Chapter Four
Her nostrils filled with the iron scent of blood.
She knew the odor well.
The last six months of her grandmother’s life, Margo had taken care of the elderly woman who had Alzheimer’s.
The horrible last two months of Molly’s life would never be forgotten.
Death smelled unlike anything one could describe.
Many times, her grandmother’s IV had fallen out—or been pulled out—and blood had soaked the sheets and floor.
Or the times Molly had fallen and hurt herself.
Once she’d cut her forehead and Margo had never seen so much blood. She’d had nightmares every night.
Molly had been Margo’s most beloved relative.
They’d had a bond from the time she was born so when it came down to her grandmother needing someone to care for her, Margo volunteered, which her parents didn’t argue because they agreed Molly would have wanted that.
They said, “The responsibility will build character”.
Molly had passed away while Margo was sitting vigil at her bedside. The silent drifting of her soul and the complete release of tension from her expression had never left Margo’s mind. Now, looking down at Leo’s blank expression and distant gaze brought back all the pain of losing her grandmother.
Pushing at Leo’s dead weight, Margo squirmed herself out from under him.
Suddenly a man appeared to help her to her feet and he did so with little effort.
She gave him a curt “thank you” but her attention was on the circle of people gawking, reminding her of vultures waiting to pick the bones of a carcass.
Margo’s knees wobbled as they threatened to give out.
She wasn’t sure she might not land on the sidewalk next to Leo.
A woman screamed as she looked at Margo.
She wanted to shush the lady as if she might bring more people to the curb to look. No one wanted to be the center of attention when they’re dead. At least Margo knew she wouldn’t want to have people ogling her deceased body.
Why did people gather to watch? This was a private moment, yet death had a way of drawing people, even those who weren’t around while someone was living.
At Molly’s funeral Margo met aunts, uncles, and cousins she’d never seen before.
She doubted her grandmother had met fifty percent of those people.
It seemed strange to attend a funeral for someone not important enough to visit while they were alive.
One woman’s gaze lingered on Margo in disgust. She stared back at the woman.
What was she looking at?
Then Margo saw her hands. They were stained in blood. Her shirt too. Leo was covered in blood also and he wasn’t moving. And he wasn’t breathing. He truly was dead.
And Margo was alive.
More gasps sounded from the alarmed crowd.
Shouldn’t they be running away instead of toward the gruesome scene?
Shock steadied her in its unforgiving grip.
Not everyone had stopped. Some had their attention buried in their phones.
Others were snapping selfies in front of the bright lights of bars.
They didn’t have the time to allow something like a death to hit pause on their fun.
She couldn’t help but think they were like her, people who didn’t want to be one of those who invaded someone’s most vulnerable moment.
A group of pedestrians crossed the street, acting like Leo wasn’t even there.
They probably wanted to get away from the scene as much as she did.
She wanted to blend in with the group, keep moving as if she could forget the incident, but wouldn’t she be a terrible person if she left her dead ex-boyfriend.
She was pushed aside and jostled. People in the crowd had now brought out their phones, taking photos and videos.
Then like a wave another and another copied the act until faces were lost behind phones.
Anger formed inside Margo. She wanted to scream at them to back off, but no words came.
She felt herself wobbling as the reality of what happened started to sink in.
She remembered the piece of paper Leo had given her, now splattered in blood.
Pushing the scrap of paper into her front pocket she’d have to worry about the information later.
He said it would all make sense in the end. Even his death?
She stood there frozen. What was she supposed to do?
A grip on her shoulder made her gasp.
Someone was pulling her away from the scene. The cowboy who helped her crawl out from underneath Leo.
He led her to another part of the sidewalk.
Things whirled around her as she looked up into a pair of silver-blue eyes. She barely registered the stranger, but it was the only connection she had at the moment, and it felt like a life jacket being tossed out to her in stormy waters.
“Th-thank you.” She finally managed to push through her trembling lips.
“Are you okay?” He skimmed his gaze over her clothing.
She blinked. “I-I think so.” Then some of the pathways of her brain started to work again. “Ambulance. He needs an ambulance.”
“It’s too late for him,” the man said. She gathered he must have seen a lot of death in his lifetime. There were no signs of horror or compassion, only a firm mutter, “Come with me. We need to move away.”
Although she would have liked to be whisked away from the grisly scene, she still felt apprehensive. “I should stay with him.”
“There’s nothing you can do for him.” The man, much taller than her five-six frame, grabbed her hand and pulled her further outside of the growing circle of bystanders.
“Who are you?” she asked.
He didn’t answer.
She pressed on the brakes and demanded, “Who are you? Are you Hawkeye? He looked like a Hawkeye.
The cowboy stared as if trying to understand how she knew his name. One corner of his mouth dipped, and he gave her a tight nod.
Margo needed to trust him. What Leo had been telling her had come true, so she needed to trust what he’d told her. But Leo was now lying dead on the sidewalk with a bullet wound. She needed to know what, or who, he’d been afraid of, but dead men don’t talk.
“Don’t move,” Hawkeye bit out then he pushed his way through the crowd that were three people deep.
What was the cowboy doing? Checking for Leo’s pulse? There was a chance he wasn’t dead…
No, she couldn’t mistake the death expression.
She wanted this to all be a nightmare. This couldn’t be real. One minute she’d been drinking her latte with the cute art and the next she had blood—Leo’s blood—on her hands. Her shirt. In her hair too.
Hawkeye was back. Still no sign of concern in his expression.
Short of lifting her into his arms, he wrapped an arm around her waist and pushed an opening through the orbit of people, shielding her from any onlookers.
They barely paid attention because they’d already forgotten about her.
They all must be thinking that she was an unfortunate stranger who happened to be at the wrong place at the wrong time and caught a dead guy in her arms.
Holy shit.
I just watched Leo die.
She had come there to meet him to end things, but she didn’t think they’d end like this. They were over but she didn’t hate him. Her stomach started to rumble. She might be sick.
Everything became a blur as Hawkeye took control and steered her in one direction. She couldn’t stop looking down at her hands covered in blood that was starting to dry and crack. Her nails looked like they’d been painted.
Hawkeye’s curious gaze was on her. She guessed he could see that she was one thread away from unraveling.
“Here,” he practically pulled her into the pizza shop, and they buzzed past the line of people waiting to order.
They didn’t pay her any attention, but she thought at any moment someone would see her and scream, gathering attention from others.
She couldn’t handle any attention now. It was too much that the stranger had his hand on the small of her back leading her down the narrow hallway to the back of the store.
He opened the door to the men’s restroom and crouched down to look for feet. “It’s clear,” he said.
Hawkeye held the door while she passed then closed it behind her. He clicked the lock and turned to her, only a wisp of worry on his otherwise hardened features.
He turned on the water and motioned for her to step to the sink. She could barely see as she scrubbed her hands. There were a dozen small dots on the dirty mirror, like someone had popped a pimple and it squirted everywhere.
It was funny where the mind wandered in a time of trauma.
No, not funny at all.