A Thousand Pieces of You
Page 26
I wrench myself away from Paul as violently as I can; he must still be weakened from the electric shock, because I’m able to get free. Then I run like hell.
How could I have been such a fool? How could I have questioned for one second that Paul was dangerous? He killed my father and I still wanted to give him the benefit of the doubt. Stupid, stupid, stupid. I’m never going to let a guy make me this stupid ever again.
I dash from the building into the rain toward the Tube.
From the footsteps on the pavement, and the shouts of people being pushed out of the way, I know Paul’s right behind me.
“Marguerite!” he shouts. “Stop!”
Like that would ever happen.
Raindrops spatter against my face; the sidewalks darken in front of me with every drop. The glowing 3D sign for the Underground spurs me on, giving me the strength to run faster.
I plunge inside, wet hair dripping, and don’t even hesitate before vaulting over the turnstile. If it gets the transit cops’ attention, great.
But even as I run I hear Paul jumping the turnstile behind me.
My ring begins to blink; only one person could be calling me. I manage to slap the ring on, and Theo’s face appears in front of me, shaking and blurry. “I heard—wait—what’s going on?”
“Paul! He’s right behind me! We’re at the Tube!”
Instantly the screen vanishes. Theo’s coming as fast as he can, I know, but I’m not sure he’ll be able to reach me in time.
The Tube corridor splits here into different tunnels, different destinations. I run into the nearest one, not caring or thinking which would be better, then curse under my breath as I hear a train pulling in ahead. While the crowds might protect me from Paul, they’ll also protect Paul from me.
But I keep running. I’m past the point of turning back.
The passengers swarm toward me, their holographic games and calls swirling around them like electronic fog. How can there be so many this long after rush hour? I angle my shoulders, turning that way and this to avoid crashing into someone—but then Paul’s hand grabs my shoulder.
Instantly I turn and slam my fist into Paul’s face.
Ow. Oh, damn. Nobody tells you that punching someone hurts as badly as getting punched. Paul stumbles back, and a few of the other passengers startle, realizing for the first time what they’re seeing.
Paul looks at me, his hand to his reddened jaw, and it’s as if . . . as if he doesn’t understand. How can he not understand?
Behind me the train slides out of the station with a rush of air and a roar that nearly drowns out his words. “Who brought you here?”
I don’t get a chance to answer as Theo shoves through the crowd, launching himself toward Paul and yelling, “Son of a bitch!”
Paul’s head whips from me to Theo in the split second before they collide. The remainder of the commuting crowd shatters in an instant; people scream and scatter, going in a hundred directions at once. A big guy slams into me hard enough that I bang into one of the metal-grid dividers.
Breathless, I stare through the grid to see Paul and Theo on the ground. Theo has the advantage at first, on his knees while Paul is flat on his back, and his fist makes contact with Paul’s jaw so hard that I can hear the crack.
Then Theo tries to hit him again, and in the moment that he blocks Theo’s hand with his own, Paul’s expression shifts from bewildered hurt to rage.
Red security alert lights begin to pulse. The grids cast strange shadows that seem to carve lines around and through us. Soon the metro police will be here. Shit.
Yet none of that matters when I see Paul bodily throw Theo back. Theo tumbles over so far that he actually falls through one of the holographic signs, something about tourism in Italy. As Theo half vanishes behind a translucent version of the Colosseum, Paul leaps after him, kneeling above Theo’s crumpled form.
“You,” he snarls, clutching Theo’s T-shirt. I never knew Paul’s face could look like that—soulless with fury. “How did you follow me?”
Theo kicks Paul solidly in the chest, but it only holds him back a moment. Paul recovers within a blink and punches Theo in the jaw. Then again. Then again. It’s not like I didn’t know Paul was bigger than Theo, but somehow I never realized until now just what a giant he is. How impossible it would be for Theo to take him down alone.
But I’ve got my breath back. Theo doesn’t have to go it alone anymore.
I run toward them, jump through the holographic sign and land on Paul’s broad back. He grunts in surprise, and tries to reach for me, but I’ve got one hand around his neck and another in his hair. So what if hair pulling is a girl move? It hurts, and it works.
“What—” Paul tries to twist out of my grip, but as his hand closes around my forearm, he suddenly stills. “Marguerite, stop.”
I can hardly hear the words over the rumbling approach of another train.
“Go to hell,” I say.
My free hand is the one with the Defender bracelet. When I slam it against his side, it does its job, shocking him again, and he cries out in pain.
Theo’s back up, and he goes after Paul’s Firebird locket. That’s it, that’s it, all I have to do is hold Paul while Theo finishes him.
Then Paul angles his head back, and he looks at me. His gray eyes stare upward, searching my face, revealing a depth of betrayal and pain I recognize because it mirrors my own.
For one instant, doubt blots out everything else, and my grip weakens.
How could I have been such a fool? How could I have questioned for one second that Paul was dangerous? He killed my father and I still wanted to give him the benefit of the doubt. Stupid, stupid, stupid. I’m never going to let a guy make me this stupid ever again.
I dash from the building into the rain toward the Tube.
From the footsteps on the pavement, and the shouts of people being pushed out of the way, I know Paul’s right behind me.
“Marguerite!” he shouts. “Stop!”
Like that would ever happen.
Raindrops spatter against my face; the sidewalks darken in front of me with every drop. The glowing 3D sign for the Underground spurs me on, giving me the strength to run faster.
I plunge inside, wet hair dripping, and don’t even hesitate before vaulting over the turnstile. If it gets the transit cops’ attention, great.
But even as I run I hear Paul jumping the turnstile behind me.
My ring begins to blink; only one person could be calling me. I manage to slap the ring on, and Theo’s face appears in front of me, shaking and blurry. “I heard—wait—what’s going on?”
“Paul! He’s right behind me! We’re at the Tube!”
Instantly the screen vanishes. Theo’s coming as fast as he can, I know, but I’m not sure he’ll be able to reach me in time.
The Tube corridor splits here into different tunnels, different destinations. I run into the nearest one, not caring or thinking which would be better, then curse under my breath as I hear a train pulling in ahead. While the crowds might protect me from Paul, they’ll also protect Paul from me.
But I keep running. I’m past the point of turning back.
The passengers swarm toward me, their holographic games and calls swirling around them like electronic fog. How can there be so many this long after rush hour? I angle my shoulders, turning that way and this to avoid crashing into someone—but then Paul’s hand grabs my shoulder.
Instantly I turn and slam my fist into Paul’s face.
Ow. Oh, damn. Nobody tells you that punching someone hurts as badly as getting punched. Paul stumbles back, and a few of the other passengers startle, realizing for the first time what they’re seeing.
Paul looks at me, his hand to his reddened jaw, and it’s as if . . . as if he doesn’t understand. How can he not understand?
Behind me the train slides out of the station with a rush of air and a roar that nearly drowns out his words. “Who brought you here?”
I don’t get a chance to answer as Theo shoves through the crowd, launching himself toward Paul and yelling, “Son of a bitch!”
Paul’s head whips from me to Theo in the split second before they collide. The remainder of the commuting crowd shatters in an instant; people scream and scatter, going in a hundred directions at once. A big guy slams into me hard enough that I bang into one of the metal-grid dividers.
Breathless, I stare through the grid to see Paul and Theo on the ground. Theo has the advantage at first, on his knees while Paul is flat on his back, and his fist makes contact with Paul’s jaw so hard that I can hear the crack.
Then Theo tries to hit him again, and in the moment that he blocks Theo’s hand with his own, Paul’s expression shifts from bewildered hurt to rage.
Red security alert lights begin to pulse. The grids cast strange shadows that seem to carve lines around and through us. Soon the metro police will be here. Shit.
Yet none of that matters when I see Paul bodily throw Theo back. Theo tumbles over so far that he actually falls through one of the holographic signs, something about tourism in Italy. As Theo half vanishes behind a translucent version of the Colosseum, Paul leaps after him, kneeling above Theo’s crumpled form.
“You,” he snarls, clutching Theo’s T-shirt. I never knew Paul’s face could look like that—soulless with fury. “How did you follow me?”
Theo kicks Paul solidly in the chest, but it only holds him back a moment. Paul recovers within a blink and punches Theo in the jaw. Then again. Then again. It’s not like I didn’t know Paul was bigger than Theo, but somehow I never realized until now just what a giant he is. How impossible it would be for Theo to take him down alone.
But I’ve got my breath back. Theo doesn’t have to go it alone anymore.
I run toward them, jump through the holographic sign and land on Paul’s broad back. He grunts in surprise, and tries to reach for me, but I’ve got one hand around his neck and another in his hair. So what if hair pulling is a girl move? It hurts, and it works.
“What—” Paul tries to twist out of my grip, but as his hand closes around my forearm, he suddenly stills. “Marguerite, stop.”
I can hardly hear the words over the rumbling approach of another train.
“Go to hell,” I say.
My free hand is the one with the Defender bracelet. When I slam it against his side, it does its job, shocking him again, and he cries out in pain.
Theo’s back up, and he goes after Paul’s Firebird locket. That’s it, that’s it, all I have to do is hold Paul while Theo finishes him.
Then Paul angles his head back, and he looks at me. His gray eyes stare upward, searching my face, revealing a depth of betrayal and pain I recognize because it mirrors my own.
For one instant, doubt blots out everything else, and my grip weakens.
