Angel's Requiem: Ringer's Masquerade Series, #3

By Sarah J. Pepper

What was a life worth? It couldn't be measure as currency or in time, yet it was priceless. The man I loved saved his brother's life by giving his own. Countless others benefited from his death when his organs were harvested. The recipients still had their dreams. Their families were not torn apart because of disease. His life was measured by the number of breaths each recipient took. Closing my eyes, I could still hear his voice, encouraging me to be strong. "The Ringer created miracles," I said. My voice wavered. The pain harbored in my broken soul threatened to stop me from speaking the truth, as I saw it. 
“They gave me my best friend and then they killed him.”  

• Language: English
• Publisher: Sarah J. Pepper
• Release date: Aug 11, 2015
• ISBN: 9781519981349

Sarah J. Pepper

Sarah J. Pepper specializes in dark, paranormal romance - think "happy ever after" but with a twisted, dark chocolate center. Real-life romance isn't only filled with hugs, kisses, bunnies, and rainbows. True-love can be more thoroughly described in times of darkness and tribulation. It's in those harsh moments where you see what a person is truly capable of - both the good and bad. Sometimes prince-charming isn't always on time, and the glass slipper is a little snug. However, it doesn't mean Charming is not Mr. Right, and who says every shoe is the perfect fit? Get a glimpse inside her head at www.sarahjpepper.com

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Chapter One: Bitter-Sweet Rivalry

Love explicitly rivaled hate, especially when I reflected upon my relationship with Sebastian. The provocative spawn with the demonic voice lured me from my comfortable world of an obedient organ-donor. He pushed me to the brink of hating him, only to pull me back from the dangerous edge. I feared a part of my heart would always loathe him for what he put me through during the past year, but even as I welcomed that spite, I couldn't escape the rapture he brought me on the night I was released. His insistence to be in my life opposed any desire I had to rid him from my life.

Hiding in hate's shadow was my irrevocable love for the defiant young man. Sebastian stole my ability to form a single thought when I gazed into his midnight-blue eyes. I knew, without a shred of doubt, I had to have him in my life. His addictive kiss silenced any opposition I had for us to be together—even if it cost us more than we'd bargained for.

Just as hate enticed love into an endless war, I forever battled Sebastian. It wasn't so much my acceptance that he drove me completely insane, but rather I couldn't imagine fighting with anyone else for the rest of my life...except perhaps James.

As I toed the thin line that separated love from hate, I stood between two opposing men—both equally aggravating and enamoring in their own way. Sebastian crept into my heart years ago, but James' presence still resided there. The grandeur of hating a loved one was the clarity it brought; the good and the bad of the loved one was more easily seen.  Experiencing James' love unveiled the magnificent acts of kindness he carried out under the Ringer's surveillance. Embracing hate unfurled the ugly, truthful features hiding behind his valor. His physical attributes didn't offset the weakness of his broken soul. His shortcomings didn't make my heart beat any slower; it made him more real and less perfect, contradicting his outward appearances of being flawless.

Even when I begged my heart to forget his uncontrollable, forceful kiss, I couldn't stop my thoughts from wandering to James—the man who had the honor of being called my best friend. For years, he watched and protected me the best he could. Lies separated us, but they also brought us together. I didn't trust James with my darkest secrets, but I trusted him with my life. We were undeniably terrible for each other. Being together could destroy the lives of our loved ones. Nevertheless, James brought out the fight in me. We may have been standing on opposing sides when it came to the Ringer, but James ignited my fury. He played games with me, which I despised on a moral level. However, it was that abhorrence that gave me the strength to crawl out of bed and find a reason for living. He saved me from myself when I was crippled by depression and grief. He antagonized me—his own greeting-card way of encouragement. I couldn't see the difference between the lies and truth in his eyes, but I could feel our love that was stemmed deep. I couldn't discard it, no matter how badly I wanted to.

Sebastian tattooed his name on my heart, scribbling his irresistible, mouth-watering affection over James' marks. Nevertheless, it couldn't erase my history with the man who'd had the privilege of giving me my first kiss. Love and hate have forever waged a war throughout eternity, but I feared my heart wouldn't survive one battle of James v. Sebastian.

***

Torture's definition was plainly stated as severe mental or physical pain. I thought I understood what the word meant. I was wrong. Like love or hate, torture wasn't the kind of word that had a clear-cut meaning. As the severity increased, the words used to paint a picture that could illustrate the definition of the word darkened to the point where no bright colors could be used, except perhaps a single white stroke that represented hope. For the most devastating, torturous acts were laced with hope, giving the poor soul a reason not to beg for death's kiss. The final nights of my stay in the hospital couldn't compare to the torture I underwent when I closed my eyes the first night I was discharged.

Sleep's veil paralyzed me while a fiery wave engulfed my body. Acid boiled in my veins. My body erupted in a fiery burn. Pain enclosed my body and gnawed at my soul. Desperate to wake, I screamed out, but my pleas were soundless. I needed to fight, but I couldn't move. Paralyzed in a nightmare I couldn't escape, I held onto a sliver of hope that I'd wake and the pain would vanish.

Victimized by the affliction in my mind, pure unadulterated torture held me prisoner, until my rescuer ripped me from my sub-consciousness. I woke, drenched in a cold sweat. My hand burned like a blazing hot knife had sliced through it. My vision blurred. My throat was hoarse, and I couldn't articulate the stabbing pain in my hand. Immense pressure, compliments from a strong hand, gripped my wrists, kept me from moving. Yet, I refused to stay obedient and compliant. My arm was on fire!

Cat, it was just a bloody dream!

He gagged me, forcing me to swallow my screams. I bit down on his hand, hoping to separate myself. He released my wrist the moment I tasted copper in my mouth. I ripped the bandages on my other hand; I grabbed a handful of diseased flesh. Digging my nails into the flesh, I prayed the pain would stop after I ripped it off, but he tore my hands apart. Rolling on top of me, he pinned me against the bed. Using his legs as leverage, he pressed his knee forcefully on my elbow. His dark eyes narrowed as he meticulously eyed me over.

My thoughts focused. However, the pain in my hand dominated my judgment. I wanted to rid myself of the pain that encased my body, especially my hand. I wiggled, fought, and tried to free myself from the scarred young man on top of me. I screamed out in agony that my body was on fire. My heartbeat sounded in my ears, muffling his commands. His maimed chest rose and fell quickly. His mouth moved, but it wasn't until he released the hand that stemmed the unexplainable pain that my consciousness surfaced. He cupped my check as tears trickled down my cheeks.

Just breathe, Cat. It was just a dream, Sebastian said over and over again.

The derangement in my voice startled me. I'm on fire! My hand is burning!

You're not on fire, he said calmly.

But it burns! I screamed until it turned to sobs.

Izzy stood in the doorway, light filtering in behind her illuminating the baseball bat in her hand. Our gazes locked. She raced for me. Swinging the bat, she grazed Sebastian's shoulder. He twisted away from me to disarm her. They screamed at each other, but I didn't care. My thoughts were consumed with the immense burning sensation that crawled over my hand, down my arm, and filled my body with fiery pain. His distraction was my opportunity; I dug my nails into my hand and scraped the fiery flesh off. Blood quickly soaked into the sheets.

Claw marks lined the lacerations that decorated my hand. Tiny, thin white tubes pumped out blood. After ripping my hand away, Sebastian slammed his knee on my elbow. He clamped his hands down over the tears and exposed flesh.

Get your father, Izzy, Sebastian ordered.

She looked at him like she didn't believe he was actually in the room. What happened to your accent?

Just do what I ask and get your father! Cat needs medical attention!

The pitter-patter of her footsteps echoed in the otherwise silent night. Sebastian kept pressure on my wound. I cried until I surrendered to him. He was simply too strong for me to overthrow. I stared at the crimson stream trickling down the pink scars that lined his arms.

It hurts.

I know, he whispered but he wasn't looking at my eyes. He assessed the prevailing damage I'd done. Blood spurted through his fingers even though his grip should have easily cut off circulation.

Izzy raced into my room and was accompanied by an older man and woman. Gary ran over to the bed while Margaret clutched the doorknob like it was a lifeline. It'd been only a couple hours since they signed the discharge papers, releasing me from the Ringer Hospital. Sebastian rapidly updated Gary on the events that lead to my determination to rip the prosthetic blood vessels out of my arm.

Margaret, call the hospital, Gary demanded. Tell them Cat is delirious and needs surgery or she'll bleed out!

Margaret stood in the doorway, dumbfounded. The blood drained from her face.

Snap out of it! Izzy screamed.

When Margaret didn't, Izzy ran out of the room. Her pleas sounded in the hall as she spoke to one of the Ringers. Sirens interrupted the quiet evening seconds after Izzy returned. She held my hand while Sebastian had my arm pinned to the bed with his knee.

I'll wait downstairs for the emergency responders, Margaret said and then left my room.

I can't be here when the Ringers come, Mr. Gunther, Sebastian said to Gary without taking his gaze off mine. A sense of longing showed through the sparkling dark orbs in his eyes.

Sebastian said, Keep pressure on her wound. It'll slow the bleeding.

Gary clamped his hand down over the laceration. Blood quickly coated his hands.

I'll return as soon as possible. Sebastian kissed my forehead. He pushed away from the bed and walked toward the balcony. He glanced back at Gary. I understand that it's frowned upon to climb through a girl's window in the middle of the night, especially when she's in distress. However, I do hope you'll understand my reasoning for it someday.

There are very few reasons why that'd ever be acceptable, Gary threatened. His grip tightened around my hand. I was past caring. If anything it distracted me from the stinging sensation that crawled over my body. Tian O'Neil, right?

Who else would it be? Sebastian scoffed and then climbed over the railing and into the darkness.

As if timed, a group of medical staff dressed in gray scrubs raced into the room shortly after. I recognized one of the three Ringers—my night nurse. Nevertheless, I knew they all had to be highly trained, and if they weren't, Darius would make sure I'd be kept alive. He assessed the situation and then immediately pulled out a plastic film the size of a sheet of paper from a bag a different Ringer had carried in. After instructing Gary to release his grip, Darius wrapped the plastic around my hand. It adhered to my skin and completely stopped blood flow.

Plastic-wrap to prolong your expiration date, Darius said, speaking in a riddle.

Another Ringer scanned my body and asked a series of questions that I had to concentrate on to answer. Finally, I broke down and admitted to being engulfed in flames.

The pain is a ten out of ten? she asked.

Cat clawed at her arm like a crazy person. I'd say she's in a severe amount of pain, Izzy said.

Another Ringer injected a needle into my side. The scorching burn subsided and left me free of pain, but I was unable to keep much focus. My mind wandered as I witnessed the chaos unfold. Standing in the doorway was a young man who hid his feelings behind a mask—James. His hands balled up when the Ringers transported me onto a gurney. They carried me down the stairs and into a vehicle referred to as the ambulance. James jumped into the ambulance after I was loaded into it. He grabbed my blood-spattered hand. Within a few minutes, I was carried into an operation room. White plastic machines were perfectly placed around a metal table in the center. The Ringers quickly transferred me onto the table. It was cold against my skin. James placed a white blanket over me. Darius inserted an IV needle into my arm and quickly hooked it up to a yellow-colored bag.

Once I was comfortable, James changed into gray, sterile scrubs without anyone's instruction. He wore a white mask, hiding his perfect lips.

He offered me his hand and whispered, I love you.

I turned away from him, unwilling to acknowledge the truth that my heart was torn. Sebastian dominated one half of my heart, and James laid claim to the other.

I should never have let you out of my sight, Catherine. I love you, and Marlene is going to manipulate our lives one way or another, James whispered. You don't ever have to utter those three little words if you don't want to. All you have to do is hold my hand, and I'll know that you care for me.

James, it's not—

Don't say it, he interrupted and his grip tightened.

The Gunthers rushed into the room a few minutes later. A physician walked up to Gary and addressed herself as Dr. Niemen, the neurologist assigned to my case. Her jet black hair was pulled back into a tight bun and was contrasted by the bleached white jacket she wore. Thin, dark glasses framed her narrow face. Professional beauty if I'd ever seen it. Margaret fussed with her clothes as if intimidated by the doctor's appearance.

Since her compound fracture damaged so many nerves in her arm, Catherine had been on a series of medications to manage pain from her hand operation while she recovered, Dr. Niemen said. In rare circumstances, as we advised you before her discharge, the medications could...confuse the neuron-receptors in her brain. When in pain, the receptors sometimes compensate or signal incorrectly.

She said her entire body felt like it was on fire, Izzy said.

Episodes of delirium can be triggered by pain, Dr. Niemen said. I can prescribe her painkillers and neurological medication that will re-teach the brain to recognize physical pain and separate it from phantom pain. Catherine suffered an intense, horrible disaster growing up. It's not surprising she relates pain to being burned with fire.

Catherine won't take a bunch of pills, Margaret said quietly. She hated taking so many when she lived in the hospital—tried killing herself.

Dr. Niemen looked down at her pod. We'll combine it all into one pill she can take.

Side effects? Gary asked.

There are side effects to every drug, especially those that directly affect the brain, Dr. Niemen said, ushering them out of the room so my operation could begin. She gave me a sideways glance that sent a chill through me. Don't worry. I've been the leading neurologist here since the hospital was first established. I'm very familiar with how drugs react to each other. I'll monitor her progress closely—that I can assure you.

Chapter Two: Shattered Dreams

A Ringer's stopwatch had counted down the final days of my life. They'd measured everything from my lung capacity to the calories I ingested. The Ringers had controlled nearly every aspect of my life, bar one, one crucial exception—the dreams. They were my escape into another reality and the Ringer's biggest secret.

For five years, dreams connected me to my progenitor, connecting her life to my faux soul. We unknowingly shared memories. Pieces of her life unraveled as I slept. I indulged in them, discovering secrets about her life as well as the events that eventually led to Catherine's demise.

As a spawn, I was created to die; the Ringer Hospital was to care for me until the day of my fifth birthday. I was expected to willingly lie down on a surgical bed and let the Ringers harvest my organs so Catherine, my progenitor, would have the opportunity to have a life that was robbed from her. However, she stole my only reason for living; she gave me a priceless gift. Life. I held her hand as she welcomed death. As the tears trickled down my checks, I was in a position I'd never had before—a future.

The nighttime reverie stopped the night my progenitor died, but I treasured Catherine's memories like they were my own. Her life, past, and soul would be forever interlaced with mine.

In my dream, Brianna's dishwater blond hair was pulled back into a tight bun. Even if my physical stature was more developed than hers, I never challenged the petite, harmless-looking nurse. Appearances meant everything and nothing at the same time. The harmless were often the most confident, powerful people I'd known, like my nurse Brianna. The weak and broken sometimes took the form of beautiful, muscular young men like James. It was backward. Deception twisted one's perception, especially when trying to persuade another's opinion.

Brianna inserted a needle into my arm. The prick stung, yet the physical pain was over quickly. My tears slowed as my nurse injected a liquid medication directly into my bloody stream. It spiraled bright blue and then dark purple. The exhaustion that had engulfed my body melted away. My hands and toes became numb. My nose tingled. My vision clouded as I stared at the medication. The superimposed blue color bothered me for reasons unknown. It felt out of place in my memory.

In a hushed voice, Brianna warned me. Be careful what you wish for, Cat. It might come true, but only at a price that will cost someone else's soul.

Befuddled and groggy from the dream, I woke confined to my bed. Through distorted vision, I squinted in the bright light. The sun shone through a set of opened balcony doors. A warm breeze pushed around light yellow drapes. As I watched the fabric twirl in the air, I tried to remember the days following my surgery. I looked down at the white linen. Light blue flowers decorated the sheets. Pink-stained bandages were wrapped around my forearm, cocooning my hand with gauze.

A gray-haired man, who I first met in my dreams, repeatedly spoke my name to gain my attention. Catherine's father, Gary, wore a black suit as if it was his shield of armor. The only imperfection in his otherwise outstanding appearance, was the bags under his eyes. He gently took my hand and guided it back under the sheet.

It was only a dream. He spoke it like he'd uttered those rehearsed words many times. Dry those eyes.

It was then that I realized I was crying from the nightmare. I tried bringing my other hand up to my face to wipe away the evidence of my vulnerability, but my hand didn't budge. Tethered to the bed was a black strap which restrained my healthy hand to the frame.

You scratch your arm in your sleep, Gary recited.

Reaching across the bed, he unleashed me. I moved my arm unconsciously, insuring that my range of motion had not been damaged. Threads of gauze fiber were stuck under my nails. I rubbed my eyes. Sleep crystals fell away. I should have felt more awake since I'd just awaken, but all I wanted to do was close my eyes again. Exhaustion slammed my body with its weary grip. Confused about my reality, I focused on the dream that had made me cry. The little details weren't adding up. Brianna's drug of choice had a purple hue—not blue.

The doctors say it may take some more recovery time before you're ready to get up and move about, Gary said, sitting back in a wooden rocking chair placed beside my bed. Newspapers scattered around him. Different dates marked the days I'd missed since being released from the hospital after my recent bout down the concrete steps. Had he read them all and cast them aside?

I've been released from the hospital, I said and then broke out in a coughing fit.

He handed me a glass of water that had formed a ring on my bed stand. Beside it was a thin, round canister. The unfamiliarity of an unknown object intrigued me. Gary reached for it and popped the lid off. My mouth watered at the sound. He placed a tiny blue pill in the palm of my hand. He acted like this scenario had played out many times before. I inspected the pill. A white stripe was drawn through the middle. He handed me a glass of water and nodded his head when I looked up for guidance.

One each morning and night for pain management, he recited. And for when the pain presents unexpectedly.

Why am I so tired? I asked after I swallowed the pill.

After taking the glass of water, he reached over and guided my healthy hand back into the restraint. He propped his elbows on the mattress and clutched his hands tightly together before resting his chin on them. His eyes pinched at the corners.

The Ringers released you, but you still have a drug regimen that I assured them you'd follow. It's supposed to keep your body from rejecting the prosthetic blood vessels. Dr. Niemen informed me that a common reaction to the drug is drowsiness. But your tolerance will build.

I don't want to take the pills, I said, fighting to keep my eyes opened, but I was too tired to put up much of a fight.

You don't have much of a choice, Cat. You can stay here, abide by their guidelines, and take your prescription, or stay under their care in the hospital until you've fully healed. Besides, the Ringers say you need the medication if you want to keep your hand; there was evidence that your body was rejecting the prosthetic in your arm. Margaret or I will keep your prescription filled, he said. The medicine will help with inflammation, infection, and promote cellular growth. It will keep your nervous-system from over-reacting as well. Your nerve receptors aren't functioning correctly; thus, you're misinterpreting pain.

He watched me fight exhaustion. It wasn't long before I waved my white flag. The soft comfort of the pillow wasn't worth battling against. I wanted to sleep.

You're not my daughter Catherine. I understand that and am not trying to re-write history anymore, Gary said as if his new-found acceptance would bring me happiness. Nevertheless, before Catherine died, she told me a secret...a secret about your dreams.

All progenitors and spawns shared a dirty little secret—one the Ringer would kill to keep. Surely Catherine knew that. Accusations of having a soul wouldn't go unnoticed; I tried to deny it. However, all that had come out was a mumbled, garbled, incoherent sentence.

Gary's strained voice came out as a whisper. Am I fighting for the wrong side, Cat?

***

Wrapped up tightly in Sebastian's arms, I fought sleep. My dreams beckoned me to indulge in them, but I couldn't let go. Not yet. Too many days drifted by while I slept away my life. Exhaustion had taken over quickly, and doctor's orders had included many hours of bed rest. I was too tired to argue. I'd wake only to swallow medication. Sleep took me soon after. I had no sense of time, until Sebastian showed. I knew in my heart that he'd only come for me at night, under the concealment of the darkness. I wiggled closer to him. Even though he'd tucked the blankets around me an hour ago, excuses to stay kept surfacing.

The summer wind blew my hair over my face, tickling my skin and blocking the perfect view of his midnight blue eyes. Each crimson strand of my hair twirled like it was orchestrated to a different song, yet followed a similar melody. I wondered if that was how Sebastian heard the world—played out by an orchestra.

Are you ready to talk yet? Tian filled me in on a lot, but I know you didn't tell him everything, Sebastian asked, brushing my disobedient hair away. His guilt-ridden expression emphasized the apologies he'd already vocalized profusely for not believing that I was his beloved. For months, he adamantly believed I was Catherine, my progenitor, instead of his beloved. To recollect the past year wasn't high on my priority list, even though it was necessary.

Another night? I may fall asleep explaining something important, I said, tracing the faded pink and white scars that lined his hands—marks of his survival. His skin stretched and pulled at the scars that cloaked his body. His penance for craving life meant that he had to undergo a series of surgeries which eventually replaced his entire circulatory system. For years, the Ringers had lacerated his body only to take out healthy blood vessels in hopes of regenerating them. A matted scar tissue covered his chest where another spawn had sacrificed his heart. It was the only way both he and his progenitor could survive.

You don't see a repulsive monster when you look at me, do you?

Not a monster, but the devil hides behind those eyes.

I gently