Becca Fitzpatrick: Crescendo

Grabbing hold of the metal bar, I braced myself for the fall. The front of the boat tipped, then plunged over the waterfall. The boat splashed at the bottom, sending water spraying over the sides. The water might have felt cold, had I not already been drenched and shivering. I wiped my eyes dry, and that was when I saw a small maintenance platform carved out of the tunnel wall to my right. A door marked DANGER: HIGH VOLTAGE sat just back from the platform.

I looked back at the waterfall. Rixon’s boat hadn’t fallen yet, and with only seconds to spare, I made a risky decision. Jumping over the side of the boat, I waded as quickly as I could to the platform, hoisted myself up, and tried the door. It opened, letting out the loud hissing and clanking of machines, hundreds of gears churning and grinding. I’d found the mechanical heart of the fun house, and the entrance to the underground tunnels.

I closed the door most of the way behind me, leaving a thin crack to see out.

With one eye pressed to the crack, I watched the next boat fly down the waterfall. Rixon was in the boat. He was leaning over the metal sidebar, searching the water. Had he seen me jump out? Was he looking for me? His boat continued down the track, and he eased himself overboard, landing feetfirst in the water. Using his hands to hold his wet hair out of his face, he searched the murky surface of the water. It was then that I realized his hands were empty. He wasn’t looking for me—he’d dropped the gun in the fall, and he was looking for it.

The tunnel was dark, and I found it impossible to believe Rixon could see all the way to the bottom of the canal. Which meant he was going to have to feel his way to the gun. That would take time. Of course, I needed more than time. I needed a stroke of impossible luck. The police had to be combing the park by now, but would they think to look in the underbelly of the fun house before it was too late?

I shut the door softly, hoping to find a lock on the inside, but there was none. Suddenly I wished I’d risked my chances making it out of the tunnel before Rixon, rather than circling back to hide. If Rixon came inside the service room, I was trapped.

Ragged breathing came from my left, behind an electrical box.

I swung around, eyes darting through the blackness. “Who’s there?”

“Who do you think?”

I blinked against the shadows. “Scott?” I took several nervous steps backward.

“I got lost in the tunnels. I took a door, and came out in here.”

“Are you still bleeding?”

“Yeah. Surprisingly, I’m not completely drained yet.” His words were choppy, and I could tell it took a lot of energy for him to speak.

“You need a doctor.”

He gave a spent laugh. “I need the ring.”

At this point, I didn’t know how serious Scott was about getting the ring back. He was exhausted with pain, and I was pretty sure we both knew he wasn’t going to drag me out of here to hold as a hostage. He was weakened by the shot, but he was Nephilim. He would survive this. Working together, we had a chance at getting out. But before I could convince him to help me escape Rixon, I needed him to trust me.

I walked over to the electrical box and knelt down beside him. He had one hand pressed against his side, just below his rib cage, stopping the flow of blood. His face was the color of cornstarch, and the wasted look in his eyes proved what I already knew: He was in a lot of pain. “I don’t believe you’re going to use the ring to recruit new members,” I said quietly. “You aren’t going to force other people into the society.”

Scott shook his head, agreeing with me. “There’s something I need to tell you. Remember when I told you I was working the night your dad was shot?”

I vaguely remembered him telling me he’d been at work when he got the call about my dad’s murder. “Where’s this going?” I asked hesitantly.

“I worked at a convenience store called Quickies that was only a few blocks away.” He paused, as if waiting for me to come to some grand conclusion. “I was supposed to follow your dad that night. The Black Hand told me to. He said your dad was on his way to a meeting, and I had to keep him safe.”

“What are you saying?” I asked in a voice as dry as chalk.

“I didn’t follow him.” Scott bowed his face into his hands. “I wanted to show the Black Hand he couldn’t order me around. I wanted to show him I wouldn’t be part of his society. So I stayed at work. I didn’t leave. I didn’t follow your dad. And he died. He died because of me.”

I slid my back down the wall until I was seated beside him. I couldn’t speak. The right words weren’t there.

“You hate me, don’t you?” he asked.

“You didn’t kill my dad,” I said numbly. “It’s not your fault.”

“I knew he was in trouble. Why else would the Black Hand want to make sure he made it to the meeting safe? I should have gone. If I’d followed the Black Hand’s orders, your dad would be alive.”

“It’s in the past,” I whispered, trying not to let this information cause me to blame Scott. I needed his help. Together, we could get out of here. I couldn’t allow myself to hate him. I had to work with him. I needed to trust him, and I needed him to trust me.

“Just because it’s in the past doesn’t mean it’s easy to forget. Less than an hour after I was supposed to follow your dad, my dad called with the news.”

Without meaning to, I made a small whimpering noise.

“Then the Black Hand came into the convenience store. He was wearing a mask, but I recognized his voice.” Scott shuddered. “I’ll never forget that voice. He gave me a gun and told me to make sure it never surfaced again. It was your dad’s gun. He said he wanted the police report to say your dad died an innocent and unarmed man. He didn’t want to put your family through the pain and confusion of knowing what really happened that night. He didn’t want anyone to suspect your dad was involved with criminals like himself. He wanted it to look like a random mugging.

“I was supposed to toss the gun in the river, but I kept it. I wanted out of the society. The only way I saw that happening was if I had something I could use to blackmail the Black Hand. So I kept the gun. When my mom and I moved here, I left a message behind for the Black Hand. I told him if he came looking for me, I’d make sure the police got their hands on Harrison Grey’s gun. I’d make sure the whole world knew he had ties to the Black Hand. I swore I’d drag your dad’s name through the mud as many times as it took, if it meant I got my life back. I still have the gun.” He opened his hands, and it dropped between his knees, clattering on the cement. “I still have it.”

A dull and furious pain ricocheted through me.

“It was so hard to be around you,” Scott said, his voice brittle. “I wanted to make you hate me. God knows I hated myself. Every time I saw you, all I could think about was that I chickened out. I could have saved your dad’s life. I’m sorry,” he said, his voice cracking.

“It’s okay.” I said it as much for myself as Scott. “Everything’s going to be okay.” But it felt like the worst lie yet.

Scott picked up the gun, fingering it. Before the whole moment made sense to me, I saw him raise it to his head. “I don’t deserve to live,” he said.

A veil of ice choked my heart. “Scott—,” I began.

“Your family deserves this. I can’t face you anymore. I can’t face myself.” His finger slid to the trigger.

There was no time to think. “You didn’t kill my dad,” I said. “Rixon did—Vee’s boyfriend. He’s a fallen angel. It’s real, all of it. You’re Nephilim, Scott. You can’t kill yourself. Not this way. You’re immortal. You’re never going to die. If you want to make amends for any guilt you feel over my dad’s death, help me get out of here. Rixon is on the other side of that door, and he’s going to kill me. The only way I’m going to survive is if you help me.”