Chapter 46 #5
His eyes fixed steadily to the moon, as if he was purposely focusing on the only thing left worth seeing with his last breath.
The bottom part of one ear was missing, torn off, and long, thin, jagged tears ran from under his ear and forked across his neck.
His throat spurted crimson rhythmically, like the seconds hand of a clock.
There was only one thing that would make the blood spurt like that. A pumping heart. Incredibly, his chest rose and fell in faint, fast breaths. He was still alive.
“Oh, I, oh!” the girl’s voice cracked. She turned, staggered a few feet away, and puked. The boy followed suit.
The initial shock wore off quickly. I needed to stop the bleeding. I rushed forward and dropped to my knees.
A second burst of shock stormed through my mind and stole the breath from my lungs.
The man lying before me was Jefferson.
“It’s okay, it’s okay,” I said, “help’s coming.” I reached out and touched the side of his face.
His skin was clammy and cold. His eyes were terrified, desperate, pleading. His mouth opened, but no noise came out.
I gathered the end of my dress, bunched it as best I could, and rammed it against the waves of blood pumping from his neck, pushing as hard as I dared, trying to halt the flow.
The young man stood a few feet away, hovering above. His face was the color of the moon, his mouth a cave, like he was waiting for bats to fly out.
“Help,” I said, glancing up. He didn’t budge, his chest flared in and out, I don’t think he even registered what I said, so I shouted, “Fucking move.”
He jerked into action and bent down on the opposite side.
I looked down, and almost wished I hadn’t.
His injuries were ghastly. One of the tear marks on his stomach was so deep, a stream of what looked like giant blood worms could be seen.
In the background the girl was shaking violently and trying to speak to an administrator at the hospital, having to repeat herself over and over so she could be understood beneath a flurry of tears.
“Take your jacket off and push your hands over that and press,” I said, my voice high with panic. The smell of blood, a metallic scent, crawled up my nose until I could taste it.
He looked reluctant, horrified, but he did as I asked. It didn’t take long for the blood to seep through the jacket onto his hand and the boy’s hands blended with the rest of Jefferson’s torso. The hand I’d rammed against his neck was warm and wet.
I glanced up. The girl was off the phone, it hung limply in her loose hands, her body swayed dangerously from side to side.
Jefferson made a gurgle sound. I wasn’t sure if he was trying to speak or whether the pressure caused pain.
“Shh, it’s going to be okay,” I whispered, “don’t try and talk, we have help coming.”
His breathing was fast and shallow. Every time he drew the air in it wheezed in his throat and when he breathed out, it gurgled, like a drain. He made an ‘ugh’ sound and coughed weakly, blood dribbled from the corner of his mouth and spilled down his chin.
“You’re going to be alright,” I lied. He was as good as dead. It wouldn’t matter if the best doctor in the world was here, even if a team of them arrived, there was no way to stop that amount of bleeding.
He closed his eyes for a long moment.
“Did you see anything?” I asked the boy.
“Uh, uh, no, we found him like this,” he stammered.
Jefferson’s eyes sprung open, “Uhh,” he slurred, and more blood slithered like a demonic snake from his mouth.
Ignoring the natural instinct to recoil, I moved my face closer to his so I could hear him. I stroked the side of his head with my free hand. His breath was mingled with whiskey and the rusty, sickening smell of blood.
“Un,” he said, as he tried to lift his head.
To see him trying so hard to speak and being unable to understand him clenched my heart.
“It’s okay, Brian, you’re going to be okay.”
His eyes were wide, frantic, he took a wheezing breath and said, “Run.”
Not quite clear, but clear enough I finally understood. Cold found a home in my skull and travelled over my entire body. I had to restrain myself from searching the tree line for whatever threat lay out there that he wanted us to run from.
“You’re safe now,” I said, choking back the lump in my throat. “Help’s coming.”
Where the fuck were the vampires? They should be here by now. They must be caught up with humans, unable to use their speed until they were out of sight.
“Chris… tell him…love,” his voice was a weak croak.
“That’s his son,” the boy said.
My heart broke.
“You can tell him later, okay,” I breathed, trying not to cry, and failing. “You can tell him later, how much you love him.”
The blood rolling from the sides of his mouth was awful. Jesus, where was everyone, what was taking so long?
He sucked in a thin ragged breath. Our eyes connected. His beautiful eyes glazed over, the light drained from them and they marbled like a doll’s.
Even though it was expected, it was still brutally shocking. My breath caught in my throat and my heart beat like fists in my chest. I stared at him, unable to comprehend his death, waiting for him to draw another breath.
“No, no, no. You hang in there. Brian, please,” my voice cracked.
Panicking, I took the pressure off his neck and placed my hands on his chest and pushed.
‘Staying Alive’ beat in my head; Tom had taught me to do heart compressions to it in order to keep compressions even.
With each compression blood bubbled, popped, then sprinkled down from a wound between his ribs.
I ignored it and kept pumping. The words became a bitter cruel irony.
The boy stammered, “Oh god, oh god.” He was so pale I thought he’d pass out, but he held the stomach wound. There was little point to it, I think we both knew that, but I felt compelled by a sense of desperation to try everything we could, a tiny shaft of hope somewhere kept us both going.
I caught a blur and the four vampires stood staring down.
Finally!
“Amy, get away . . . it’s too late!” Ethan looked appalled.
I ignored him and kept pumping. “Breathe, breathe, please breathe,” I pleaded, as if my words might somehow magically solicit him back to life.
Ethan knelt on the ground opposite. With an annoyed grunt he began the compressions himself. With shaking hands, I pushed the fabric of my dress back against his neck wound, the blood no longer pulsed. Horrified cries echoed in the background. The humans had caught up.
“What’s going on?” a voice commanded. Cole barged through. “Jesus Christ, Jefferson!” He was breathing rapidly, a look of horror on his face.
I lowered my ear to his mouth, checking for breath, found none, my eyes locked with Ethan’s.
An understanding passed between us. He stopped pumping.
To see blood was one thing, but the smell seemed to invade my senses, clinging to my throat, and wound its way to my stomach.
My stomach revolted and boiled, I had to fight to keep it down.
Ethan removed his jacket and placed it over Brian’s body, leaving only his face and legs exposed. We stood up as a young man came running around the corner.
He stopped abruptly, staring down at Jefferson. His eyes wide and glassy, his chest thumping. The resemblance was uncanny, dark hair, chiselled jaw, brown eyes. This was Jefferson’s son. The color drained from his face until he was ghostly-white, he made a terrible, despaired, weeping sound.
“Dad . . . Dad, Dad,” he staggered forward and crumbled to his knees. He reached out and touched his face. “No, no, no, please, you’re all I have. Don’t leave me, please, Dad!”
The sounds of his voice breaking, the pain plastered on his face, tore at my heart.
I reached out and touched his shoulder, not that there was any comfort I could really give.
I became aware that I’d left an imprint of his father’s blood on his shoulder, but it was too late now.
Someone had turned on the outside lights, they leaked across the ground, washing everyone in a dim glow, making it easier to see, and so much worse.
I thought of Karson—did he, could he have done this?
Was he capable of such a cold, callous murder?
The two men hated each other, that much was abundantly clear, and he hadn’t hesitated to remove the vampires who’d threatened him.
A blanket of cold swept over my body. It seemed implausible that he’d be capable of something so horrendous. Yet.
‘He probably killed the damn dog himself!’
I jerked my head up and met his eyes. He read my thoughts, his brow twitched.
I thought I could see a glint of something troublesome in them.
What did it mean? Could it be guilt? It could just as easily be hurt.
He shook his head and now he looked annoyed.
Guilt sent a sharp pang through my chest. I dismissed the notion as the construct of a distraught mind.
I lowered myself down and wrapped my arm around Chris’s shoulders, his body shook violently. I gulped hard to keep the sobs which sat against my throat down, my chest expanded painfully against its walls.
“Dad, please,” Chris’s voice trembled. He lowered his face to his father’s ear, “I love you. I love you.”
“He said he loved you,” I whispered.
Chris began to sob then. He bent down, laid his head on the side of his father’s face and hugged him.
A circle of people had gathered now, most stood in quiet shock, a few women wept openly, others stood with their mouths ajar, staring with morbid fascination.
“Get back, get back, everyone go back to the house!” Cole commanded, guiding them with his arms. A few women remained immobilized by shock. “Move,” Cole shouted, pulling them from their trance-like state, they turned, shoulders bowed, cradling their own bodies, back toward the house.
An older male spoke in low, calm tones, “Chris, come away boy.” The man knelt beside him, he seemed to know him well.
I got up and moved away.
“No,” Chris’s voice was on the edge of hysteria. He cradled his dad’s head in his arms, stroking the side of his hair and his face. The man wrapped his arm around Chris. “Okay, we’ll stay here until the ambulance arrives.”
“Did you see anything, did anyone see anything?” Cole asked, both angry and upset.
I shook my head.
He rubbed his hands over his face, shook his head in disbelief, and went back to steering everyone away.
Mike Bowden stood in the background, pale, sweating.
Shocked, I think, disturbed definitely. His phone was clutched tightly in his hand, was he taking photos?
I wouldn’t have thought this was the kind of news that’d help the development go ahead.
Maybe the pay cheque was done with and the story took precedence.
Jodie had her hands over her mouth, aghast, and Michael’s arm were around her shoulders. She wept silently. Georgie came running through to help, her eyes met mine. I shook my head.
“Move back,” she ordered the still gathered circle of bystanders, immediately the professional.
Her fingers felt for a pulse, she lowered her head to his face, listening for breath.
She lifted Ethan’s jacket up, her face paled, and she sat it back down.
She didn’t try CPR—she knew the extent of his injuries—there was nothing that could be done.
Monique stood further back. Her eyes were unsympathetic to the point of amusement. First the dog, now Jefferson, and both times she was there. Both with similar wounds.
She smiled. The bitch smiled.
My chest heaved. I felt the anger burst through my veins. Karson seemed to sense my anger, he moved himself between us.
“Now is not the time for foolish behaviour,” he spoke gruffly into my ear. He looked pointedly at Monique. He spoke so low I couldn’t hear it. I could only decipher he was speaking by the minute movement of his lips. She rolled her eyes and left.
Dahlia stood quietly in the background, watching. She looked bitter, disgusted, and she, too, walked away.
Karson handed me a white handkerchief. “Calm yourself and wipe your hands.”
I unclenched fists I hadn’t realized were clenched.
I was covered in Jefferson’s blood. I moved away towards the tree line.
My hands shook. I rubbed at the blood, but some had already dried, and was stuck to my skin.
The pain I’d seen etched on Chris’s face at losing a parent was crushingly familiar.
I rubbed harder. When someone you loved dies, the world goes on, as it always goes on, but you’re left hollow, feeling like some part of you is constantly missing.
Some days you get through life just by placing one foot in front of the other.
Family gatherings for birthdays, Christmas or Thanksgiving once celebrated and full of joy, become just another painful reminder of the loss.
My eyes burned, I blinked back the tears. Chris’s life will never be the same again. I rubbed so hard my hands felt raw and the blood remained, etched like demonic scrawls on some ancient hidden tomb.
Run. That word again. I shuddered.