Gaia walked calmly toward them, and Caine raised his hands to hit her with everything he had . . . and the inside of his head exploded. Caine fell to his knees, clutched his head, and screamed in unbearable pain.

  “Gaaaahhh!”

  Like knives. Like a wild beast tearing its way into his skull through his eyes. Like being crushed in some massive vise. It was impossible to believe nothing was touching him.

  He shrieked. “Stop it! Stop it!”

  But the pain did not stop.

  Through a swirling migraine distortion Caine saw Sam pulling his broken body around to face Gaia. Gaia used her telekinetic power to lift the crashed van and drop it just in front of Sam, cutting him off from view, blocking his field of fire.

  “Stop it!” Caine begged.

  Gaia stood over him, glowing faintly green, feet planted wide, and watched as he writhed in agony, as he bent double, holding his head in his hands, and screamed.

  On it went, and his voice was hoarse from screaming. On and on it went as his entire body went into spasm, as he lost control of himself, slavered and drooled and wet himself.

  If he could have taken his own life . . .

  And still it went on.

  Then the pain stopped.

  Caine lay on the concrete road. He gasped air through a raw throat. His heart jackhammered in his chest. His entire body was slicked with sweat.

  “Father,” Gaia said.

  “Don’t hurt me,” Caine whispered. He didn’t have the will to look up at her.

  Gaia laughed. “Have you seen Mother? I seem to have lost her.”

  “Don’t do it again. Just don’t do it again.”

  “I asked a question.” Steel in her voice.

 Caine couldn’t recall a question. Words? Had she spoken words? His body still shook. He still clutched his head, as if somehow his hands could shut her out.

Light, Chapter 19