Redemption (5 page)

Bastion ignored her and vanished, focusing his energy on getting to Bryan.

H
e remembered Nick and Carrie dropping him off. Nick had whistled for a second time upon entering the suite, making a comment about the “good life”. Yeah, right, good. He even recalled that they put his luggage in the closet and helped him to bed. What Bryan couldn’t seem to put his finger on was why he was so exhausted in the first place. He rolled over and looked at the hotel alarm clock: 10:00 PM.

He’d slept the entire day away.

Bryan sat up in bed and scratched his head. He had to do something, had to go out. The hotel had a bar, and since he had no car yet, that would work.

He got up and meandered to the bathroom. He caught sight of his reflection in the mirror over the sink. He still didn’t look like his normal self, but the haircut and shave had removed most of the lumberjack from his appearance. Most, but not all. Bryan shrugged. What he looked like wasn’t that important; it’s not like he was here looking to find someone. He already had Mara. Bryan turned from the mirror; he had a job to do - take some pictures and get back to his life on the West Coast.

After brushing his teeth and running his fingers through his hair - that would suffice - Bryan grabbed his wallet and room key. A few drinks would tame the gnawing in his gut. Tomorrow he’d have to go to Nick’s. They’d talk about specifics. Eventally, she’d find out he was here.

And she’d want to see him.

Bryan grimaced. Where was Mara when he needed her? That’s right...working some big deal. So, he was on his own for this one. He squared his shoulders; he could handle it. How bad could it possibly be?

The bartender smiled as Bryan found a stool and sat.

My new best friend,
Bryan thought.

“What’ll it be?” he asked.

“Whiskey,” Bryan answered, “and keep them coming.”

“You got it.”

He winced at the first swallow - it was strong, and that was good. As the smooth liquid slid down his throat, it washed away a bit of the pain that was beginning to wind its way through his insides. He imagined it was like snakes, filling him up and constricting his organs until they burst and he eventually died. Death would bring relief.

Bryan raised his glass to his reflection. “Here’s to you, you stupid fool.” He kicked back the rest of the glass and placed it on the bar, signaling the bartender to give him a refill.

After a few more, it wouldn’t matter where he was, who was there, or what was happening. He’d be in a much-needed, mind-numbing stupor. Bryan smiled at the thought and drank deeply of his second glass.

The stone around his neck seemed to grow warmer with each sip he took, reminding him of Mara. He closed his eyes, remembering the feel of her body against his. Shaking off the sense of loneliness without her, he downed the rest of his drink.

“Another,” he said.

The bartender eyed him cautiously. “You’re drinking like a man who’s trying to forget,” he commented as he filled the glass for a third time. “You might want to slow down, buddy.”

“I’ll be fine,” Bryan grunted.

The man held up two hands in surrender and leaned against the shelf behind the bar. “What’s your story?” he asked.

“Too long to tell.”

He indicated the sparsely occupied room. “Bar’s pretty empty tonight. I’ve got time.”

Bryan swirled his glass, watching the way the light glinted off the whiskey. Stars. The shimmer looked like stars. He could hear her, feel her. They were twenty and sitting on a dock by the lake in town. Instantly, he was lost in thought and memory.

Brown hair tumbled over her shoulders. Her laugh, a melody that tormented him still. He remembered her warmth. Her smile. She owned years of his life. She still owned his heart. And it didn’t matter to her in the slightest.

Miranda
.

The last time he’d seen her, he’d partnered with Derek to rescue her from a crazed stalker who held her at gunpoint in her own home. Bryan’s lip pulled into a half-smile as he recalled how good it felt to deliver a little payback on that guy Jerry with the Louisville Slugger he found in Derek’s Jeep. Derek. Bryan grit his teeth and tried to blot out those memories. Derek’s arms around her, not his own. He took another drink before talking again.

“I’ll give you the abbreviated version. She didn’t want me. Super Cop won out. He got my girl. He got my life. He got it all,” he said bitterly and finished a third glass. He arched a brow and tapped his glass to indicate that what was now empty needed to stay filled.

The bartender leaned over and poured a fourth. “Like I said. Drinking like a man trying to forget. So, you here to get away from her?”

“Get away from her?” Bryan laughed harshly. “I flew to California to get away from her. No, she’s
here
. And now I’m
here
.” He punctuated each sentence by poking his finger into the bar. “Seeing her again is really going to suck.”

Glass number four went down easily.

“Why the heck did you come back?” the other man asked, hesitating before pouring number five.

“A favor,” Bryan’s words were beginning to slur.

He swirled the liquid again and watched the way it sloshed back and forth, like waves. He should be in California, not here in Jersey in some hotel bar. His new best friend had gone to pour drinks for some others seated on the far end of the bar, leaving Bryan alone with his thoughts. Never a good thing.

His thoughts inevitably took him back to Miranda. Back to all the plans he’d had, all the hope he’d had. Hope. There was a joke. The only thing worse than love was hope. In the end, both had torn him apart and left him empty inside.

Glass number five went down even easier.

Bryan gestured to his empty glass. “You gonna pour, or am I?”

“You got someone who can watch out for you?” the bartender asked, hesitating.

“I used to.” He kicked his head back and finished the sixth glass. The whiskey had done its job; whatever had propelled him into the bar was drowning under its influence. “What do I owe you?”

The bartender rang up his bill and handed it to Bryan. “Take it easy. No chick is worth this.”

“She was,” Bryan replied.

He wobbled as he took out his wallet and struggled to count the bills correctly. His vision was foggy; that was good. He slapped what looked like the right amount down, saluted the bartender, and turned toward the door. He made it about halfway there before his legs forgot how to work. A thought flashed through Bryan’s mind - he really should’ve eaten something today - and then his face became intimately acquainted with the floor.

 

Bastion hurried over to where Bryan had passed out. “I’ve got him, pal,” he said to the bartender who was moving toward him.

“You the guy he’s here to do a favor for?”

“No, but I’m a friend.” Bastion lifted Bryan from the floor and slung one of his arms around his shoulder. It required almost no effort to support the mortal, but he acted as though he struggled a bit under the weight. All for show, to avoid unwanted attention.

“Yeah, well, you might want to take better care of your
friend
there. He’s gonna kill himself if he’s not careful.”

Bastion nodded and made his way to the door with Bryan.

“You’re a wreck, man,” he said to the unconscious person he carried. “But we’ll fix that. Everything will be okay when you see her again. She’s gonna help you heal, that I promise you.”

Bastion put Bryan into his bed and covered him with a blanket. This mortal was determined to destroy himself. Mara had done a good job of keeping him from the safety of Bastion’s guard, of defeating his spirit. He shook his head as he stood looking down upon the man who lay passed out and mumbling to himself in his sleep.

“You’ll see. Once you’re with her again, you’re going to start feeling better. Heck, you’ll just start to
feel
again. And don’t worry about that devil-chick; I made sure this room is safe from her, at least for a while.” He sat down in a chair across the room. “I’ll just be waiting to make sure you wake up. No need to thank me, it’s kind of my job.”

Slouching in the nearest chair, he crossed his arms and looked around the room. It seemed fairly unimpressive, much like every other hotel he’d ever seen. Nothing compared to the glory of his home. Bastion wrinkled his nose as if smelling something foul; what these mortals saw in facades such as these, he’d never understood. It was as though they struggled to gain a glimpse of the beauty that awaited them, always falling short.

A previous assignment, one of his first, had taken place in the time known to mortals as “The Roaring Twenties”. The years he spent there had been flashy, dazzling, full of nothing that seemed remotely appealing. This period was a bit more interesting with its technology, but the pace of life was dizzying. They missed so much.

Bastion leaned his head back against the wall and closed his eyes. He’d placed blue calcite and aquamarine on the desk and in the bathroom of Bryan’s suite. By key places of entry, he’d made sure to set out several pieces of Malachite. The stones would serve to purify and protect the room, for how long he wasn’t sure. Mara was strong, had only grown stronger with time, and she would eventually break through his wards. The Maker would provide more protection for the mortal and his soul, even sending warriors, if Bastion was not enough.

 

When Bryan awoke, his head felt like it might split in two. Maybe it already had and his brain had spilled out onto the pillow. Even the thin ray of sunlight invading his room through the slit in the curtains seemed too bright, annoyingly and unnaturally bright. He growled and rolled back over. No such luck; his brain and his head were both painfully still intact. It was Thursday, the hotel’s clock said it was one in the afternoon, and he was supposed to meet Nick and Carrie to go over details, or something like that. He wasn’t feeling up to doing anything except maybe visiting his new best friend in the bar downstairs. If he could keep himself in a constant state of drunkenness until this blasted wedding, he could cope.

His phone vibrated on the table nearest the bed. It would be Nick, leaving a message letting Bryan know what time to expect him. He grimaced at the thought of doing anything, much less enduring the endless stream of wedding preparations he’d inevitably have to suffer through with Carrie and her lists.

Why had he agreed to this again? Oh, yeah. He kind-of owed Nick a favor, and he kind-of figured Carrie would never forgive him for refusing. Darned sense of misplaced honor.

Maybe he’d call back, say he wasn’t feeling well - which wasn’t at all a lie - and go back to sleep. The stone hummed against his chest. Bryan closed his eyes. Staying in was best. Going out there, he’d be forced to see too many reminders. Here he could shut the blinds and pretend.

Or drink and fall into blessed oblivion.

Get up,
the voice seemed to echo in his mind and come from outside of himself all at once.
You can overcome her if you just stop this and get up.

Bryan slowly pushed himself up onto one elbow and looked around the room. No one else was there; fantastic, he’d finally snapped. He flopped back against the pillow, instantly regretting the hasty movement, and covered his eyes with one arm to block the offensive light from the window.

I said get up
, the voice spoke again.
Don’t let her destroy you.

Her. Miranda. Now she even plagued him through spectral voices. He didn’t see how getting up was going to help him overcome her in any way, shape, or form. But, he figured, the voice wasn’t going to leave him alone until he did as he was told. Maybe he wouldn’t even have to see her today.

“All right! I’m getting.” If he was hearing the voice, he might as well answer it. Bryan cursed as he sat up. Stupid hallucination. “I’m up, now what?”

He slowly - very slowly - shook his head. He should stop entertaining his insanity.