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Whether I’m dreaming, hallucinating, or hearing an actual angel, I know it can’t be the real Cora. The real Cora is at Eagle Peak, safe with my brothers. They would never bring her to a shithole like what this city’s become. They’ll never let anything bad happen to her. They’ll take care of her. Love her. Give her babies to bring up and be her sunshine in this dark world. I can trust each one of them to be what I never could have been for her: a loving, good, and supportive partner, the kind of partner she deserves.
While I’ve been wasting away in this hellhole, I’ve had a lot of time to think, and I’ve come to a conclusion that unsettled me at first. But I’ve accepted it now. I’ve accepted who I am and who I never could have been.
The hard truth is I’m no better than the piece of garbage who kidnapped Cora and abused her. It might as well be my name spelled out in cigarette burns on her back. R-I-C-K. Because I took away her choice just like that bastard Leon did. Soon as I found a woman, I started making decisions about her. Not with her. Not for her. About her. For me.
I convinced myself that by sharing her among everyone—God, just thinking that makes me cringe now—I’d be keeping the peace. No one would succumb to jealous assholery if we all had her.
The truth was, I never gave a shit about keeping the peace. All I cared about was my dick and my pride.
If I let Cora have her choice, she never would have chosen to be with me.
She would have chosen Grim. Maybe she would’ve chosen to be with the others, too. She’s got a special connection with Rev and Doc, and she seems to genuinely enjoy the company of the others. But not me.
She only tolerates me.
Because I’m an asshole. I’m a moody jerk. How many times have I made her jaw drop with indignation? How many times have I made her growl with frustration, like a furious kitten? Too many is the answer.
You made her moan with pleasure too.
No. I can’t think about that. Those days are gone. Thatlifeis gone. Over.
She’ll be better off without me in the picture. With the other six, she’ll have a chance to truly be happy and not have to walk on eggshells to keep this hothead from blowing up.
I hear the scrape of a sliding sheet of metal coming from the cell door. It’s the barred window guards and doctors would have used to view patients. Then, there’s a different voice, way too deep to be Cora’s.
“We got him,” the voice says. Then I hear the heavy bar on the outside of the door being lifted. The door creaks, and a pressure change hurts my ears. Someone’s opening my cell. A musty breeze cools my face.
“Oh, God! He’s here! Stealth! He’s here!” There’s that sweet voice, again! I’m glad I get to hear it one more time. It’s a mercy I don’t deserve.
Cora. My Heart. Love of my life.
My Cora-angel is in my cell. She says my name in that perfect voice, and I feel her hands on my shoulders.
In my mind, I’m holding out my arms to her. But in reality, I can no longer control my limbs. I’m a sack of potatoes supported by a corner of cold concrete and torn-up padding. The best I can do is turn my face to her.
One more hug, angel. One more hug, and I’ll be ready to go.
If this was the real Cora, I would never let her see what Lazarus, the true leader of the New Orleans settlement—did to me. But this Cora most likely only exists in my imagination. She won’t mind the sight of me. She’ll hold me and kiss my face and send me into the afterlife with the vanilla and lavender scent of her making a cloud ofhomearound me.
Cora
We found him!We found Jud!
They have him locked away at the end of a long hall in a basement section of the hospital labelledLunatic Asylum.This hallway, specifically, bears a sign that warns:Maximum SecurityInpatient Containment.
From the crumbling lobby of the ward, two halls branched out. Stealth and I took the maximum-security hallway, and Grim took the unlabeled one. Both halls are lined with patient rooms behind locking doors.
In our hallway, Stealth and I found that most of the doors sat opened into empty cells with padded walls. Of all the cells, only three had closed doors with sliding-bolt locks so thick Brawn would get a workout breaking through them.
The first two doors we unlocked opened to reveal decomposing corpses. A quick check by Stealth confirmed they were dead too long to be Jud, and my own eyes told me they were far too small to be my rugged mountain man. Thank the Working!
When Stealth slid aside the cookie-sheet viewing window of the third and final door, I held my breath.
All at once, I hoped Jud was inside the cell, and also that he wasn’t. This place was so awful I couldn’t imagine him being kept here for all this time.
“We got him,” Stealth says, and he hurries to lift the locking bar on the door. The second he has the door cracked enough, I slip in with my flashlight trained on the slumped form in the corner.
It’s the dark brown color of his hair I recognize first. Then the torn-out knees of his trademark cargo pants and the black shirt he was wearing beneath his tactical gear that night of the battle.
