Page 105 of Ghost Hunted

“It’s okay, Logan. It’s okay. Vincent is going to get her. She’ll be okay, and you’re going to make it right. If you need to be cruel, you can be cruel to me; I can take it. She can’t. But you’re soft. You’ve always been soft, and from now on, that’s the only side she’ll get. You’re going to show her the real you. The person you’ve always been, under the layers of hurt. Please look at me, Logan. It’s okay.”

I can’t remember the last time Damien spoke so gently, and some vague part of me realizes my reaction must really be freaking him out. But I can’t do anything but succumb to the terror and pain that have overtaken me.

“It’s going to be okay,” he repeats for what feels like the tenth time.

The engine turns on, and I know he’s taking us back to Devil Tower. But every second I’m away from her feels like agony, and we’re hours away.

I close my eyes, allowing myself to give in to my overpowering helplessness.

33

Logan

“Hi, baby.”

“Oh, fuck. Fuck!”

If my heart hadn’t been shattered to pieces before, it would be now, as the relief I feel at seeing my love open her eyes turns to pain.

She’s alive, and she wishes she weren’t.

Forcing aside my despair, I try on a playful tone. “Silly girl. Why did you do it?”

I know why; I spent the hours she was in an induced coma obsessively listening to the words she spoke just before she hung herself.

She tries to turn from me and winces. I can tell she’s suffering despite the medication dripping through the IV. I try to stroke her hair, but despite her pain, she manages to edge away, and my fingers land instead on the plaster around her neck.

She has a fracture, but her neck isn’t fully snapped in two, so Vincent is still alive.

“Do you want me to go?” I ask after a few moments of watching her look at everyone but at me.

A humorless laugh leaves her lips. “It doesn’t matter what I want.”

“Of course it does, Lia.” I manage to latch onto her hand before she can pull it away, and squeeze it. “It matters very much.”

“Really?” She turns her head again, grimacing from the effort. “Would you go if I told you to?”

I hesitate. “Maybe not.”

She closes her eyes, heaving out a sigh.

“That doesn’t mean it doesn’t matter.” I’m starting to feel like Quill, trying and utterly failing to speak in a non-psychopath way. “What you want matters very much, even if I don’t… if I can’t…”

“You can, Logan,” she snaps. “You just won’t. You could show some respect for me and leave the room. That’s all I’m asking. And you could do it.”

“No, I can’t. I really can’t.” I hold her hand, my eyes glued to hers, trying to make her understand. “I can’t leave you, Lia. I can’t lose you again. Please.”

“Well, I’m here.” She sighs. “So do your worst.”

I don’t answer, merely shaking my head as she turns her from me, so desperate, it seems, to not look at me, that she would rather endure what I can tell must be a lot of pain.

We sit silently like that for a long time—her, looking out the window, me, looking at her—until her eyelids droop, and she falls asleep.

Only then do I let go of her hand, carefully laying it on my lap, so I can pick up my phone and read the dozens of messages Damien sent me.

I’ve never felt more useless before. Utterly incapable of saving my girl, or forcing her to love me back. Equally incapable of leaving her to go find my daughter.

I had to trust Vincent with her life, and now I have to trust Damien with Jane’s.