Death Takes a Holiday Read Online Free PDF Page A

,” he literally snarls, showing all of those white, sharp fangs, “about my feelings for her. How could you? What do you know of friendship? Of love between two people? The only person you ever loved you let die in front of you and did nothing, like the coward you are.”
    I anticipate the next move in time. Just as Will lunges at Oliver, I grab them both with my power, tossing each as far from the other as possible. Oliver slams against the wall, as Will lands on his bed. “That. Is. Enough !” I shout. “Both of you!” They both gaze at me, eyes wide in shock and anger. “I swear if either of you says another word I’m going to scream! For Christ’s”—Oliver flinches—“sake! What the hell is wrong with you two? I feel like I’m back in elementary school and you’re fighting over a kickball. Except they’re more mature!”
    “He—” Oliver says.
    “Shut it!” I say. “I am done. I’m done being the kickball! Sort your crap out and neither of you so much as look at me until you have.”
    I storm out, slamming both Will’s and my door as hard as I can behind me. I pace around my room, shaking my emotions out through my hands, attempting to calm down. Jesus Christ. Jesus effing Christ. I can’t take this anymore. I can’t. I’m about to leap out of my skin. It’s not like I don’t have enough to deal with, risking my life every day. No. I’m done with them. I’m done. I’ll avoid them, that’s what I’ll do. I won’t leave my bedroom. I’ll—
    My cell phone chirps on the dresser. I pull it off the charger and step into my bathroom, shutting the door. Both jerks have super-hearing, and I wouldn’t put it past them to listen. I sit on the toilet and flip the phone open. “Hello?”
    “Hello,” Nana says on the other end.
    With the sound of her dusky voice, I burst into tears. I love my Nana. Stupid statement, but I’ll say it again: I love my Nana. She raised me when Mom put her head in our gas oven after I killed her boyfriend. He was trying to molest me, and I used my mind to squeeze his heart until he keeled over and died on my bedroom floor. I was eight. Mom gave her final swan song a month later. On good days I convince myself she did it for bringing that pervert into our lives. On bad ones it’s because her freak daughter killed the man she loved. The bad days outweigh the good.
    Nana, who I had only met once in my life before that, flew in and picked me and my brother, Brian, from the police station in Phoenix, whisking us from the desert to the beautiful sea. The following few days were a blur of tears, catatonia, and fear. My strongest memory is of Brian glaring at me through the memorial service. Such hatred. Such pain. To this day our relationship is strained at best. Another way of putting it is Brian hates my guts. It doesn’t help that I almost killed him a few months ago. That was the night I joined the F.R.E.A.K.S. I haven’t seen Nana since.
    “Oh Nana,” I sob into the phone, rocking back and forth on the cold porcelain.
    “Bea, baby, what’s wrong?” she asks, her voice a mix of concern and fear. “Bea?”
    I sob and sob, unable to even form words. Within seconds, I can’t even breathe. My entire body jerks with each wracking cry. I start hyperventilating, trying to draw air, but the sobs won’t let me. I’ve only cried this hard twice before. Once was the night I killed Leonard, and the other was during my first case. Oliver held me that time, rocking and hugging me until I fell asleep in his arms. The beginning of a beautiful friendship.
    “Beatrice?” Nana says forcefully. “Beatrice, listen to my voice. Calm down. Do you hear me? Calm down . You are going to pass out. Control your breathing. Breathe in. Breathe out. Do it!”
    I attempt to draw breath but can’t. So much is out of control, but this is something I can control. I can draw the air in. I can. I will. I try again, this time managing it. Another follows, then another. The tears lessen,