Chapter 46 Dex
Dex
I've never been as scared as I am right now. I only threw on pants, not bothering to find where my shirt landed in the mess of covers and clothing. I didn't even have a chance to explain to Katrina where I was going; I just kissed her quickly on the forehead and rushed out of there.
My fear has only deepened with each new thing that comes out of his mouth. He's not making any sense.
Cal's called me every time he needs help. And yet, he's never sounded like this... broken.
“You're going to lose respect for me, brother.” His breath hitches like he's doing his best not to cry.
I don't get the chance to tell him that's not possible.
I've known him for almost all of his life. I know the shitstorm he survived as a child, the hell he escaped the day he left his family behind. And something tells me I’ve only ever known half of it.
The fact that he's come as far as he has, after everything, has earned my respect forever.
I know his heart, know he doesn't kill for fun, and know he doesn't delight in causing pain.
Nothing could ever make me lose respect for him.
“So just remember me the way I used to be, okay? Before all this…”
“Cal,” I tense my fingers on the steering wheel, hating the helplessness I feel right now.
He won't talk to me in a way that makes sense, so I don't know what to say to him.
I don't want him to do anything stupid. I thought this girl was different.
I didn't think he'd hurt her. But if he did, we can fix it.
We can't bring the dead back to life, but we can spin the narrative.
We can make sure he doesn't end up on death row if he just refrains from doing anything insidious, if we can stage it like an accident somehow. “I—”
He cuts me off, which is just as well. I don't know what I was going to say. “Please hurry.”
The desperation in his voice, the hurt, makes my chest ache. “Cal—”
I jam my foot against the gas, pressing down as hard as it will possibly go. The engine purrs, and the lady in front of me lays on her horn as I just narrowly avoid clipping the bumper of her car. I'm hurrying, going as fast as I can.
“I did this for her.” He sobs.
The sound sends chills down my arms.
It's not natural. I've never heard him like this, and it's got every cell in my body on red alert. I'm helpless to do anything. I've never felt so goddamn useless.
"It's okay." I promise. "We'll get you out of this. We've done it before, and we'll do it again. Relax."
He's quiet, and it's unnerving. I need to keep him talking so that he can't do anything to make the matter worse.
"Dex?"
My name sounds like a plea for help, and it fucking hurts.
If I hadn't been so wrapped up in Katrina these last few months, maybe I'd have realized how bad he's gotten.
Maybe I could have stopped it from getting this far again.
He's killed two women, and I should have stopped him before he ever got the first.
"Yeah, Cal?"
"Please hurry."
I'm going to fucking break. I'm going to shatter, because the need in his voice is wrong. It's unlike anything I've ever heard from anyone, let alone a man like him. He's normally so composed, so controlled, not letting his emotions break through. Cal is decisive, guided by logic, not feelings.
"I'm coming as fast as I can. I need these cars to fucking MOVE!
" I rake my hand through my hair, desperation tangible as I pass the exit for his place. It’s killing me not to go to him when he sounds this devastated, but he begged me, made me promise, to get her brother first. I don't know what good it will do.
"I just passed your place; I'll get her brother and be there in thirty minutes, forty minutes tops. "
"Thank you." He breathes, his relief audible. "I really don't want her to see this."
There's a beat of silence as I contemplate his words, bewildered.
This whole time, I've assumed she was dead. I assumed he hurt her, that he slipped up and lost control, and that he needs my help covering it up.
But his words don't make sense.
I really don't want her to see this.
Amber? If she's dead, of course, she won't see it.
What is he talking about?
Realization hits me like a wall of ice as I understand what he means.
I don't want her to see this.
He doesn't want her to see him... and what he's going to do to himself.
"Cal!"
I whip the steering wheel without even checking the lane next to me, narrowly avoiding the car that skids to a halt and gets rear-ended by another one. I don't stay to check out the damage, crossing the median and pulling out right in front of the oncoming traffic.
He doesn't answer no matter how loud I scream for him.
I weave in and out of traffic and drive on the grass.
I even clip a shiny truck in my haste to pass him, gripping the steering wheel tighter as I lay it all out.
I have to get to him before he does anything stupid.
It was always the plan, but now I know the stupid thing he was planning isn't to kill someone else. .. it's to kill himself.
"Cal!" I punch my steering wheel so many times the horn sticks.
I wonder if he can hear me... I'm almost on his road.
I'm right here. I slam on the brakes and throw the door open.
I hear a gasp across the line, and everything in me stills as I wait for more. The world feels violently sharp, like it's caging me in with sharp, pointy edges as I wait for something more... the confirmation that that wasn't his last breath.
I nearly sob in relief when I hear the gurgling sound.
I don't even stop to contemplate what it is. I don't grab my phone or disconnect it; I just drop from my car and run before I've even gotten my feet beneath me, making a dash for his door.
The steps are slippery. The whole world feels slippery as I run up them, praying he didn't lock his door. Why would he, if he knew I was coming? He wanted me to come... me and her brother. Because he didn't want her to find him dead. And he didn't want me to see him either.
"Cal!" I throw his front door open so hard it bounces back at me before I'm even fully through it.
The place is quiet and still, dark. Everything is as it should be— no dishes left out, nothing broken, no signs of a struggle.
I throw open his bedroom door, but when it's empty, I know exactly where to go.
I take the basement steps two at a time, moving toward the light that was left on on the other side of the terrarium.
"Cal!" I call, my breath leaving in sharp gasps. I stumble on the final stair, go careening toward the terrarium, and use it to catch myself, pushing to standing.
When I round the corner, the first thing I see is her dark hair, hanging over the table.
I freeze so violently that my entire body cramps, protesting the next steps that I have to take.
She's still, entirely fucking motionless. I don't even see a rise or fall of her chest, and there are no machines hooked up to her like some kind of crazy experiment. The blood is stark against her dress, unmistakable.
And next to her, with a red gash across his throat, lies Cal.
His eyes are open, fixed on her, but glassy and unmoving. He doesn't move or register my presence as I scream his name, my entire body full of dread that I can't contend with. I can't fucking breathe, but I find the air to call for him again and find the strength to pull him off of her.
His blood is still warm, still pooling around us, dripping on the floor where I stand, helpless, motionless.
The only sound in the room is the slow drip of the blood and a faint wheezing... a wheeze that tells me he's not dead yet.
I don't know the protocol for this kind of injury, and I can't search it since I left my phone in the car. All I can think is to stop the bleeding.
I didn't wear a fucking shirt, and his isn't coming off over his head, so I'm helpless to find anything other than my own hands.
It will have to do.
His blood trickles against my hands as I press them to his neck, panic reminding me that I have no fucking clue what I am doing here.
"Amber!" I scream as loud as I possibly can.
I don't know if she's alive, but Cal seemed to believe so. He told me he didn't want her to see this, so he had to know she was alive. Maybe he just drugged her for some reason?
She doesn't stir, and without knowing what he gave her, I can't know whether it's useless to try. But I can't do anything else with my hands tied. His phone is still connected to mine, so I move my palm to cover as much of the wound as I can before reaching for the phone.
I disconnect the call, my fingers slipping over the screen as I dial 9-1-1.
I don't have time to play nice with the operator. I spit out as much information as I can, give her the address, and put her out of my mind as I drop the phone and disconnect the call.
My best friend is dying in my arms.
"Amber!" I scream. I need a second set of hands, and the paramedics will be too far away.
Her lashes flutter just a bit, indicating that she heard me.
It's not enough to bring her back from wherever she is, but I'm desperate. I roll Cal to his side, and the choking sound he’s been making stops. I don't know if that's good or bad, but I've got both hands on his throat again, holding it closed.
All I have is desperation.
I slam the top of my head down hard against Amber’s chest, holding to the vain hope that this will work.
The wheezing gasp assures me it did, the sudden shock of pain pulling her out of sleep to assess the danger she’s in.
It's quickly followed by a sob as she struggles to breathe, and guilt floods my veins as I watch her mouth move to try and suck in a breath around the pain.
"I need you!" I tell her, before she even gets a chance to get her bearings.
She blinks at me, mouth open in confusion, and then notices Cal next to her.
The sob that leaves her is primal.
It's raw.
It's so fucking anguished that another part of me breaks.
He didn't want her to see this, but I refuse to let him die. I can't. I won't.
"No!" I growl at her. "Not now. You don't fall apart, do you hear me? He needs us. I need something to put pressure on the wound. A towel or—"
She rolls off the table and falls to her knees, whatever drug she's trying to fight off still having some effect on her.
I close my eyes for a second because I can't bear to watch my best friend's life slip away. I open them again when I hear her struggling to stand, and when she does, she thrusts a mess of fabric at me.
And she's entirely naked.
I don't hesitate or question her. It's better than nothing, better than my hands. The blood is seeping out and around my fingers.
"When I lift my hands, you press it against him. I know you're not all right, but I need you to be quick. Can you do it?"
She nods, her eyes wild and haunted, but they hold mine as I count.
One.
Two.
Three.
She's fast, pressing the folded swatch of her dress against his gaping wound and pressing her hands over it, putting pressure on it. I return my hands to the other side of his neck, making sure to cover as much of it as possible.
Her entire body trembles as she stands there, across the other side of the table from me, and tears stream down her cheeks as she dares to look at him.
His eyes are shut now, and I don't know how that happened or when, but I'm glad.
I'm glad he can't see her breaking down because of what he did.
I'm glad he can't see her die a little, because she seems to realize something that she never noticed before.
She doesn't want him to die.