Revelations. Part 20

"It's okay," I said. "I'm okay."

"It's really you," he said, looking into my eyes. He put his hands on my face. "It's really you."

I nodded. "As much of me that's left," I said.

He c.o.c.ked his head at me, and his smile was soft and sad.

"We need to get out of here," I said, suddenly thanking Christian in my head, and in my heart. "And to find you some clothes."

We got to our feet and headed down the hallway. Getting out was as easy as getting in. Getting clothes was the hard part, though not really hard considering.

Jonas was limping severely but I didn't question or bother thinking about healing him. His jaw had a hairline fracture and so did his left arm, just above the wrist. His knee was busted into pieces. Besides those, there were enough cuts and bruises to keep me busy later on, but now I just needed to see the sun again...and get him out. This dank place was depressing and full of evil.

The guard at the bottom of the stairs became my first and only target. Since Jonas could barely walk, I took it upon myself to take care of the soldier. I came up behind him, struck him in the back of the knee with my knee and snapped his neck an instant later. I held the body as it fell so it wouldn't make much noise upon hitting the ground. Then I stripped it and handed the clothing over to Jonas. The soldier was smaller in size than Jonas-almost everyone is- but the clothing covered him well enough. The only thing that didn't fit was the shoes so Jonas walked barefoot.

I supported him as we went, him leaning heavily on my shoulder, but I managed to support him. I got him out. I got us out. I felt a wave of relief when the sunshine hit my face.

When we were safely away from S-4, I turned back once. There, standing before the doorway we'd escaped from, stood a man. He was tall and bulky and leaning on a cane. Though I couldn't see his face, I knew him. I felt rage boiling in my soul. I'd been the one to give him the limp that caused him to walk with a cane. That had been fifteen years ago, when I was just learning martial arts. It had been an accident, my shattering his knee cap beyond repair. We were sparring and I'd hit him off kilter. He refused to let me heal him, no matter how much I begged. He'd walked with a cane ever since, a grim reminder of what he created in me. That's how I knew him, because of the cane.

Arturo Holt.

He raised a hand and waved while I looked at him. He waved at me. He let us go. He knew, in all reality, I belonged to him, and would always belong to him.

Chapter Fifty.

An hour later in my stolen car, I looked over at Jonas, who was sitting with his head against the window. I desperately wanted to heal him, but I needed to get us somewhere safe first. Safety was a long time coming; I was taking him back to Philip. I'd get him, Starch and Jonas to go somewhere safe. I knew I'd be returning to the desert of Nevada to finish the job.

"Chris?"

I looked over at Jonas again. "Are you okay?" I asked.

"Can you stop?" he asked.

I pulled the car over on the side of the road. Jonas got out and staggered off to the side. He bent double and was sick. After closing my eyes, I slammed my fist down on the steering wheel of the car. Hating myself and everything I'd ever done, I pulled a bottle of water from the backseat, glad I'd prepared for a long trip through the desert. I got out and went to the pa.s.senger side to wait for him.

After a few moments, Jonas returned to the car. He took the offered water, took a drink and spat the water out onto the ground. He did this a couple times before downing the rest of the water. He handed me the empty bottle and ran the back of his hand over his mouth. He ran the same hand over his forehead to wipe away a sheen of sweat.

"Sorry," he said.

"Don't apologize," I said, taking his hand. My free hand went to his face. "How long have you been sick?"

"A few days," he said. "Maybe two? Three? Time doesn't exactly make sense down there."

"I know," I said, thinking of my own missing daysaor weeks, still wasn't sureafrom New Mexico to South Pasadena. "You okay?"

He nodded after a moment. I opened his door, made sure he was as comfortable as possible then got back into the driver's side. He asked me twice more to pull over before we reached the Los Angeles county line. The last time, he shook so badly he could barely stand. I had to help him back to the car.

When we were on our way again, I said, "You know your knee is shattered, right?"

He nodded, his eyes closed. "They broke it yesterday," he said. "With a bat."

"Jonas," I whispered, feeling the hatred for myself deepening.

"Chris," he said. "I know what you're doing."

I glanced at him and caught his amber eyes before turning mine back to the road.

"You're blaming yourself," he said.

"Maybe," I said.

"You are," he told me firmly. "But you can't do that."

"Why not?"

"Because it's not your fault," he said. "It never was."

I glanced at him again, but he was staring out the window.

"I met your creator," he said.

Holt's image flashed into my mind. The man with the cane, the man who let us go, waving goodbye as we made our escape.

"He was there while they tortured me, but he wouldn't watch." Jonas shook his head then continued. "They did it for fun, by the way. He had control of Hermione. He killed Christian's son. I don't know why they didn't kill me. But he's waiting for you. He wants you to come back to him willingly, like you used to."

I held up a hand. "Jonas, Holt is dangerous. I'm not going back to him. Let's not talk about him right now, okay? You're sick. I need to get you someplace where I can heal you."

He laughed a high, nervous laughter. "You aren't going to heal me," he said.

"Why do you say that?" I asked.

"Because of what it does to you," he said.

I looked at him long and hard.

"I can't be the cause of that," he said. "I won't let you. It drains you. I won't do that to you."

"Jonas," I whispered, trying to concentrate on the road ahead. Have I mentioned that I'm a s.h.i.tty driver?

"I'm done talking, Chris," he said. "Talking is making me sick."

"Later then," I said. I then headed with determination to Philip's home in Pasadena.

We were quiet for the rest of the drive. Jonas sat with his eyes closed, but I knew he wasn't sleeping. Me, I kept my eyes on the road with only the occasional glance his way every few seconds. When we entered the city limits of South Pasadena, Jonas turned and looked at me.

"You might want to get rid of those bruises on your neck," he said.

Startled, both by his voice and by his statement, I put my hand to my throat.

"Sorry again about that," he said.

With my hand still lingering on my neck, I healed the bruising there. "It's okay," I said. "No harm done."

"No permanent harm anyway," he added.

I gave him my best smile, the one reserved only for him. "Starch is going to be p.i.s.sed at me," I said after a moment.

"What for?"

"Because I ran off without him," I said. "I promised I wouldn't, but I did."

"Why?"

"Because I'd put him in enough danger," I told him. "I couldn't risk his life."

Jonas glared at me, and I felt his eyes boring into me.

"What?" I asked.

"Nothing," he said after staring at me for a moment longer.

"I could find out, you know," I said.

"I know," he said back. "I also know that you won't."

I found myself smiling again. I couldn't tell you how long I'd taken in walking from New Mexico to California, how long I'd been without him. It might have been days or it might have been weeks. Time didn't matter. Not when it came to him. I had him back. That mattered. I'd made up for my cowardice, when I ran from Cannon. When I left him there to die. I made up for this by going to S-4 and bringing Jonas out. If only I could figure out how to bring Christian back then I could make up for another mistake.

Anyway, I found myself pounding my fist on Philip's front door not ten minutes later. When Starch answered I could easily see how upset he was, but one look at the car behind me changed his expression completely.

"How did-"

"Just help me," I said, cutting him off.

Between Starch and I, we got Jonas into the house without forcing him to put weight on his bad leg. I left for another ten minutes to ditch the car, leaving it in the grocery store lot, unlocked and with the keys inside, where I found it, or stole it, actually... borrowed, maybe.... Then I hightailed it back to the house and let myself inside.

Philip wasn't home, but Starch called him and the vampire was on his way. So was the good Doctor, Michael Daniels. Jonas was now stretched out on the couch and Starch sat on the coffee table with his hands clasped between his knees.

"Hey," Starch said when he saw me enter the room. He got up and, forgetting all his anger, which was a lot actually, wrapped me in his arms. "Don't ever do that again," he added as he let me go. He quickly and tenderly kissed my cheek then we both went to Jonas.

"I know what you want to do," Jonas said, opening his amazing eyes and looking up at my plain old green ones. "I'm not going to let you do it."

I shook my head. "Then you'll have to let Doc Daniels operate on your knee because that is not going to heal itself."

"It's fine," he said. "Just hurts."

I snorted at him. "Jonas."

"Chris," he growled.

"You know she won't let up," Starch said from his coffee table perch. "You might as well just let her do it."

Jonas reached out and socked Starch's thigh with his good right hand. Had he been able to reach any higher, he might have decked Starch on the cheek. Not hard enough to really hurt, but hard enough to get his point across. Starch rubbed his leg, sticking out his lip in something of a pout. I felt a wave of relief flow through me. One I'd thought eternally lost in the destruction of the Commune, and the other lost in an ambush in New Mexico. Both of them were with me again. My heart just soared, but there were more pressing matters.

"Jonas," I said, "I won't do anything else. It's just, even with surgery I don't know if it'll ever be the same. Your knee cap is shattered into little pieces." I held my forefinger and thumb a bare centimeter apart for emphasis before continuing, and I suddenly thought about what I'd done to Holt all those years ago. Jonas's knee was in much the same condition as my creator's when I busted it to bits. I chewed on my lower lip then said, "I can't even think about how much pain you must be in, especially when we were escaping the compound."

Starch touched my arm to get my attention. "Did you find him out there? At S-4?"

I nodded.

"Did you find anything else?"

I shook my head and lied again. "Nothing."

Jonas groaned and our attention was back on him again.

I had an idea. "I could knock you out," I said.

"What?" he asked.

"I could put you to sleep so you couldn't protest," I told him.

"You can do that?"

Again I nodded. "And while you sleep I'd do more than just your knee."

"Chris," Jonas once again growled.

"Jonas," I said back.

"d.a.m.nit, Christiana."

I had to smile. He'd never once in his life said my full first name, and never been so angry with me before. Oh, he'd been angry at me but never with me; this was a different situation. I knew I had him. He couldn't say no.

Jonas thought about it for a moment. He knew I'd do what I said, that I'd have my own way, one way or the other. So he relented. "Okay," he said. "But only the d.a.m.n knee. Nothing else. Okay?"

"Okay," I said, suddenly eager.

"Promise me," he said.

"Like you once promised not to wake me or a real promise?"