Chapter 40
BAILEY
Teddy’s head drops as blood runs down his leg, joining Dean’s at it pools beneath his feet. I can’t tell how much of the blood is his. “Teddy,” I whimper, stepping towards him.
Shane slams into my back, and the knife slips from my hand.
He grabs me, pinning me against his chest again, pressing an arm to my windpipe.
I try to break his hold, shoving my elbow into his stomach, stomping on his feet, rearing my head back, doing anything to loosen his hold on me.
I just need to get to Teddy, need to get him free of the ropes, and then …
and then, I don’t know what; I don’t even have my phone to call an ambulance.
When I look over at Teddy, he’s still not moving.
Blood isn’t gushing out of the wound on his thigh, but that’s far from reassuring.
I swear he’s getting paler by the second.
Shane claws at my bare skin as he tries to keep a hold of me.
I growl, grabbing his arm and bucking forward, forcing him over my shoulder.
He lands on his back with a thud, writhing on the floor.
I quickly pick up the knife again and start towards him as he scrambles to his feet.
“You’re sick, Shane. For fucking years, you made me think it was me.
Do you have any idea what it’s like to think you’re a psychopath when you constantly feel guilt?
Having no memories of hurting anyone, but believing it must have been true because your own mother believed it.
Because your brother would punish you for it.
Did you want to make me just as crazy as you? Is that it?”
“Yes!” Shane shouts. “You were always so bloody good. You’d play quietly by yourself, ignoring me all day, and then when I’d take away your toy so that you’d pay attention to me, you’d get upset. And who would come to your rescue?”
Dad …
“He’d shout at me and slap me for taking your things and making you upset. Then he’d give it back to you and tell us to stay away from each other for the rest of the day.”
I can remember Dad telling Shane off for picking on me. I also remember him being spanked, but that was usually after he had pulled my hair or bitten me.
“I wanted to hurt you. I wanted to know what it would be like to make you bleed—see how far I could push you before you cried out. It got to a point where that need boiled over; I had to do something or I would have burst out of my own skin. Hurting you wasn’t an option while Dad was around, so I snuck out into the fields behind the house. ”
My eyes dart across the room to Teddy again, and my knees feel weak all of a sudden. I tighten my grip on the knife.
How long has it been since he was stabbed?
When I look back at my brother, he’s grinning at me.
“I found a little mouse,” he continues. My breath catches in my throat. “Do you remember I brought it home to you?”
“No …”
“You were in the living room, reading on the sofa. Mum had gone out, and Dad was working upstairs. I dropped it on your lap, thinking you would like it. But you opened your stupid mouth and screamed at the top of your lungs,” he snarls.
“I grabbed your arm to drag you outside so that Dad wouldn’t hear.
But you pulled out of my grip and fell backwards, hitting your head on the edge of the coffee table. You wouldn’t wake up.”
My free hand reaches for the back of my head, phantom pain making me flinch. I don’t remember any of this.
“It all happened so quickly. I heard the door to Dad's office bang open, and he shouted my name. Then footsteps on the landing.” Shane laughs. “The idiot tripped on the top step and fell down the stairs. I could hear him calling us for help.”
“What the fuck did you do, Shane?”
“Mum had left a candle burning. All I did was accidentally nudge it until the flame jumped onto a curtain. Then I dragged your ungrateful arse outside and waited for Mum to come home while flames engulfed the house.”
“You set the house on fire, knowing Dad couldn’t get out?”
Shane’s eyes widen in delight as he nods.
“After that, I couldn’t understand why you were feeling things I wasn’t.
I felt nothing when Mum told us Dad had died in the fire, but you cried for weeks afterwards.
It was fucking annoying. You were scared of me, and you started to go long periods without talking.
I wanted you to be more like me, so I spent years trying to make it so. ”
“You—you convinced me I was crazy to make you feel better about yourself?”
“You shouldn’t have been different! I was alone in all of it.”
“But you made me think I was alone in it, too. You made Mum think I was a psychopath to cover up all your crazy shit!”
Shane shrugs. “It was easier for me, having everyone’s eyes on you.”
“Fuck you, Shane,” I spit.
“Drop your weapons!” A muffled voice shouts.
My head snaps to the shed door and I see a few police officers standing in the doorway, guns raised towards both of us. Immediately, I drop the knife, and throw my arms in the air. Shane’s chuckling under his breath, but I’m too scared to take my eyes off the guns.
“Which one is it, sir?” one of the men asks.
“Eyes on both,” the man at the front responds.
My heart gallops in my chest as simultaneous shouts of “Drop the knife” and “Get on the ground” ring out around us.
I slowly drop to my knees and lie on my front, terrified that they’ll shoot me.
The shouting gets louder and I close my eyes, trying to fixate on the way the rough wooden floor scrapes my bare chest. Several guns are cocked, and Shane’s laughter stops.
There’s a scuff of a shoe to my right, and I think he’s moving closer to me.
There’s a single bang, and a heavy thud, then silence.
When I dare to open my eyes, I see my brother lying on the floor, staring back at me, a single bullet wound in the centre of his head and a trickle of blood dripping onto the ground.
A sob breaks out of me, and I’m not sure if it’s the shock of seeing Shane dead, or the relief of knowing he can no longer hurt me.
The officers rush in and go straight for Shane and Dean. I scramble to my feet and run to Teddy. My fingers are already in the knots of the ropes before the officers shout at me to get away from him.
“He’s been stabbed!” I yell as the rope around his thighs drops to the ground.
When I start on the rope around his chest, an officer rushes over and holds Teddy up.
The second rope comes loose, and the officer lowers him onto his back.
I drop to my knees by Teddy’s side as the officer checks his pulse.
He shakes his head and speaks into his radio: “Dispatch, this is PC Rivers, four nine zero three one. We have three people unresponsive and not breathing. Requesting ambulance urgently. Commencing CPR on one person.”
Three not breathing? I look frantically from the officer to Teddy—his chest is too still.
I was too late …
It feels like vines have sprung from the ground and wrapped themselves around my legs, pinning me to the spot. I can’t move—I can barely breathe. The officer leans over, putting his ear to Teddy’s mouth. “You need to put pressure on the leg wound,” he says, snapping me out of my daze.
“W-what?”
The man kneels, placing his clasped hands over Teddy's chest, pushing down in rapid movements. It’s suddenly all too real—he’s not breathing.
I stare at Teddy’s face, waiting for some sign, a flicker of his eyelids or something, but there’s nothing.
“Hey!” the officer shouts at me, making me jump.
“In my kit, there’s a bandage. Press it to the wound.
The ambulance will be here in a few minutes, okay? ”
I stare at the first aid kit sitting between us, frozen.
“Now!”
I flinch, ripping open the bag and grabbing a wad of bandages, pushing them against the wound.
I lean on his leg, holding it steady as his body rocks from the CPR.
PC Rivers tilts Teddy's head back, breathing into his mouth twice before carrying on with chest compressions. His arms strain, and sweat builds on his temples, brows furrowed as he tries to bring him back. I’m a mess of tears, with a lump in my throat that I can’t swallow.
I want to ask where the ambulance is—whether Teddy is going to be okay.
My voice is free, but I’m terrified of the answers, so I stay silent.
After what feels like an eternity, a hand touches my shoulder. A woman in green asks me to move aside, but I shake my head. If I’m still putting pressure on his wound, that means he’s still bleeding, and if he’s still bleeding, then he’s still alive.
“Sir, you need to move aside so we can get him into the ambulance,” she says, voice calm and steady, hand never leaving my shoulder.
Another hand grabs under my arm and gently pulls me to my feet.
It’s like I’m outside of my own body, looking at everything from above.
One of the paramedics straps something to Teddy’s thigh as another pushes their fingers to his throat.
“There’s a pulse, let’s go.”
He’s lifted onto a stretcher, and rushed out of the building.
I follow on their heels, not letting him out of my sight.
Everything’s happening so fast. I can’t focus on anything but getting into the ambulance with Teddy.
Even when I hear someone calling my name, I don’t look away.
The officer who helped Teddy talks to the paramedics, pointing at me, then at the ambulance.
He comes over and tells me it’s okay to get in the back, and that he’ll sit up front.
I didn’t need permission. They would have to drag me out if I wasn’t allowed.
During the journey, I’m frantically trying to keep myself calm for him.
But when the paramedics start rushing around, shouting things to one another, my heart thumps in my chest. I can’t focus enough to understand what’s happening.
I take a deep, shuddering breath. “You need to wake up, Teddy. Okay?” I sniff and wipe my face with one hand while I touch his hair with the other.
“You said you wouldn’t leave me again.” Leaning forward in my seat, I sweep his curls from his forehead, blocking out everything else.
“You’re not allowed to,” I choke out. “I only just found you again.”
Fuck, my chest hurts so much, I can’t take proper breaths.
My eyes flick to the paramedics; they’re injecting something into the drip by Teddy’s side, and one of them starts chest compressions again.
I struggle to swallow as my heart drops out of my stomach.
“Come on, Teddy.” My voice cracks. “Please, I need you!”