TANTRIC (Book 3 of the Soundcrush Series)

Chapter 72: Hippie Chics Tame Angry Beasts

Ashlynn

It's been one of the longest days of my life.

It seems a lifetime ago that Viggo was led away in handcuffs, out of my life forever. I'm feeling virtually nothing about that. I'm not sure if that's closure, or if I just can't process it yet.

Or maybe it's just because so much has happened since this morning. The long process of getting to Costa Rica. The immediate somber ride to the parish where Megan is buried. The lengthy conversations required with the new priest, the tedious checking of the records, the locating of the grave marked simply with a plain white cross. The long moments I stood before the resting place of a girl who was not like me.

She didn't ask for Slade. She was abducted against her will. Her fate was an acute horror.

I chose Slade's abuse. My nightmare was a slow willing slide into his depravity.

It doesn't seem fair that I escaped him and she didn't. If one of us should have been spared, it should have been her. And yet, I know I would never change places with her willingly. I wouldn't sacrifice myself to rest in her place. I'm not sure if that makes me a bad person or just an honest one.

I do my best not to sob for the cruelty of fate. It doesn't seem right, when Laurie and Varrick are so quietly grieving. I simply stand a little distance away as Laurie sinks to her knees and Varrick hovers close behind.

I talk to this girl who is a stranger, but feels like someone I know.

I'm so sorry, I tell her silently. I've done all I can for you. I brought the people who loved you, to say good-bye. I made sure the man who hurt you can't hurt anyone else. I will be a friend to your mother. And to Varrick, if I can. I'm sorry I can't do more for you.

After what seems like a long time, Leed leads me into the small church sanctuary. He shocks me by crossing himself as we pass the altar.

When I stop, unsure what to do, he smiles at me. "You don't have to do anything."

"You...you're Catholic?" I whisper. "I thought you were...hippie."

"Hippie is a lifestyle, not a religion affiliation," he chuckles at me. "Second stepmother was Catholic. She wanted us to convert." He looks up at the altar. "I liked the ritual, the ceremony, the mystery of it all, so I went to the classes to see what was up. Got baptized. I was thirteen, maybe—the last time I was in church."

I look from Leed to the cross. "You still...believe?"

He looks up at the cross and shrugs. "Not so much in all the stuff I learned in Catechism classes, no. Not like the Heartleys, either...I don't feel guilty about sin and I don't feel like my spirituality is tied to one creed. I'm sort of eclectic, I guess. I like the Eastern practices, a lot. But I still hold a belief beyond the acceptance of suffering, which is kind of the point of eastern philosophy, right? ...I mean, do I think there is a higher power? That when I meditate, I find something bigger than myself? That there is insight in the stillness of the Universe, and help to be given if I follow my instincts?" He bows his head. "How could I not believe—the way I've found you? The way you found Megan?"

This man.

His soul.

My heart.

I embrace him slowly, right there in the middle of the empty sanctuary. I never want to let go. We stay that way a long time. He leeds me to the candle altar. We light a candle for Megan.

"The smoke signifies our prayers rising to heaven," he tells me.I've hardly ever been to church since I was a little girl, but I find myself praying. For Megan's peace.