The Soul Collector

Ch. Twenty-Six

"Emotion can be the enemy, if you give into your emotion, you lose yourself. You must be at one with your emotion, because the body always follows the mind."

- Bruce Lee

                                                                                ***

Galloway didn't wait for Rhys. She couldn't bear to stay too still, afraid that inactivity would allow the frustration and anger she was harboring to burst out. She got the distinct impression that if that happened, she would incinerate anything and everything that happened to be near her at the moment.

She closed the door to the Chevelle and moved quickly across the lawn, pausing when she saw a flash of rust on one of the white edelweiss plants lining the flagstone path. The sound of Rhys gently closing his door spurred her back to action, and she all but flew up the steps of the porch only to find the front door locked.

Sighing a quiet curse, she determined that if Logan wasn't so useful, it was entirely possible that she would kill him later. With a scowl, she took out her keys just to mutter a louder curse when she realized this set didn't have a key for Logan's current place of residence. She turned sharply on her heel and stalked back to the Chevelle. Ignoring Rhys' questioning look, she popped the trunk, digging through her gear for a set of lock picks.

When she found what she wanted, she turned back to the house, just to find the door open and Rhys watching her with crossed arms and a smirk. "Witch, remember?" he said, calling across the yard.

Resisting the urge to throw one of the many pointy things at her immediate disposal at him, she locked the trunk again and went back to the house. She strode past him without saying anything and wondered if she could get away with just going back to sleep.

"Don't even think about it," he snarled, grabbing her elbow and hauling her towards the stairs.

On some level, she remembered she'd agreed to at least hear him out, but a much louder part of her was screaming that she didn't want to know. She didn't know why she was so angry at the idea of talking to him, but she was.

She fought against him every step of the way until he let out a frustrated hiss and flicked his fingers at her. Her body froze, sinking limply to the ground. Before she fell, he caught her and threw her over his shoulder.

The raw, bloody anger that had momentarily consumed her in a shocking wave subsided, giving way to a tide of melancholy as a similar memory cropped up. The melancholy sharpened into actual sadness, and she gritted her teeth as her eyes blurred with tears, one flying to the wooden steps when she blinked.

A door opened and Rhys took a few steps into a dark room before tossing her onto a messy bed. She glared at him from where she lay splayed out on the mattress. He ignored her, running his finger along the spines of several books stacked precariously on a small, decorative table that was certainly as antique as it appeared.

With a small sound of triumph, Rhys yanked the bottom-most book free of the stack, waving a lazy hand as the other volumes attempted to tumble to the floor. They froze in mid-air before flying back up, settling themselves into a decidedly neater stack. Galloway was still attempting to skewer him with her gaze, keeping up a constant stream of offensive words in her mind the entire time. 

"You're loud," he muttered, one eye squinting slightly.

She tried to speak, but even her vocal cords had been rendered inert. Sending him a snide thought, he sighed and waved his hand, releasing her. Galloway sprang up and attempted to tackle him, but all she managed to do was slam her shoulder into the wall Rhys had previously been standing in front of.