A Beautiful Torment

30. Entwined

My eyes flew open just in time to watch Wyatt's torch clatter to the floor, the beam of light rolling across the cream linoleum. The Reaper above me flinched, its rotting torso twisting in the direction of the gunshot, and I took advantage of its distraction to drop to my knees and grab Wyatt's torch as it rolled toward me.

There was a strong, gnawing sense of emptiness growing in the pit of my stomach, and it took all of my strength not to vomit up the pizza from earlier. It was stronger than the fear and the panic that spiralled through my body, even stronger than the adrenaline still coursing through my veins, and for that long, endless moment, I forgot about the reapers, forgot about the fact that only seconds ago, I'd been almost killed – and focused, completely, on the feeling of pure and utter shock that overpowered everything else inside of me.

I flicked the torch in Wyatt's direction just as the second Reaper, the mostly-intact one, curled its good arm around Wyatt's limp leg and start to drag him slowly down the aisle. Ignoring the looming threat of both Reapers, I crawled towards Wyatt, my heart in my throat.

No, no, no, no, this wasn't happening...

"Wyatt," I croaked out. My hand shook as I reached for his limp fingers, a soft hissing sound assaulting my ears as the Reaper continued to drag him away slowly. "Nononono –!" I snatched at his hand. The gnawing in my stomach grew to an unbearable, undeniable need to see his face, and I finally mustered up the courage to shine the torch beam at his head.

It wasn't like in the movies, where blood splattered everywhere and pieces of skin littered the surrounding area. It was clean, almost undetectable in the poor light; a tiny, round hole in the middle of his pale forehead. His eyes were closed, thick, black lashes feather-light against his cheeks, and for the first time since that fateful day in the gym, he looked almost... peaceful.

A tight, constricting feeling burst built in my chest. No, no, no, no, no...

"Wyatt!" I screamed. "Wyatt, wake up! Wake up!"

I could see, in my peripheral vision, the torso of the first Reaper twisting back toward me, distracted by my screams. I didn't care. I couldn't care. This wasn't like before. Somewhere in the back of my mind, I was aware that Wyatt had died before and that I'd pulled him back from the brink through our bond, but I'd never witnessed his actual death before. I'd never watched him get shot in the head and get dragged away by a Reaper. If our bond, or whatever it was, was supposed to keep him alive... then why was he dead right now? Why hadn't our bond saved him or something?!

Ohgodohgodohgod, he's dead.

A hysterical sob burst from my mouth. "WYATT!"

I scrambled across the floor on my hands and knees, my fingers closing like a death grip around his. They can't have him, they're not having him, he's mine, he's mine, he's MINE, no, no, no, they're not having him, not now, not ever...

I could feel the Reaper coming up behind me, the shadow of its long, curved blade looming across the floor as it rose in the air. The knowledge that I was going to die didn't come as such as such a painful realization this time. I didn't feel the urge to brace myself, I didn't scrunch up my eyes and pray that it didn't hurt. A part of me wanted it to hurt. A part of me wanted to feel the pain physically as a distraction from the emotional agony clawing at my chest.

I'd never realized that I could physically feel him, could sense him so keenly, until I'd felt that lifeline being ripped away from me so devastatingly fast.

"ISABEL!" A loud, distinctly male shout filtered through the haze of pain that surrounded me, but I ignored it. It wasn't the voice I wanted to hear. It wasn't his. "ISABEL, MOVE. NOW."