Wastelands: A Broken World

CHAPTER 9: A DEAL WITH THE DEVIL

Raising my arm, I covered my eyes with my palm and willed the tears to just fuck right off. I didn't want to give this thingmy tears. I didn't owe Tom's murderer one ounce of my grief. My body might have been weakened, but I couldn't let my emotions weaken me too and I couldn't let him see that I was hurting from far more than my injuries.

'I thought it would help,' the Grey continued, his voice a constant stab to the heart.

Knife in. Knife out.

'It helped... before. I gave you codeine and ibuprofen. I hope it's enough. I think it is.'

Stop it. Stop talking. You're killing me. Stop.

Another memory came then, unbidden, unwanted. The Grey with his arm around me, putting the tablets in my mouth, holding a bottle of water to my lips, tilting my head back so I could drink. He'd touched me. This thing that was pretending to be my husband. My Tom. He'd held me. Put his hands on me.

God, I wanted to retch again. I kept my palm over my eyes and concentrated on breathing and on not throwing up again.

'You should probably try not to move. Moving around just makes you feel dizzier.' He paused, remembering again. 'You had to stay in bed for almost a week. I took time off work to look after you. I liked looking after you.'

'Not you,' I hissed, through gritted teeth. 'Not fucking you.'

'No. Not me.' The Grey's voice sounded flat. Disappointed almost. 'But I remember.'

The only thing worse than my memories, were his memories.

The Grey could remember things. Things that Tom had experienced. Things that Tom had said or done. Not only had he stolen Tom's life and his appearance, but he'd stolen his mind and his memories too. That felt worse somehow, like it was a step too far, because those shared memories were ours. They were private. I couldn't help but feel like the Grey had severed a bond that I'd been desperately holding on to, intruding on something sacred. He was trespassing on hallowed ground that belonged to only me and Tom.

Shame flooded me then when I realised not only could the Grey remember events like when I'd been struck down with severe head pain, Tom's marriage proposal in the Maria Luisa and the significance of The Raising of Lazarus, but that he could probably also remember all the times we'd shared – all of them. Every touch. Every time I'd whispered his name. Every time our bodies had entwined like we'd never get enough of each other. Every time I'd told him I loved him.

I inhaled and exhaled a shaky breath.

The pain in my head was the like the crack of constant gunfire, an incessant throbbing that hammered mercilessly where my skull had made contact with the marbled centaur.

Everything that had happened seemed drenched in images of him. Of Tom.

Tom holding me steady so I wouldn't fall when I hauled the laden backpack onto my shoulder.

Tom cutting down the Grey who had jumped clear of the portico at Lancaster House.

Tom pulling the trigger and saving me from the alien in the stairwell.

Tom pressing against my back, his arm wrapped tightly around my waist, his breath hot on my neck.

I tried hard to banish the images of him from inside my head, but they just kept playing over and over like an old movie projector, the filmstrip clicking round and round in the reel.

Click-click-click.

'Where's Jace?' I said, suddenly remembering, fearful of what had happened to my friend while I'd been unconscious. I knew what Tom was, but I still didn't know whether Lena was like him too. If Jace was still with her, was he okay? Was he even still alive?