“Is she home right now?” I start to head toward their front door.
He shakes his head and I stop and back up toward my house. “Nah, she went out shopping or something,” he says.
Without saying goodbye, I sprint into my house and up to the attic door. I hammer my fist on it, but Ian doesn’t answer, so I shove the door open and burst into his studio. “Ian, are you in here?”
The lights are on and System of a Down’s “Lonely Day” is playing from the stereo on the floor. Canvas and sketches cover the walls, paint stains the wood floor, and the oval window is covered by a black sheet. It smells like sage and something stronger… something I’ve smelt many times in Ian’s studio.
“Dammit.” I pick up the burning joint, squish the tip against the edge of the windowsill, and throw it in a cup of water on a stool. I turn to leave but notice a large canvas in the corner, covered with another black sheet and I tug it off, letting it float to the floor.
It’s a picture of Raven lying in the middle of a snowy field, wearing a black cape over her head. Blood drips from her mouth and the corners of her eyes. Grasped in her hand is an empty hourglass and underneath her body is a red X. On the bottom corner of the drawing, bleeding in red, it says: Alyssa, please forgive me.
“What the fuck is this? She’s not… No, she couldn’t be…” Shaking my head, I run down the hall and to Ian’s room. I bang on the door. “Ian, open up the door. I know you’re in there!” I hammer my fist harder against the door. “I can smell the smoke coming through the door.” I jiggle the knob and rattle the door. “Ian, open up the door. You’re worrying me.”
I dash back to my room and grab a bobby pin from my dresser, before heading back to Ian’s room. I crouch down in front of the shut door and work the pin until I hear the lock click. Standing up, I push the door open and smoke instantly engulfs my face. I cough and then let out a frustrated sigh at Ian sprawled on the bed, wearing pajama bottoms and a ratty T-shirt, and there’s a photo clutched in his hand.
Fanning the smoke from my face, I pad over to his bed. Without even looking at it, I know it’s a photo of Alyssa. Even with his eyes shut, his torture and guilt is written all over his face and Cameron’s words reply in my mind: What if I told you I could take away every ounce of pain you have and would ever feel?
I take the photo from Ian’s hand and flip it over. Death made me do it, Alyssa, and I’m sorry. But now I have to move on to the next Angel.
The next Angel? He can’t be talking about… No, Ian didn’t kill her. It’s not possible. I struggle not to rip the photo into pieces and set it down on the dresser, and then I give Ian a soft shake. “Wake up, Ian. We need to talk.”
But he’s passed out, stoned out of his mind, so I give up and run back to my room to get my phone. I need to talk to Raven and find out if she’s still here, or if the Reapers have gotten a hold of her again. But when I enter my room, something feels off, like the air is unbalanced.