When Devils Sing(4)

Sam held out her unsteady, bloodied hand to the devil. He took it in his own, and they shook.

She asked, “That’s it?”

“That’s it.”

She pulled her hand back. Her skin was hot, tingling as if held to a flame. Silence fell between them. Sam was anxious to get inside—to get away from whatever it was that stood before her. Whether the devil spoke true or not, she was desperate to see Ben. But the devil didn’t move to go, and she wasn’t sure if she should, either. “You got a name?”

The devil looked contemplative. “You can call me Jack.”

Sam didn’t know why she did it, but she said, “My name’s Sam.”

“Well then.” Jack smiled, baring again those sharp, white teeth. “I guess I’ll be seein’ you soon, Sam.”

Her skin crawled at her name in his mouth. It sounded wrong, like the moment glass breaks. “See you, Jack.”



* * *



AS SAM WALKED away, leaving the devil behind in the parking lot, the night seemed darker, as if it crowded around her. The humid air heavy and hot on her skin. Beads of sweat pooled at her T-shirt collar, clinging to her damp neck. At the hospital entrance, she glanced back, but Jack and his Jeep were nowhere to be found.

Once inside, the nurse from before led Sam to her brother’s hospital room. She felt like she was being walked to the gallows.

As soon as the elevator doors opened, a woman’s high-pitched wailing reached Sam’s ears. Her mama. Sam’s feet were heavy as she was led down the nearest hallway, the wails growing louder with each step.

Sam stopped as they turned the nearest corner. There was her mama kneeling right there on the hall floor, keening at the feet of a grim-faced doctor. Sam’s daddy was crouched beside her, his arms wrapped around her shaking body, his face buried in her neck.

“My baby boy,” her mama screamed. “My baby boy!”

Sam looked to the nurse, desperately searching her face.

The woman’s expression was grim as she guided Sam down the hall. “You need to be with them.”

No.

A choked sound escaped Sam’s throat. It was a primal thing, somewhere between a sob and a scream. “Is he—?” She couldn’t give voice to the word.

Dead?

Her daddy glanced up then. “Samantha.” His voice was a low rumble, the kind of distant thunder you hear before a summer storm.

Without meaning to, Sam’s good hand went to the splint around her left wrist. He’d done that to her, the last time she saw him.

“I’m sorry,” she whimpered those familiar words. She’d spent eighteen years apologizing, but it was never enough. “I—I tried to—”

What could Sam even say? That she thought she’d made a deal with the devil to save her brother’s life? Standing in the sterile hospital hallway, her bargain with Jack suddenly felt foolish. Of course Ben was dead. She saw his heart stop. How could she believe otherwise?

“Do you realize what you’ve done? Huh?” Wiley demanded, rising from the floor. He was all tension, the bottled-up inertia before a punch collides with its target. His grief was indistinguishable from his rage. The feelings needed a way out, and he was itching to lay it all on her.

Sam flinched as her daddy drew near. She wondered if he’d hit her right then and there. Who would stop him? Behind Wiley, the doctor hovered anxiously, clearly unsure of what to do. A few nurses lingered in the doorways of other rooms, watching.

They all were surely thinking the same thing: Wiley Calhoun was untouchable.

Sam’s voice cracked as she said, “Just let me see him. Please.”

It was a phone call that saved her in the end. An obnoxious trill rang from the back pocket of Wiley’s jeans, rendering him frozen. Even if Sam no longer lived under her daddy’s roof, she knew who called. A master and his hound. Not even Ben’s death would stand in the way of him answering.

Wiley sucked his yellow teeth but stalked down the hall to take the call from his boss.

The doctor, taking advantage of her daddy’s absence, showed her into Ben’s room. He eased the door shut behind them with a soft thud, silencing her mama’s lingering whimpers at once.

Sam looked onto her brother’s lifeless body, lying limp in a hospital bed. The oxygen had been removed from his nose. IVs stripped from his bruised skin. The heart rate monitor was dark and still. There was no sound in the room, except Sam’s own labored breathing.

She knelt beside him, reaching for his hand. His freckled skin was still warm. Fresh tears ran down Sam’s cheeks.

“We couldn’t revive him,” the doctor said, and Sam startled. She’d already forgotten he was there. He kept talking, but his voice sounded distant to her ears, like he was speaking to her from underwater. “Injury to the brain … excessive blood loss … body went into shock…”

Sam brushed away the hair that stuck to her brother’s forehead. They shared the same red hair, always falling in front of their eyes. She swept it back again and again—repeating the motion, realizing she’d never have another chance to do so.

“I’m sorry, Ben,” Sam choked out. Tears streamed onto the bed in a steady rhythm. “I’m so sorry.”

Sam wanted to crawl into the bed beside him, to hold him like she always did when he was scared. To fall asleep and wake up to his smiling face. For the sun to rise and to discover it was all a terrible dream. She didn’t know how long she knelt there, weeping over her brother.