Tortured: Book Three of the Jason and Azazel Trilogy Page 6

  * * *

  "Jason!" I screamed, rushing across the courtyard outside the dining hall. "Stop!"

  I'd walked out of the dining hall, using the back door. Most people didn't go out that way, but it was the closest way to get to my next class. I just had to cross a small courtyard. Usually nobody was ever on the courtyard. But today, I'd been greeted by the sight of George Churchill punching my boyfriend in the nose. Jason's head had been whipped to the side. He'd stumbled backwards. But I could see that Jason's fists were clenched, and he was about to use the momentum from George's punch to fuel a punch of his own. I just didn't want Jason to put George in the hospital.

  Luckily, at the sound of my voice, Jason looked up to see me. George looked up too.

  My feet pounded against the ground as I raced over to them.

  "What did you just call him?" George asked.

  Damn it! I'd forgotten that Jason and I were undercover. Jason was going by Jeremy. Jeremy Black. How could I have been so stupid? I ran faster.

  In the second that George looked away, Jason balled up his fist and undercut George, hitting him on the chin. George's head snapped back. He cried out.

  Jason didn't let that stop him. He followed up his first punch with a second one, this one hitting George's cheekbone. George's head whipped the other way, blood spilling out of his mouth.

  I was still running, but closing in on them. I leapt into the air and tackled Jason. We tumbled into the grass, both breathing hard.

  Jason pushed me off of him, struggling to get to his feet.

  "Jason, no!" I said.

  George wiped his mouth with his hand, looking at the blood on it in shock. "Why are you calling him Jason?"

  "Shut up," said Jason to George. "You really need to learn to keep your mouth shut."

  "You plan on teaching me?" George said, still studying the blood on his hand. It was as if he didn't quite believe that he could bleed.

  "Hell yes, I do," said Jason.

  "Let it go!" I shrieked. "If you hurt him bad, it will draw attention to us."

  George looked up from his hand. "Don't hurt me," he said. He suddenly looked really afraid. "Are you . . . ?" He looked back at the blood on his hand. "I won't say anything. I won't say a word. Just . . ." He held up both his hands, palms outward. "I'll back off."

  Wait. Did he know who we were? Did he know who Jason was?

  Jason clenched and unclenched his fist. "You're not going to say anything?"

  "Nothing," said George. "Especially not about what she called you. I wasn't here, okay?" He started to back away. "And I'm sorry about that Palomino girl. I'm sorry I said anything."

  "You won't say anything like that anymore," said Jason. It wasn't a question.

  George shook his head fervently. "No. Nothing like that." He took a few more steps backward.

  "You say anything, and I'll kill you," Jason said. He sounded so serious.

  George swallowed. Then he turned and ran.

  Jason and I watched him go.

  "Maybe I should kill him anyway," Jason muttered.

  "Jason," I said in horror.

  "He knows who we are. Why did you say my name?"

  "I'm sorry," I said. "I just freaked out. You were punching him."

  "You should have heard what he said about Palomino," Jason said.

  "You know," I said, "you can't just go around punching people every time they say something you don't like."

  Jason laughed dryly. "You sound like your parents."

  I didn't respond. Sure my parents had spouted lots of psychobabble about nonviolence and making constructive decisions, but in the end, they'd engineered a really disturbing ritual, which was supposed to culminate with my getting raped. Jason should know better than to bring them up.

  "That guy could use beating up," Jason said.

  "It doesn't matter!" I said. "We can't afford exposure, and you know that."

  "Whatever," Jason said. He started to walk away.

  "Jason!"

  He stopped. Looked at me. "I can't talk to you right now."

  I started to say something. Then I stopped. I just let him go.

  * * *

  When I got back to my room after classes that evening, they were all there.Jason, Chance, and Palomino. Palomino was standing by the door, holding her book bag, looking angry. Her face was red and puffy. Jason and Chance were standing next to our beds, both of them staring at the floor with their hands jammed into their pockets.

  "How did you guys get in here?" I asked. Guys weren't allowed in the girls' dorms, and vice versa.

  "Jason snuck us in," said Chance. "We just got here actually."

  "They were here when I got here too," said Palomino. She didn't sound happy.

  "Mina," said Chance, "we need to talk."

  "No," she said. "There's nothing to talk about. You aren't even supposed to know, but thanks to Azazel, here—"

  "Chance is right," Jason cut her off. "You guys need to talk. Azazel shouldn't have blabbed it the way she did, but Chance deserved to know."

  "Deserved?" demanded Palomino. "Why?"

  "Because it's not just about you," said Chance. "It's about us."

  "I don't see how it's about you," said Palomino. "It's my body."

  "Of course it's about him," said Jason. "He's part of it. Obviously."

  No one said anything.

  "Unless I'm not," said Chance finally. "Unless Skylar's a part of it and not me."

  "I knew you would say that," Palomino said. She turned to me. "Didn't I say he'd just blame it on Skylar?"

  "I don't think he's—" I started.

  "How many times do I have to tell you that I never had sex with him?" Palomino said, stomping across the room and throwing her book bag on the bed.

  "So it is . . . mine," said Chance.

  "Of course it's freaking yours!" said Palomino.

  Chance made a confused face. "So why did you break up with me?"

  "Because I knew you'd break up with me when you found out, and I wanted to beat you to it," she said.

  Chance looked confused. "I don't want to break up with you," he said.

  "You don't?"

  "See?" said Jason. "You guys need to talk." He looked at me. "And I need to talk to Azazel."

  We snuck out of the dorm through the fire escape stairs, which no one used. Jason had figured out how to get them open without setting off the alarm. Once outside, we crossed campus to Jason's dorm. One of the fire escape doors was propped open slightly. Jason had left it that way for us. We crept up the steps and into his dorm room.

  I'd never seen it before, but I was prepared for the mess, since I'd lived with Chance for most of my life. The boys hadn't spent much time trying to keep it clean. Their clothes were strewn all over the floor and in piles on their desks and chairs. Neither of their beds were made. Instead, their covers were flung on the floor or tangled together in the middle of the bed. I didn't even want to look in their bathroom. I was afraid of the horrors that might greet me there.

  Jason led me to his bed, and we sat down on it. He took my hand.

  "I'm sorry I yelled your name out in front of George today," I said, figuring we were gearing up for apologies and getting mine out of the way.

  "Don’t worry about that," he said. "I brought you here, because I was thinking that maybe if we weren't in that old church, things would be easier for you. Like, maybe you'd be more comfortable, and then—"

  "Wait," I said. "I thought you wanted to talk."

  "Later," he said, leaning over to kiss me. "We can talk later."

  I pulled back. "Jason, I think we—"

  He cut me off with another kiss. His pulled me close, one of his hands sliding under my shirt. His kisses were insistent, like he was devouring me with his mouth. His hand slid up my rib cage, pushing under my bra.

  He shifted, pushing me down on his bed and settling on top of me before claiming my mouth with his again. I felt like I couldn’t breathe.

  Jason's hands ke
pt moving on me, thrusting my clothes out of the way, so his fingers could assault my bare skin. I tried to break away from his mouth, to tell him to slow down, to give me a chance to think, but he didn't seem to notice that I wasn't into it.

  I started to feel a little panicky. I wasn't sure I wanted to be doing this right now. Jason was moving too fast. He was pushing too much. I loved Jason, and I loved being with him, but he was scaring me. There was too much urgency in his hands, in his tongue. It reminded me of . . .

  Of the hotel room. In Pennsylvania. A hotel room that looked eerily like the one I'd dreamed about last night.

  Thoughts of the nightmare immediately quelled any possible good feelings I might be having. I struggled under Jason, pushing at his shoulders.

  He didn't seem to notice, and he didn't stop. It was no good pushing at him anyway, because he was stronger than I was.

  I thrashed beneath him. Jason just kept kissing me, his lips crushing mine with his own.

  Chapter Four

  April 22, 1990

  Ted (that's what Professor Weem wants me to call him) has an idea about bringing the Rising Sun into the world. He says it's about time that it happened. He says that it can be done. It's just a matter of finding the right people to do it. I got in trouble with my dorm mother for being late last night, but I told Ted about it, and he said he'd take care of it.

  Jason pulled back, propping himself up on his elbows. "Hey," he said gently. "What's wrong?"

  "Get off of me," I told him, pushing at his chest.

  He looked hurt, but he did what I asked. As soon as he sat up, I jumped off the bed and crossed to the other side of the room.

  "Azazel, what's wrong?" Jason said, following me.

  "No," I said, "don't come over here."

  He stopped. We stared at each other across the dorm room.

  "What did I do?" Jason asked.

  "I don't like it like that, and you know it," I said. "It's like that time in the hotel, our first time, when you tried to . . ." When he tried to what? When he scared me with his intensity. He scared me so much lately. So much.

  "I thought you wanted to," Jason said, staring at the floor.

  "No you didn't," I said. "You didn't even stop to see if I wanted to. You just started to do it. And you didn't pay any attention to what I wanted."

  "I thought . . ."

  "You scared me."

  He went back to the bed and sat down. "I didn't mean to. I'm sorry."

  I advanced on him, trembling with anger. "After everything that's happened to me. After Toby, and Sutherland, and everything, you should know that you can't just try to make me do it, just because you want to."

  "Jesus, Azazel. You make it sound like I was trying to rape you or something."

  "That's how it felt," I said.

  He shook his head. "Don't say things like that. You know I would never hurt you."

  "Do I?" I demanded. "Do I know that? How many times have I watched you hurt someone, Jason? How many people have I seen you kill? And I'm supposed to believe you'll never do that to me?"

  He stood up. "Yes. You are. You are, because I love you, and you love me. And I hate to point it out, Azazel, but if I hadn't killed those people, you'd be dead."

  "I can take care of myself now. I don't need you to—"

  "Right," said Jason, "you can. And while we're on the subject of how many people I've killed, let's not forget that you've killed people too. Your own brothers. And your best friend."

  I shuddered. "I did that because of you, Jason."

  "And I did what I did because of you."

  "Michaela Weem said that you would turn on me."

  "She also said that she thought both of us were evil and needed to die."

  "She said that being close to you made me evil!" I returned. "And what if—" I didn't finish. What was I saying here? Was I truly accusing Jason of turning me into something evil? Was I saying that Michaela Weem was right, that Jason was an abomination that was destroying everything he touched? I didn't believe that. I didn't.

  I went to Jason and touched his forearm. "I'm sorry," I said softly. "I'm so sorry."

  He looked into my eyes. "It is my fault. If I'd never met you, none of this would have happened."

  "It's not your fault," I said. "If I'd never met you, I'd only be half-alive. I love you."

  "I love you," he said, drawing me into his arms. I buried my face in this chest. He kissed the top of my head. "I'd never hurt you. Please believe me. I'm so sorry I scared you."

  I looked up at him. "I know you wouldn't hurt me," I said. "I'm sorry I was scared. I should have trusted you."

  He stroked my cheek. "Well," he said, "if we can't make passionate love in my dorm room, at least I can do the other thing I wanted to do, which was ask you to prom."

  * * *

  Prom. Trust Jason to want to milk any "normal" high school tradition for all it was worth. The SolSolisSchool didn't have a prom, per se. They had a formal spring ball, just a few weeks before graduation. They didn't call it prom, they call it the Spring Formal, but since most of the students at the school were American students, we saw it as an analogue to a traditional American prom.

  I strolled across campus back to my dorm, shaking my head. I barely registered the familiar buildings as I walked by them. I was caught up in my thoughts.

  Jason hadn't had a normal childhood. He'd spent his formative years on the run with a member of the Sons named Anton, who'd taught him to shoot guns. He'd spent his early adolescence living in a community of Brothers, being sent on missions to kill sorority chicks. His idea of adolescence had been culled from teen movies. He had some romantic notion about prom. He wanted to go, because he'd been sure that he'd never be able to.

  Now his life had shaped up in a somewhat normal way. He was attending a school. He had a girlfriend. He wanted us to go to the prom. He wanted the whole nine yards. Wrist corsages. Me in a god awful fancy dress. Him in a tux. If we had parents, he'd want them to take pictures on the front lawn.

  I sighed. It wasn't that I didn't want to go to the Spring Formal. I'd told Jason that we'd go. I'd gone to my junior prom with Toby, back in Bramford. I remembered how exciting the entire experience had been. My mom had helped me pick out my dress. We'd made a day of getting ready. Toby had come to pick me up. There were pictures of the two of us somewhere: me in my pink satin strapless number, him in stiff black and white with a bow tie. I remembered the picture on the mantle in my parents' living room. There we were. Toby and I grinning out at my parents' house, a place full of empty grins and pseudo-happiness.

  That was the thing, I guess. When I was younger, I believed in all this crap. I wanted the typical high school experience. A handsome boyfriend. A limo. Pretty dresses. Dancing.

  But now, all of that stuff just reminded me of the person I used to be. Things had changed so much. And wholesome American adolescent traditions like the prom just reminded me that I was different now. I didn't like to be reminded.

  But Jason wanted to go to the prom, and so we would. Whatever he wanted, I'd do. He deserved some semblance of normalcy in our ridiculously abnormal lives.

  As if to remind me how abnormal they actually were, I passed the library. The library. That's what Jason and I should be focusing on. Not the prom. Not my lack of orgasms. We needed to get inside that library and find out who the hell we were. After all, that was the reason we'd come to the school.

  I paused for a second and stared at it. How were we going to get in? The guards stood at attention at the front door, staring straight ahead, reminding me that we had practically no recourse. We'd tried one night, but that hadn't gone well. What were we going to do?

  I started to turn away, but stopped when I saw one of the side doors of the library open. That was strange. They almost never used the side doors. The authorities wanted one way in and out of the library. The front door.

  The door opened, and a figure clad all in black emerged. This far away, I couldn’t see his features. H
e looked up at me and froze. We stood like that for several seconds, staring at each other.

  Then he quickly opened the door and disappeared into the library again.

  * * *

  I met Chance outside my dorm. He'd just snuck down the fire escape steps. He looked a little frazzled.

  "Hey," I said. "How are you doing?"

  He ran a hand through his hair. "I'm, um, I'm okay," he said. "Mina and I talked. It was good."

  I nodded. "That is good."