Chapter 12
TWELVE
Harry
Flashback
He’s … he’s dead.
He’s dead.
Jack.
And all I want to do is fucking run away.
The Circle is rotting in grief, drowned so heavily in it.
Poppy’s eyes flicker towards me, unreadable with her smudged mascara.
Andy stands behind the long oak table, hands pressed flat on its surface, head bowed.
I can’t see his eyes. I’m not sure I want to.
Oliver is tucked in a red armchair, the armrests worn and cracked, his trembling hand pressed against his forehead.
The lounge, which is often bursting at the seams with energy and laughter, is stunned to utter silence, the grief too heavy.
Richard is leaning against the doorframe, his head ducked, as though he can’t bear to look at any of us. But he finally lifts his chin, eyes empty.
“How?”
A freak fucking accident.
Jack had a big ego, but this was a huge mistake on his part, practically walking into the path of an oncoming bullet.
He was still bleeding when I left. Still clutching onto the remnants of life. He begged – fucked forced – me to leave. I didn’t want to, but I did.
Stupid fucking—
No. No. I didn’t mean that.
I didn’t mean—
I try to cover my mouth, but I’m quickly reminded my hands are still slick with blood that isn’t mine. Blood that’s his. My hands shake in front of me as I stare at them, droplets dried in the cracks of my knuckles, clotted beneath my fingernails.
“Harry—”
“An accident,” I whisper, still staring at my stained palms. “Just an accident.”
“Wrong answer.” Richard’s voice is clipped. “He died because of you. Because you thought you were smart enough to handle it.”
“Boss—”
“You were the only one with a firearm, Harry.”
“STOP!” I turn my head towards Poppy. She runs her hands in a futile effort over her tear-stained cheeks, but they keep streaming. “Stop it. Both of you!”
“Poppy’s right.” Oliver grips his jaw, shaking his head. “There’s nothing we can do about it now. It’s no one’s fault. Imagine how his family must be feeling right about now.”
Family.
His family.
I need to get out of here. Now.
Richard drops his head and shakes it like he’s quickly composing himself.
He mutters something about a car accident in Surrey and the driver’s body reduced to ash, the perfect cover-up for Jack’s relatives with the fire department already on scene, but all I hear is her voice in my head.
The grief she’s yet to suffer. The lies she’ll be dealt.
The words tumble out of me. “I have to go.”
“Harry?” someone calls.
Another shouts, more determined. “Harry!”
I’m not sure who it is. But I can’t stay here. I can’t.
I sprint through the courtyard, past the abundance of vehicles, out through the iron gates, and onto the main road. The rain is relentless as it hammers down.
I need to see her. Just for a second. Because she’s the only thing I have left.
A depressing statement, since she doesn’t know who I am despite meaning everything to me.
Streetlights blur, and my chest sharpens with each breath, but I don’t stop.
Whether it takes minutes, hours, days – it doesn’t matter.
The second I turn up outside the familiar brick detached house, my gaze is a magnet towards her bedroom window.
Her silhouette moves behind the curtain, oblivious to the freight train that’s about to hit her.
She moves round slowly, with an intimacy she doesn’t even know she’s giving me.
The curtain moves aside, and she looks out.
For a heartbeat, I swear she’s looking at me.
I shouldn’t be here. Not like this. Not dripping and broken, watching her like I always do.
But her gaze slides past me, towards the pavement, where a car pulls up. The blue lights of the police car turn off, the vehicle blending into the night. There’s a moment of hesitation before the driver’s door opens and the officer slips out.
Officer Brady closes the car door behind her and steps onto the pavement, approaching the house. Her shoulders are still, her head ducked in a heavy exhale. Eyes squeezed shut, her fist hovers an inch from the door, a fraction away from the movement that will change the family’s life forever.
She knocks her fist against the door. While she waits, she takes the black cap from her forehead, holding it to her chest.
The door opens.
“Mr and Mrs Thomas, may I come in?”
Maria stands in the entryway, her hands gripping the doorframe. She says nothing, and even from this distance, I can see the way she white-knuckles the wood as if it’s keeping her stable.
“Mum?” a gentle voice asks. “What’s happened? What’s wrong?”
Jack's sister appears behind her mother, pushing to stand beside her.
Officer Brady continues to linger on the doorstep, her fingers fumbling round the edges of her cap. “It’s best if I come inside.”
Maria nods quickly, as if the world has only just caught up with her.
She steps aside, and a moment later, Officer Brady crosses the entryway with a dip of her head.
I wait for something, anything, but the front door closes, sealing me outside.
I hover there in the darkness, behind the tree, with the need to go home but the desire to be with them.
The kitchen light flickers overheard, the consequence of a cheap bulb and faulty wiring, as I close my front door. The house smells of dust and last night’s pizza, the empty cardboard box still discarded on the counter.
My keys slip from my fingers onto the countertop, the rattle loud in the silence. The living-room TV echoes a laugh track through the hall like a sick joke, but the room remains empty.
A voice drifts down from upstairs. “Harry, that you?”
“Yeah,” I reply, my voice hollow.
Greg walks down the stairs, his steps loud and making me grimace. He appears at the end of the kitchen, hoodie half-zipped, and his hair still damp from a shower.
Doing a double-take at his appearance, I ask, “You’re going out?”
His jaw tightens slightly. “Yeah. What’s wrong with that?”
“Nothing.”
Truthfully, I want him to sit with me in the dark while I mourn and confess my best friend died today. I want to tell him how I saw Jack bleed out while people had to pry me off his dying body. I want to tell him how I’m drowning in guilt. I want someone to tell me it isn’t real.
I just don’t want to be alone. Not tonight.
Greg texts with one hand, not bothering to look up. “I’m going out to see Gigi.”
“Gigi?” I reply flatly. The name means nothing to me.
“Yeah, my girlfriend. I told you about her.”
“No, you didn’t.”
He pauses, finally lifting his chin to meet my eye. “Right. Well. I really like her.”
I smile, if only to mask the unbearable silence weighing down on us. Greg gives me a once-over, his brows pulled inwards, but he shakes his head to clear his thoughts. He coughs, silently asking me to move.
“Sorry.” I step aside, ducking my head towards the floor, as he takes the keys from the counter. There are still flecks of crimson on the tips of my shoes.
Greg’s walking towards the door when his phone rings. He places it to his ear, his expression dropping quickly.
“Woah, woah. Slow down—”
The door slams shut behind him.
I lift my head, watching through the window as he rushes towards my car, the old banger, and climbs inside. His phone is propped between his chin and his shoulder as he turns on the engine and quickly pulls away from the pavement.
My fear of being alone comes to fruition quickly, the silence heavier than when I initially walked inside. It hits me hard, like a whip cracking against my back.
I’m forced to double over, leaning against the counter, palms flat, my breathing slow. Grief has never felt so lonely, and all I want to do is be with her.
But she doesn’t know me.
She didn’t see me.
She never will.
And I’ll just keep standing there, watching her and wishing I took the bullet instead.