The Book of Fate - Brad Meltzer [180]
“She’s gonna need an ambulance, Wes,” The Roman bellows in the distance.
Lisbeth.
Jerking wildly, I struggle to sit up. Nico doesn’t bother to fight. Sliding from my chest, he crumbles like a rag doll onto the wet grass and curls in full fetal position. Sixty to zero in less than ten seconds.
“Don’t say that, God,” he sobs and pleads, his hands tugging at his ears. “Please . . . don’t . . . don’t turn Your back on me! Help me heed the Book! Please!”
“Keep hiding, Wes!” The Roman shouts, even louder than before.
Scrambling to my feet, I peer through the shrub’s branches, down the stone-paved, tree-lined path, straining to see shapes in the faint light. Down at the end, at the base of the ancient banyan tree, I can just make out two figures as The Roman rams his knee into Lisbeth’s face and she lurches backward. Just behind them, the First Lady has her back turned. Seeing her, I should be boiling, raging. But as I study the back of her crooked neck . . . all I feel now is a bitter empty chill. I need to get to Lis—
“I know you’re there!” The Roman taunts. For the first time, it pisses me off.
Lisbeth’s still—
“She’s hurting, Wes!” The Roman adds. “Ask her!”
I tense to run, but there’s a tug on my slacks. And a familiar click.
Behind me, Nico rises from the mud—climbing to one knee, then the other—his tall frame unfolding like an Erector set. His short black hair is soaked and matted against his head, while his gun is pointed at my chest.
“Nico, let go of me.”
“You’re my crossbearer, Wesley,” he says as he wipes tears from his eyes. “God selected you. For me.”
“She’s bleeding pretty bad, Wes!” The Roman shouts.
Lisbeth yells something too, but I’m so focused on Nico, I can’t hear it.
“Nico, listen to me—I know you heard them . . .”
“The crossbearer carries the weight!” Smiling sweetly, he points his gun at his own head. “Will you catch my body when I fall?”
“Nico, don’t—”
“Will you catch me when I fall, fall, fall from grace . . . the crossbearer to bear witness . . . ?” He lowers his gun, then raises it up again, pressing it against his temple. I hear Lisbeth moaning.
“God sent you to save her too, didn’t He?” He stares at me, transfixed, the gun still at his head. “Save me as well, my angel.”
Behind us, the train whistle howls, so close it’s almost deafening. Nico presses his lips together, trying to look like he’s not cringing. But I can see his jaw tightening. For me, it’s noisy. For him, it’s overwhelming. Wild-eyed, he points the gun back at me to keep me from running.
I don’t care. “I’m innocent,” I tell him as I step toward him. He knows it’s a warning.
“Nobody’s innocent, Dad.”
Dad?
“Lord have mercy on my son,” he continues, his gun moving from my chest, to my head, back to my chest. He’s crying again. He’s in agony. “You understand, Dad, right?” he begs. “I had to do it. They told me . . . Mom said to follow the Book! Please tell me you understand!”
“Y-Yes,” I say as I put a hand on his shoulder. “Of course, I understand. Son.”
Nico laughs out loud, the tears still streaming down his cheeks. “Thank you,” he says, barely able to contain himself as he clutches his rosary. “I knew . . . I knew you’d be my angel.”
Turning left, I glance through an opening in the shrub. The Roman’s aiming his gun down at Lisbeth.
“Nico, move!” I say as I shove my way past him. All I need to do is—
Blam!
I jump back as The Roman’s gun explodes. Down the path, a tiny supernova of light breaks the darkness like a burst firefly, then disappears.
I run as fast as I can.
Lisbeth’s already screaming.
108
You don’t believe me, do you?” Boyle asked Rogo as the white van skidded out of the parking lot and swerved onto Griffin Road.
“Does it matter what I think?” Rogo replied, gripping the console between their bucket seats and staring out the front window. “C’mon,