to elaborate. Not now.
Spyder carried Joyce’s limp form to the Jeep. Blaize insisted she could walk and held tight to Joey’s hand. No one tried to stop them. The few cult members left nearby shuffled around in a blank-eyed daze.
With Joyce lying unconscious in the backseat and Joey curled on Blaize’s lap, he drove away, watching the compound burn in his rear-view mirror. He couldn’t shake the feeling there was something they’d missed. Something they still had to fight. Something. Just nerves, he told himself. Just nerves.
When they were a safe distance from the compound, Spyder pulled off to the side of the road. He turned to Blaize on the seat beside him and ran his curled fingers along her jaw, knowing he’d never have to fear closing his hands around that fragile neck again. He’d never have to worry that someone else would control his actions like a crazed puppeteer, making him murder the woman he loved.
He could feel a trembling deep within her, something he suspected would take a long time to heal. When she was ready to speak, it all came out in a torrent. In a dazed voice she told him what had happened upstairs and how Gate and Pierce had died.
“So the gun exploded when it hit the fire?” he asked.
She hesitated, then turned, a thoughtful frown on her face. “I wanted to think that. I wanted to believe it. But…”
He waited, letting her find her own way through the maze of haunting memories.
Finally she took a deep, quivering breath. “But the explosion came before the fire touched the gun,” she admitted. “I saw it. I saw it happen the moment the disk went into the flames. It happened when I destroyed the final copy of Pierce’s book.”
He shook his head. Why not? It was no more incredible than anything else they’d encountered. Pierce’s final book had died screaming in a fit of rage.
Spyder pulled onto the road again, knowing that the best comfort he could give Blaize at this point was to take her as far away from Pierce’s nightmare as possible. They were quiet for another few miles as they wound their way down the mountainside. When Blaize spoke again, the defeat in her voice tugged at his heart.
“I’ll never know the truth,” she said. “I’ll never know if I was responsible for Richard’s death.”
“Not you,” Joyce murmured from the backseat.
Spyder glanced in the rear-view mirror and saw Joyce struggling to sit up. He tried to stop her, but she was determined.
Joyce reached forward and clasped Blaize’s hand between the bucket seats. “It wasn’t you,” she repeated. “Gaderian did it.” Her voice was weak and trembling, but firm with conviction. “I heard him telling Mother Moon. He killed Richard. They only needed you to believe you’d done it.”
Blaize slumped, half turned in the seat, still gripping her friend’s hand. “Thank God,” she whispered, her voice muffled as she pressed her face against the headrest. Her shoulders heaved with silent sobs.
Spyder wanted to hold her, rock her, wipe all her fears away. It would be a long time before they put all the pieces together, but at least she wouldn’t have to live with that question unanswered. “You weren’t responsible,” he said, echoing Joyce’s words. “None of us were. We were all unwilling actors in Pierce’s Play.”
After a long silence, she turned to him. “What about us?” she asked, the emotion still hitching her voice. “We’re only here…only together because of his book.
It broke his heart to hear the resignation in her voice. “I don’t buy that,” he said. “Maybe Pierce could throw us into each other’s paths. Maybe he could push us together. Maybe. But he can’t control my feelings. He can’t take my breath away when you walk into the room. He can’t force my heart to thunder in my chest when you smile at me. He can’t make me want to be a better man for you, when God knows I’ve been a failure at it up until now. He can’t make me love you. You did that.”
How could he convince her? He wanted to reach out and smooth away the worry lines from her forehead. “Don’t you see?” he asked. “Maybe we’d never have met if not for that book. But now that we have, I can’t live without you. I won’t. I don’t care what’s written in that damn book.”
She nodded, but he could see it was more to ease his worries than to absolve herself. Maybe she didn’t believe him now, but he’d have a lifetime to convince her, a lifetime he intended to spend at her side. For now all he could do was reassure her that they were safe. The book was destroyed.
The curtain had come down on The Play.
Epilogue
Blaize watched snowflakes flutter outside the window of her classroom, turning the world soft and clean. It looked as if they’d have a white Christmas after all.
Her students were restless, but teens were always restless. The fact that today was the last day before Christmas break only added to their hyperactivity. She gave up the pretense and sent them to the computer labs to work off some of their energy with a few games of Doom or solitaire. She sat at her desk and made a note to herself to pick up the cake she’d ordered for Joey’s birthday.
Thinking of Joey brought a smile to her face. The last eight months had brought both trials and incredible joys into her life. She and Spyder had petitioned the courts to adopt the orphaned boy. No one else had come forward to lay claim to him.
It was no surprise. With the key players dead, the rest of the commune members had scattered. Not a single one had come forward, even after Joyce published a series of award-winning articles about the dangers of subversive cults in modern society. Joyce’s articles had cast blame on Mother Moon’s cult for both the destruction of the newspaper offices and the death of Gate Wayne, who was praised for his heroic actions after the cult leader’s murder.
