Chapter 4
Night didn't answer. He became a bit more see-through, like he was running low on energy.
At 6:15, Lyndsey heard footsteps downstairs. She walked over to the window and peeked out from behind the curtain.
She saw her parents. Liam, her biological father, was clutching his lower back. His kidneys were failing, which was why he needed hers.
Arlene, her mother, was clutching a document folder, probably with the consent form inside. Not far behind them, a van without license plates was parked, and inside sat Garry and his men.
Lyndsey didn't go downstairs. She sat on her bed, opened her phone, and connected to the city's surveillance network.
This was one of the abilities she'd gained from the "intelligence boost" when she wrote Edward's name, some kind of superhuman hacking intuition.
On the surveillance feed, Garry's men made the first move. They rushed at Liam and Arlene, needles glinting under the streetlights. But then Liam suddenly froze, like he'd heard something, his eyes darting around in panic.
Night whispered in Lyndsey's ear, "It's a hallucination. I caused it. That's as much as I can manage. Punishment for breaking neutrality is harsh."
Lyndsey glanced at him. Night's black wings were trembling. A feather drifted down, disintegrating into ash midair.
On the surveillance feed, chaos erupted. Garry thought Liam was about to bolt and lunged at him, the two grappling fiercely.
Arlene screamed and clawed at them, but one of Garry's men shoved her, slamming her into the van's side mirror. Blood trickled down her forehead, and the sight sent Liam over the edge.
Liam pulled out the knockout syringe he'd prepared for Lyndsey, and plunged it into Garry's neck.
A chain reaction. Chaos. Blood.
Lyndsey watched quietly. She gripped her notebook so hard her nails dug into her palm, drawing blood, but she felt nothing.
Forty minutes later, police sirens cut through the morning mist. In the abandoned hospital's operating room, three bodies lay contorted.
Garry was dead on the operating table, gripping a rusty organ tray; Liam and Arlene had collapsed at the doorway, like they'd tried to crawl out for help, but the blood loss got them before they could.
Lyndsey's phone buzzed. It was a bank notification.
It read: [Your account ending in 7749 has received a transfer of 200,000 dollars. Remark: Compensation]
She stared at that number for a long time. It was the money Garry had spent to put a price on her head, and now, thanks to some rules she'd rather not question, it had turned into legal income.
On the last page of the notebook, a new line of tiny letters appeared. [Karma settled. Lifespan +15 years. Current balance: 35 years.]
Night drifted over to her. He looked so weak, his black wings as thin as gauze. She could see the wall right through him.
"You exploited a loophole in the rules," Night murmured, his voice soft like a sigh. "You made them tear each other apart while you kept your hands clean. But Lyndsey..."
He reached out, his ghostly fingers brushing against her chest. "Is your heart still aching?"
Lyndsey lowered her head. She realized her hands were trembling, not from excitement, not from fear, but from a hollow, resounding ache inside her.
She remembered being seven, when Arlene had knitted her a red scarf, the stitches were uneven and clumsy. It was the only birthday gift she'd ever received.
She remembered how Liam had carried her to the hospital once when she was burning with fever. His back had felt so broad, and he smelled of tobacco and animal feed.
More memories flooded in. She remembered them forcing her to quit school and work to support her brother.
She remembered being locked in the woodshed for three days because "girls don't need an education." She remembered the syringe they'd meant to jab into her side.
"It hurts," she whispered, and at last, a single tear fell, landing on the cover of the notebook. "But pain means I'm still alive, doesn't it?"
Night gazed at her, and for a fleeting moment, a hint of gentleness flickered in those green eyes.
Lyndsey wiped away her tears, picked up her phone, and opened her brother, Thomas Duncan's chat thread. The latest message he'd sent to their parents read: [Knock her out, don't kill her. The kidney has to be alive. If she dies, she's no good to us.]
She stared at that message for a long time, until morning light filled the room.
Then she picked up her pen and, carefully, letter by letter, wrote Thomas's name in the blank space of her notebook. But as she was about to finish the last stroke, Night's hand, cold, solid, and unmistakably real, gripped her wrist.
"Don't," he said. "At least not today."
Lyndsey looked up and saw the plea in Night's eyes. That wasn't the kind of expression a reaper should have.
She paused for a moment, her pen hovering over the last stroke of Thomas's name. Then she slowly scratched out the unfinished words. The bloodstain on the page faded away, as if it had never existed.
But Lyndsey knew this was only a temporary truce. She gazed at the rising sun outside her window, feeling those thirty-five years of life—taken from the wicked—flowing through her. The birthmark on her face faded away, and a new strength welled up inside her.
"Fine," she said. "Let's be a little kind today."