Tortured: Book Three of the Jason and Azazel Trilogy Page 4

  "You don't think he's the Rising Sun?" I asked. I wasn't sure anymore. We'd seen things. Done things. I was confused.

  "Of course not," said Brother Mancini. "This Rising Sun business was never part of the original Reddimus doctrine. Certainly, there were vague hints here and there, but it never was such an all-encompassing idea. And furthermore, it's only been popular among the Sons recently. I'd say within the last hundred years."

  The last hundred years was recently, huh? Weird to think that way.

  "But things have happened," Jason said. "Azazel and I have been able to do things."

  "He died," I said.

  "You both know that there's no conclusive evidence that the gunshot wound Jason sustained was serious," said Brother Mancini.

  That was true, as far as it went. It was possible that Jason hadn't been hurt as seriously by the gunshot as we'd thought. Still, I remembered the way he'd lain motionless in my arms. He hadn't been breathing.

  "What about what happened in Shiloh with the Brothers?" I asked. "They all went crazy."

  "Maybe Weem did it," said Brother Mancini. "Maybe he placed something in their minds through hypnotism. He triggered it with a text message."

  I raised my eyebrows again. "That sounds farfetched."

  "And the fact that the two of you are mystical beings doesn't?"

  When he put it that way . . .

  "I'm not saying I don't believe in miracles," said Brother Mancini. "I do. But both of the things you're talking about happened in Shiloh. There are biblical prophecies that point to a place called Shiloh being quite powerful. Maybe it wasn't you. Maybe you were just in the right place at the right time."

  The right place at the right time? I narrowed my eyes. It couldn’t be that simple. "But there are so many Shilohs, all over the south. There are two in Georgia alone." The idea was too confusing to even formulate.

  Brother Mancini just smiled. "It's only a thought," he said.

  And that was how we ended up at the SolSolisSchool. Brother Mancini thought that there might be some ancient records in the library at the school. He hoped these would help us prove that Jason wasn't the Rising Sun. Usually, I hoped that too. I didn't want to believe that some ancient power controlled Jason's destiny. Controlled mine.

  But other times . . . Other times, I half-wished that we'd find out we did have magical powers. Maybe we could zap all our enemies. Rearrange everything to our liking. Would that be so bad, really? And in my darkest moments, I sometimes wondered if it wouldn't be really, really nice to rule the world.

  * * *

  "Someone's coming," I whispered to Jason.

  He was kneeling outside the back door to the library, lock-picking tools in the keyhole. He was biting his tongue in concentration. "Damn it," Jason muttered, pulling the tools out of the lock. "Is it guards?"

  I peered back around the corner of the building at the dark landscape of the campus at night. Between the bushes that hugged the building, I could make out the uniform of the Sol Solis security guards.

  "Yeah."

  Jason stood up, grabbing my hand. "Are they coming this way?"

  "I don't know," I said.

  "Damn it, damn it," he said. He shot one look towards the corner of the building, the same way the guard was coming. Then he turned to look down the stretch of the building on the other side. "Let's go," he said, tugging me with him as he broke into a sprint.

  Seconds later, we rounded the other side of the building, panting a little. Jason flattened himself against the other side, stealing a look back at the spot where we'd been.

  "Is he there?"

  "He's rounding the corner," Jason told me.

  "He didn't see us?"

  "I don't think so." I breathed a sigh of relief.

  "He's still coming," Jason said, pulling me forward again.

  We ran along the side of the building, towards the front.

  "There are always guards out front!" I said. Stationary guards. They stood in front of the entrance twenty-four/seven.

  Jason took a wild look around as we continued to run. "The church," he said, switching direction.

  The old church, our assembly hall, was directly perpendicular to us. I quickened my pace to keep up with Jason.

  "We'll go in the side door," he said to me.

  The side door of the church was shadowed by several large trees, making it difficult to see, especially at night. Jason should be able to crouch there and pick the lock without the guards seeing.

  We arrived at the door and stopped again. My breath came in deep gasps, but I positioned myself behind one of the large trees so I could see if one of the guards was coming.

  I couldn't see anyone now, just the walls of the library, dark red brick in the darkness. Behind me, I heard Jason's lock picks scraping against the metal of the doorknob. He'd picked this lock before.

  "So far, so good," I told him.

  "This'll just take a second," Jason said.

  I watched. Nothing moved.

  I turned back to Jason to see how he was progressing. He was still digging inside the lock.

  I turned back. Still nothing.

  Wait.

  The guard was starting to round the corner.

  "Jason!" I hissed.

  "One second," he said, jiggling the long metal tool in the lock.

  The guard was in full view now, but he was looking around at the side of the library building.

  "I can see him!"

  "Got it," Jason said, and the door swung open.

  I raced through the door, and Jason shut it behind me. We were back inside the church. Memories of the last time we'd been in here—last night—flooded through me. I looked up at the stained glass, remembering the way I'd felt it was glaring down at me, watching me and Jason.

  "I told you we wouldn't be able to get into the library," Jason said, throwing himself into one of the pews.

  "We have to try, though," I said.

  "Do we?" asked Jason. "Just because Brother Mancini told us to? Is that why we have to?"

  I sat down next to him. "I thought you wanted to find out. I thought you wanted to prove you were normal once and for all."

  Jason snorted. "I'm not normal," he said. "I'll never be normal. I've come to terms with that."

  I rubbed his leg. All Jason had ever wanted was a normal life.

  He sighed. "No, you're right. I do want to find out. I want to get into that library. But I don't know how we're going to do it."

  The wing of the library we wanted to enter was under heavy security. It housed the ancient documents that the Sons used for research. No one could get in without express written consent from the Council. Sometimes a professor from Sol Solis might obtain permission for one of his classes, but even that was rare, and it wasn't likely to happen this late in the year. We figured our best chance was to break in after hours, but even our best chance wasn't working out very well.

  I lay my head on Jason's shoulder, feeling frustrated. "I don't know either."

  He reached around to stroke my cheek, shifting so that he faced me and I was looking up into his eyes. "We'll figure something out. We always do."

  I touched his forehead. His chin. Then I brought my lips up to meet his. For a second I felt the weight of the church bearing down on me like it had last night, but I ignored it, and it fell away. My hands moved on Jason's chest, and he pulled me into his arms.

  * * *

  "That didn't work," said Jason, stroking my hair as I lay on his bare shoulder. "Did it?" We lay between the pews in the old church, moonlight bathing us through the stained glass windows.

  I played with the few tiny hairs on his chest. "It worked," I said. "I mean, it happened."

  "That's not what I meant," Jason said. "I meant that you didn't . . ."

  "Do we have to talk about this?" I asked.

  Jason's hand scampered across my thigh and darted between my legs. "No," he whispered. "No talking is required."

  And so we were quiet.


  For a long time. Jason's fingers were the only thing that moved.

  "Is this okay?" Jason finally whispered.

  "Uh huh," I said.

  "Do you like this?"

  "Uh huh." Even though, truthfully, whatever he was doing didn't really feel like anything. I could feel him touching me. It didn't hurt. But it didn't . . . It didn't feel the way I thought it should.

  Jason moved his hand. "You've got to be honest with me Azazel."

  "I am being honest," I said.

  He raised his eyebrows.

  I sighed, burying my face in his soft skin. "Sorry," I murmured.

  "Did you like that?" he asked.

  I hesitated, then shook my head against him.

  He didn't say anything for a minute. "I wish you would have told me," he said.

  "I didn't hate it," I said. "I don't know."

  "So, what do you want me to do?" Jason asked.

  "I don't know!" I said. "Can we just drop it? It's not important. You don't have to try."

  Jason sat up, dislodging me from where I lay on his shoulder. "Hey!" I protested.

  He put his arms around his knees and studied his kneecaps. "Azazel," he said, "I want you to enjoy it when we make love."

  I sat up next to him, touching his arm. "I do enjoy it," I said.

  He turned to me. "Not as much as you could. Not as much as I do."

  "I love you, Jason," I said. "I love being with you. It's okay."

  "It's not," he said.

  "Jason . . ."

  He turned away from me and started yanking on his pants. After a couple seconds, I started wriggling back into my clothes too. "You know," I said, "it's my body. I should be able to decide whether or not it's okay if I don't have an orgasm."

  He sighed heavily. "You already told me it wasn't okay. And then you said tonight that you don't want me to try anymore. Am I that bad at what I was doing?"

  What? Why couldn’t he understand? He wasn't bad at it. I didn't know what bad at it was. I didn't know what good at it was. But the way I'd felt when he was touching me before—spotlighted, like I needed to do something to prove to him he was pleasing me—well, I didn't like that feeling at all. "You're not bad at anything," I said.

  "Right," he muttered. He shrugged into his shirt and started buttoning it, not looking at me.

  "Jason, it's okay," I said. How was this fair anyway? I was the one who wasn't having orgasms. Why was I comforting him?

  "We should probably get back to our dorms," he said.

  So he was done talking to me, then? Okay. "I guess so," I said. "Are we going out the side door?"

  He nodded.

  We paused at the door, peering out the window to make sure the coast was clear. Outside, the campus of the SolSolisSchool stood motionless, dark, and quiet. We didn't see any guards, just rolling grass and trees. Carefully, we stole out of the assembly building and into the night air.

  Jason started forward ahead of me, but a movement caught my eye, and I grabbed him. "Wait," I whispered.

  He turned to me. "What?"

  I pointed.

  We looked. Beside the dining hall, which was far in the distance, a small dark figure was walking. It looked like he was walking right towards us.

  Jason pulled me behind the large tree.

  "Is that a guard?" I asked him.

  "Why isn't he wearing his uniform, then?" Jason asked me.

  I swallowed. There was only one group of people that we knew of that followed us around in the dark and showed up wearing all black.

  Jason ducked back in front of the tree. "He's gone," he reported.

  "Gone where?" I asked.

  "I don't know," he said, taking my hand, "but let's get back inside and fast."

  I nodded, squeezing his fingers with mine. "Jason," I said, "you don't think it's the . . ."

  "The Sons?" he said. He gave me a dark look. "Just let them try to kill me. I might like a challenge."

  Chapter Three

  April 20, 1990

  Professor Weem shared some interesting things with me about the Rising Sun prophecy. It's no secret that he's on the side of the Rising Sun being a person, not a metaphor or anything else. He takes the prophecy really, really seriously. I was floored and flattered that he wanted to talk to me about it. I've been spending time with him nearly every day.

  I thought Palomino would be asleep by the time I got back to my room. But when I snuck back in after Jason picked the lock on the front door for me, she was sitting on her bed pouring over her biology textbook. She didn't look up when I came in. I collapsed on my bed, not in a particularly good mood. I kept thinking about the way Jason had pulled away from me after we had sex.

  I'd originally thought of this whole issue as my problem, but now it was affecting Jason too. And it was stupid, because there was absolutely nothing wrong with him. He was perfect. How could he think that there was something wrong with him? There was something wrong with me.

  "Mina?" I said.

  "Huh?" She didn't look up from her book.

  "When you have sex, do you, you know . . . like . . ."

  "What?"

  "Have orgasms?"

  She slammed her book. "Why are you asking me this?"

  I sat up on my bed. "I just wondered."

  "Yeah. I mean, not always, but yeah."

  "Did you always?"

  "Not right at first, I guess. But since then. Do you think that's why I got pregnant? Because I read this thing online that said that the female orgasm is designed by nature to like spasm the sperm deeper—"

  "Eew!" I cut her off. "That's my brother's sperm we're talking about."

  She rolled her eyes. "Maybe if I was just one of those frigid chicks who just lies there, none of this ever would have happened."

  "Frigid?" I said. What did that mean?

  "You know, like a prude," she said.

  "That's what you called me last night," I said. And I wasn't. I'd gotten busy tonight. I'd wanted to. I liked having sex with Jason. That wasn't the problem.

  "I have hormone issues. You can't blame me for stuff I say."

  "I wasn't blaming you." I was worried. Was I frigid? Was there something seriously wrong with me? "So . . . how did you have these orgasms?"

  "I don't know, they just happened," she said. "Why are you bothering me with this? I have a biology exam tomorrow, and I'm pregnant, and I'm alone. Spare me another lecture on how much of a slut I am."

  "I didn't say that about you," I said, confused. "Besides, you don't have to be alone. Just talk to Chance."

  "I'm not talking to Chance. And that is totally what you said last night. With the whole I-was-just-randomly-hooking-up-with-Chance comment."

  "Okay, I kind of remember saying that," I said, "but I never called you a slut or implied that you were one."

  "Whatever."

  Why was she attacking me? None of her problems were my fault.

  "They just happened?" I asked.

  "What?"

  "The orgasms."

  "Yeah, they just happened."

  "So . . . um . . . what did they feel like?"

  "Oh my God," she said, "you've never had an orgasm, have you? I knew that Jason guy was too good to be true, with his big, dark eyes and his 'we talked through it' stuff. Pretty and sensitive? And willing to defend your honor? Maybe, but only if he sucks in bed."

  That was uncalled for. I stood up and went into the bathroom. "He doesn't suck in bed," I told her. "He's amazing."

  "Sure he is," she said.

  I got out my toothbrush and ran it under the sink. Palomino appeared in the doorway. "Why can't you just admit he's flawed, Azazel?"

  Flawed? Jason? Well, there was the fact that I'd watched him kill more people than I could count on one hand. But that didn't matter, did it? Not when I'd killed for him too. Held a gun to the head of a girl who'd once been my best friend and pulled the trigger. Watched her brains spray everywhere, her skull shatter. Neither Jason nor I was perfect. "He's flawed," I sai
d flatly. I popped my toothbrush into my mouth.

  "So he can't get you off?"

  I didn't answer.

  "You're going to have to show him how to do it."