Descent (Kissed by Death) - Tara Fuller Page 0,55

and a black baby carriage caught my eye. I quickly scanned the area to ensure no one was watching me, then rushed to the carriage on broken wheels. Inside, a tiny, pale face looked up at me. Soot colored his cheeks and a pile of ash rested around his toes. He blinked up at me with eerily empty eyes, then began crying all over again.

I reached inside and slid the baby into my arms. He felt all wrong. Bony and cold, his eyes flat and dull. He didn’t feel like I’d always thought a baby would feel, plump and warm and wiggly all over. He didn’t squirm, only cried. I cradled him to my chest and smoothed my palm over the back of his bald head, cooing, singing, anything to give him comfort. He rested his cheek against my heartbeat as if listening to the sound, then nuzzled closer.

“My baby!” a shrill voice cried. “Please. Please…”

I looked up to find a woman watching us, hands clasped to her chest, chained to a pole, just out of reach. Tears carved tracks down her dirty face. She reached out, wanting. I looked down at the baby and back to her.

“Is he yours?”

“Yes!” Her eyes were wild, darting around the crowd and back to me. “Now, please give him to me before it’s too late!”

I took a step forward. “Too late for what?”

She jerked on the chains, mangling her wrists even further. “You don’t understand. He’ll come back! He always comes back. You have to give him to me…”

She dissolved into sobs. I could feel her pain. A pain deep and cutting and ancient. How long had she been like this? Being tortured by her baby crying just out of reach? It was barbaric. I started forward, keeping the baby hidden against my chest, and a burning hand grabbed my elbow to stop me.

“Gwen!” Easton reeled me back, farther away from the hysterical mother. “What the hell? I turned around and you were gone. Do you have any idea what could have happened?”

I could tell he was trying to stay calm, but he didn’t look calm. He looked like a man about to fall apart. I reached up and stroked his cheek. Instant relief washed through him, quenching his worry. He grabbed my hand, pressed it to his chest.

“Don’t ever do that to me again,” he whispered. “You can’t run off like that. Not here.”

I nodded and dropped my hand back down to the crying baby against my chest. The need to fix this, to eliminate the pain for this baby, for his mother, it was a living thing inside me. I couldn’t stop it. It’s what I did. It’s who I was. His eyes looked weary as he realized what was happening.

“Red…what are you doing?”

“What does it look like?” I said, smiling down at the empty-eyed baby.

“You can’t interfere like this,” he whispered. “You have no idea what you’re playing with.”

“He’s just a baby.” I held the baby to my chest and looked back at the mother, who was silently crying, pleading, holding her arms out for the infant. “No one deserves this…”

“He’s not her baby, Gwen,” Easton said, calmly. “Just like that wasn’t my sister in that cave. Put him back and let’s get out of here.”

I ignored him and pulled from his grip, making my way to the mother. The joy sparking to life inside me drove me forward, sensing an outlet. A chance to be set free. Her cheeks were raw and wet with tears. She reached up to wipe them away with the back of her wrist and watched me with rusty hope in her eyes.

I smiled warmly and handed her the baby. She clasped him to her chest and sobbed as she kissed his head.

“Thank you, thank you, thank you,” she cried over and over again.

A sense of relief washed the tension out of my limbs as the joy bled out of me and into her. I took a step back and Easton took advantage, grabbing me by the hand and pulling me away from the demons gathering around us, confused by the act of compassion.

“She’s happy,” I whispered, smiling, as he dragged me away. I could feel featherlight tendrils of joy lifting her up out of the dark. I didn’t think I’d ever feel that here. It felt like the best victory.

Easton glanced down at me, a grave look settling in his eyes. He tried to pull me faster. “She’s not allowed to be happy, Gwen