Rapture

Chapter Twenty-eight

Matthias was in the dark. And it wasn’t the kind of dark that came with a room that didn’t have any lights on or when you were walking around at night in the country. This was not even the kind you got when you shut your eyes and wrapped your head in a blanket.

This was the one that seeped in through your skin and filled the spaces between your molecules, the one that polluted your flesh into a permanent state of rotting, the one that wiped clean your past and your future, suspending you in a choking, adhesive solution of sorrow and despair.

He was not alone in this horrible prison.

As he writhed in the weightless void, others did the same, their voices mixing with his own as pleas escaped from cracked lips and the endless begging for mercy rose and fell like the breathing of a great beast. From time to time, he was chosen for special attention, clawed monsters with fanged maws latching on, yanking and pulling. The wounds they imparted always healed as quickly as they were wrought, providing an ever-fresh canvas for their masticating artwork.

Time had no meaning; nor did age. And he knew he was never getting out.

This was his due.

This was his eternal payment for the way he had lived his life: He had earned this place in Hell through his sins upon the earth, and yet still, he argued the unfairness to the others he was trapped with. Tough debate, though. There was little on the good side to support his bid for freedom; more to the point, nobody was listening.

He had had his mortal shot. He had chosen his path.

But oh, God, if he’d known, he would have fought the tide in himself, derailed his actions, shifted the consequences away from where they had taken so many lives—including his own.

Trapped in the darkness, tortured with his fellow sinners, desolate and despairing to a degree that even the worst nightmare couldn’t approach, a great uncorking occurred, his emotions bubbling up and over—

“Matthias?”

He woke up with a shout, his head flipping off the pillow, his arms punching forward as if he had something to fight.

But there was nothing in front of him. No one tangled with him.

And there was light.

In the dim glow from the bathroom, Mels…his beautiful Mels…was standing at the foot of the bed in his hotel room. She had her coat on and her purse hanging off her shoulder, as if she had just arrived from work…and her expression was nothing remote, everything involved.

Bad dream, he told himself. It had been a bad…

The fuck it had been a dream—

“Matthias,” she said gently, “are you all right?”

At first he couldn’t fathom why she was asking him that. Yeah, he’d had a nightmare, but—

Ah, shit, was he crying?

Wiping his cheeks with flat palms, he scrambled off the bed and excused himself for the bathroom. Crying in front of her? Yeah, fuck that for a laugh.

“Just gimme a minute.”

Shutting himself in, he braced his hands on the counter and hung his head over the sink. As he cranked the faucet to make it seem like he was doing something other than trying not to be a pussy, he sagged into the modest strength of his arms, attempting to shed the conviction that where he’d been in that dream was in fact not a place he’d actually been to.

Wasn’t working.

The Hell he’d just seen was a memory, not a nightmare. And wasn’t that enough to get his hands shaking.

Splashing water on his face didn’t do shit, and neither did a hard scrub with a white towel. After he used the loo, he went back out—had to. Any longer in the bathroom and Mels was liable to think he’d hanged himself by the belt or something.

As he emerged, he found her sitting in the chair by the windows, her hands in her lap, her head tilted down like she was assessing whether or not she needed to trim her nails.

Aware that he was just in the T-shirt and boxers that he’d bought in the lobby gift shop—and that his ruined legs were on display from midthigh down—he got back under the covers.

“I’m surprised you’re here,” he said softly as he put the Ray-Bans on.

“Jim Heron’s so-called brother brought me over in a cab and let me in.”

Damn that man, Matthias thought.

Mels shrugged, like she knew he was pissed. “And you know what?”

“What.”

“I don’t buy the twin crap for a second. I think that is Jim Heron, and that he faked his death for some reason—and I think you know why.”

In the pause that followed, it was obvious she expected him to fill in the details, but his brain had pretty much shut down. He didn’t want her around the guy, much less alone with him—because he couldn’t trust anyone. Especially not with her.

“You were meeting with him when I came out and found you at that garage. Weren’t you.”

“It’s complicated. And as for his name, that’s not my story to tell.”

“He told me you two had served in the military together.” She waited again for him to fill in some information. “It’s clear he feels responsible for you.”

As the past churned behind the shroud of his amnesia, at least he didn’t have to lie to her. “So much of it is…a haze. Nothing more.” He traced her with his eyes. “I’m glad you came.”

There was a long pause. “You want to tell me what you were so upset about just now.”

“I don’t think you’d believe me.”

She laughed a little. “After the last day and a half, I’m more likely to, trust me.”

“Why?”

“Everything feels…wrong. I mean, it’s just been a weird ride, you know.” She stared at him as if she were taking his temperature, his blood pressure, and his heart rate from across the room. “Talk to me, Matthias. You gotta open up—and if you can’t give me your memories, just tell me where you are.”

Closing his eyes, he felt as though he were boxed in, unable to answer, but incapable of ignoring her.

Finally, he murmured, “What would you say if I told you I believe in Hell. And not from a religious standpoint, but because I’d been there—and I think I was sent back here to do something.” Man, she was quiet. “I don’t know what it is, but I’m going to find it out. Maybe it’s a second chance—maybe it’s…something else.”

Cue even more of the silence.

Lifting his lids, he measured her. “I know it sounds crazy, but…I woke up naked on Jim’s grave, and I think I was put there. Everything before that is a blank, and yet I have this sense that I’m suppose to do something, that there is purpose in my being here…and that I don’t have forever.”

Mels pushed her hair back and cleared her throat. “The blank part is because you’ve got amnesia.”

“Or maybe it’s because I’m not supposed to remember. I swear…I’ve been to Hell. I was trapped there with these countless other people in a prison where all there was…was suffering. Forever.” He rubbed his sternum, and then left his hand where it was, over his heart. “I know it here, in my chest. Just like I know that you and I were supposed to meet the night we did, and we’re supposed to be together right now. And yeah, that’s nuts, but if the afterlife doesn’t exist, why do so many people believe it does?”

Mels shook her head. “I don’t know the answer to that.”

“I’m glad you’re here,” he said.

The longer she didn’t reply, the more he knew he’d pushed her too far…except then she smiled in a sad way.

“My father believed in Heaven and Hell. And not just in theory. Kind of ironic, given how he ran his life. Then again, perhaps he felt like he was personally in charge of the ‘wrath of God’ side of things on earth.”

“He was a churchgoer?”

“Every Sunday. Like clockwork. Maybe he thought it would get him off the hook for some of his more…shall we say, physical corrections of behavior.”

“Nothing does that.”

As her eyes shot to his, he wanted to curse. Way to go—making it sound like her pops was in the basement. “What I mean is—”

“He did a lot of good things, too. Saved women and children from horrible situations, protected the innocent, made sure people got what they deserved.”

“That should work in his favor, then.” Lame. So lame. “Look, I don’t mean to suggest—”

“It’s okay—”

“No, it’s not. I don’t know what I’m saying.” He put his palms up. “Don’t listen to me. It was just…a shitty nightmare—yeah, nothing but that, and I don’t know…a goddamn thing.”

Liar. Such a liar. But the subtle signs of relief in her, from the easing of her shoulders to the way she released her breath low and slow, told him it was worth it. One hundred percent.

“His name was Thomas,” she said abruptly. “Everyone called him ‘Carmichael,’ though. He meant the world to me—he was everything I looked up to. Everything I want to be—God, I don’t know why I’m talking about this.”

“It’s okay,” he said softly—because he was hoping that if he didn’t make a lot of noise, she would keep talking.

No such luck. She stopped, and he was surprised by how much he wanted her to go on. Hell, he’d take any kind of conversation: her grocery list, her thoughts on air pollution, whether she was a Democrat or a Republican…the theory of relativity.

But man, details of her past? Her parents? That was true gold.

“What about your mom?”

“I’m living with her, actually—since he passed. It’s…kind of strained. I had so much more in common with him. With her? I feel like a bull in a china shop. She’s nothing like he was.”

“Maybe that’s why they worked. Opposites attract and all that.”

“I don’t know.”

“How’d he…”

“Die? In a car wreck. He was in a squad car on a chase, and the perpetrator’s vehicle blew a tire. Dad swerved to avoid hitting them, lost traction himself, and ended up slamming into a parked utility trailer. They had to cut his body out of the driver’s seat.”

“I’m…so sorry.”

“Me, too. I miss him every day, and even though he’s gone, I’m still trying to impress him. It’s nuts.”

“I think he would be proud of you.”

“Yeah, I’m not so sure of that. Caldwell is a small pond.”

“It’s the one he played in.”

“Not as a low-level reporter, though.”

“Well, considering the way you’ve treated me, how could anyone not feel right about the way you turned out? You have been…really good to a stranger.”

Mels stared across the bed at him. “Can I be honest with you?”

“Always.”

There was a long pause. “You don’t feel like a stranger to me.”

“It’s the same for me,” he said softly. “I feel like I’ve known you my whole life.”

“You don’t have any memory.”

“I don’t need specifics on this one.”

She looked down at her hands again, at those blunt nails. “Listen, I need you to tell me about that gun—”

“Like I said, I got it from Jim, when I was at the garage to see him. I took it because I didn’t feel safe being unarmed.”

“So Heron is alive, and I’m right that the twin thing’s a lie.” Her eyes met his. “I need to know.”

He rubbed his face. “Yeah, it is—but let me be clear. His reasons for playing dead are his problem, not mine. I’m not involved in that shit, and it’s going to stay that way.”

After a moment, she nodded. “Okay, thanks for telling me. And I guess I can forgive the guy considering he saved my life tonight.”

Matthias did a double take, his palm tingling like it wanted to find that gun. “Saved you? How?”

As Matthias sat up in the bed, he was suddenly looking like a very dangerous guy, his body tense, his expression filled with a protective anger that made him seem capable of nearly anything—in her defense.

Mels shifted around, that attraction she’d felt before surging.

“How did he save you,” came the growl.

“Well…” As she searched for words, she loosened her coat, letting it slide from her shoulders and pool in the chair. “I was at St. Francis following up on some work, and there was a construction zone. Some guy was working overhead, and the ceiling wasn’t strong enough to support his weight or something. A bunch of girders and tiles fell down—and like, from out of nowhere, this Heron guy jumps into the room and puts his body in the way. He caught it all, even though God only knew how much it weighed. And then the construction man fell through the opening. He’d had a heart attack, I guess? We were meeting with one of the guys who works in the morgue and he started CPR right away. It was bizarre.”

Matthias took a deep breath. Like he was profoundly relieved.

And reactions like that were the reason she trusted him. In spite of all the other stuff.

Mels shook her head. “It was just a freak-accident/close-call kind of thing. But man, I was lucky he was there.”

“Can I ask you a favor?”

“Sure.”

“Come over here.” He held out his hand. “And not because I’m going to make a move on you. I just…”

Mels got to her feet right away and crossed the distance between them, sitting down on the edge of the bed beside him, her body leaning toward his. As he took her hand, he rubbed the inside of her wrist with his thumb.

The stroking, more than any words he could have spoken, made her feel precious.

“I’m really glad you came here,” he said, again.

“So am I.”

Reaching forward, she took the sunglasses from his face, and his eyes dipped down like it was hard for him to let her see him properly.

“I told you, you don’t have to be ashamed,” she said quietly.

He laughed with an edge. “About what?”

“The way you look.”

His eyes swung back. “What if I told you that wasn’t the problem.”

“Then what is?”

“I’m not sure you want me to answer that.”

Leaning in, she traced the scars at his temple, and brushed over the brow above the eye that no longer worked. “I like the truth.”

He cursed low in his throat. “Goddamn it, woman…you’re killing me.”

“No, I’m not.”

Matthias’s lids closed for a second, like he was digging deep for self-control. “Do you know what I’m regretting most at this moment?”

“What?”

“That I didn’t know you before. That way I could…”

“Could what?”

As he focused on her mouth, she had a quick urge to lick her lips—and as she gave in to it, he shifted under the covers like his body needed something from her.

Man, it was hot in the room all of a sudden.

“I want to make love to you, Mels. Right here, right now. Matter of fact, I’ve wanted you all along. The instant I saw you in the hospital—that’s when it happened for me.”

Okay…wow. And maybe another woman could have played things coy—but she wasn’t interested in games.

“Me, too.” God, had that come out of her mouth? “I mean, look, it’s been a while for me, so this is all a huge surprise…but there was something different about you from the moment I—” She had to laugh a little. “The moment I hit you with my car.”

That hand of his captured hers again, the stroking resuming.

“Thank you,” he said.

“For what?”

“I don’t know.”

She wasn’t sure she believed that. “Do you really think you’re not attractive?”

“You just saw me in boxers.”

Mels shook her head. “I’m not one of those shallow chicks who needs a guy all jacked up with muscles. There’s so much more to it than that.”

“Maybe, but I’m pretty certain you’d like your man to be able to have sex with you.”

Mels opened her mouth. Shut it. Opened it again.

“Exactly.”

Shit. That probably should have occurred to her, given the other scars on his lower body….

“Straight up, Mels, the only reason I haven’t completely jumped you is because I can’t. I…can’t.” He threw up his free hand and let it fall back down to the bedspread. “And you know what sucks? I’ve been with a lot of women.”

Annnnnnnd that made her chest hurt. “Before you were injured…”

He nodded. “Of all the things for my memory to come back on, right?”

Cue another kick in the solar plexus. “You remember them?”

“I hate it—because I would trade every single random fuck for just one night with you.” He brushed her face with his fingertips and then brought his thumb to her mouth. With the same gentle pressure he’d put against her wrist, he caressed her lower lip. “I’d give up every one of them. Matter of fact, it feels like…a curse to have finally found someone like you, only to have it be too late. And that’s where it’s at. It’s too late for me, Mels, and that’s how you’re killing me. When I look at you, when I see you move, when you smile or take a deep breath, I just…I die a little. Every time.”

Mels felt tears prick the corners of her eyes, an emotion she couldn’t define striking her heart and making it ring.

“You liked kissing me,” she said roughly.

“No. I loved it. I want to be doing it right now. I want…to do other things to you, just to make you feel good. But that’s as far as it would go—and whereas that’s more than enough for me, I know at some point, tonight, tomorrow, next week…it’s not going to be enough for you.”

She pressed a kiss to his hand. “I thought you were leaving.”

“I am. That was just a rhetorical example.”

Maybe. But it gave her a little hope, and she suddenly needed that like she had to have air.

“Mels, I—”

Swooping in, she stopped whatever it was he was going to say with her own mouth. At first, as the contact was made, his lips were stiff against her own, but that didn’t last. Soon enough, he was moving against her, wanting, taking. Licking. Nipping.

When she finally eased back, she was out of breath. “Don’t make up my mind for me, okay?”

It was clear she wasn’t the only one affected, because his chest was rising and falling with an urgency that turned her on.

“I don’t need sex to be happy with you,” she told him. “It’s honestly not that important—”

With a sudden surge, he all but pounced on her, pushing her back against the mattress and kissing her hard and deep. As his body covered hers, his tongue entered her, owning her in a way that was so complete, she hadn’t realized until that moment exactly how anemic any other man had been.

That heat that had sprung up exploded, the blood in her veins going into a roar in the space between heartbeats.

And that was before his hands started to undo her clothes.