The Eighth Gate

19 | The Sins of Our Brothers

“I can’t believe that actually worked,” Mary said, her voice breathless with adrenaline and from the physical strain of dashing to get into Mason’s car after stepping outside through the automatic doors of the hospital—which had been such a liberating, joyful moment indeed. “For all that woman knows, she might have just allowed me to leave the ward with a killer.”

“It wounds me that you have such a small amount of faith in my brilliant plans,” Mason replied from the driver’s seat. He shifted the gear to reverse out of the parking space. “I mean, look at this face. Is it fraught with evil intentions that could possibly result in the termination of a poor sick girl’s life?”

He turned to look at her, offering her full view of his face in lieu of what had been his profile a moment before. Annoyingly enough, it was as if he were posing for her. His right arm was draped around the back of his leather seat, his lean body half-twisted from his efforts (he had been eyeing the back window in order to have a better view of the street while reversing). His leather jacket rode up his simple white t-shirt, rumpling it to expose a glimpse of his defined abs and v-line. With the afternoon sunlight sparking off his golden brown hair, and the shadows of the car’s dark interior painting his eyes a dark evergreen, Mason looked ridiculously beautiful—but threateningly so, his chiseled face baring the type of untrustworthy essence native to poisonous flowers. He had the look of a heartbreaker, the kind of boy who’d crushed many girls’ hearts without giving his actions much thought.

“No,” Mary muttered, darting her eyes away to the window. They had pulled out of the parking lot and into the main road. The weathered, bleak exterior of Cullis Port State Hospital shrunk away behind them, every turn of the car’s wheels adding to the distance between Mary and the horrible memories she had acquired during her short stay at the ward.

“Didn’t think so,” Mason replied cheerfully. “Besides, Helen was more than happy to bend the rules a bit for us.”

“You mean for you,” Mary clarified with an eye-roll. “And I wouldn’t call falsifying records and forging my psychologists’ signature ‘bending the rules a bit.’”

The front desk lady whom Mason had befriended had no qualms about going into the computer and changing Mary’s check-out time for later in the evening. She even contacted Mary’s parents and told them that Dr. Dashner had requested a shortened stay period for Mary at the ward; Mary took the chance to speak with her father for a few minutes, confirming the receptionist’s plans. And on top of it all, Helen had promised to keep Mary’s temporary leave with Mason a secret; she’d be back in time for her parents to pick her up and for nobody to notice she was even gone.

“They’re little white lies,” Mason assured with a passive wave of the hand. “And if anyone questions your check-out, she’ll just say there was a mistake in the system—a mix-up of some sort. No big deal.”

“You’re insane,” Mary declared, but she didn’t add that she quite liked it. The thrill of risk-taking had become very familiar to her what with her past experiences involving the paranormal. Between Noah and Tam, Mary had been the bravest, the most willing to step into the line of danger. Noah quickly followed her because that was just what Noah did, and Tam had always been the motherly one who feared for both their safeties—but especially Noah’s. It was refreshing to meet someone as daring as she was. “How much did you wind up paying her?”

Mason’s confident smile drooped into a grimace. “Two-hundred fifty.”

“That much? And a date? I thought it was a hundred dollars. I didn’t know you were that generous.”

“I’m not. But I paid her extra to get out of the date.”

“Why?”

“Because Mason Montgomery doesn’t do dates,” he said matter-of-factly. “I hate them. Too much talking. I'd rather skip all of that bullshit and fast forward to the part where we make out in my car.”