Zayne
As soon as I hear the door click shut, I step out of the shower and into the room.
There is an axe buried deep inside one of the bodies hanging from a chain near the wall. I wrap my fingers around the handle and pull. It comes free with a wet sound. I rest it against my shoulder and start toward the door.
“Zeke,” I shout. “Come out, come out.”
His laughter answers me.
The hallway lights begin to flicker, flashing so fast my eyes can barely keep up. Shadows jump in and out of the corners of my eyes. Anything could be there. Anything could be waiting.
My pulse steadies.
I walk forward.
Just as I raise the axe, he slams into me. My body crashes through the glass and hits the floor hard enough to knock the breath from my lungs.
“Zayne,” she screams.
We both hear it.
His attention snaps away from me. And it’s no longer about me, it’s about her.
He scrambles to his feet and runs.
I follow.
We tear through the lower hallway and up the stairs toward the second floor. My legs burn, my lungs scream, but I push harder. But he is faster.
By the time I reach the top, they are gone.
“Zeke,” I shout. “What the fuck are you doing? What happened to brothers who kill together stay together?”
“You chose her,” he shouts back. “It was never about us.”
Then I see them.
He has her.
“No,” I whisper.
He presses a knife to her throat as he backs toward the edge of the second floor. There are no windows. Nothing to stop them. Nothing to catch her.
I take a step.
He takes one back.
I freeze.
“Don’t do this,” I say, my voice shaking. “Please.”
“I have nothing left,” he says.
He moves the knife away from her throat.
I look at Emily. I shake my head slowly, silently begging her not to move. My chest hurts so badly I can barely breathe.
She doesn’t listen.
She shoves him.
For a second, everything slows. His foot slips. Her body moves. His hand grabs her, pulling her with him.
I run.
I run faster than I ever have.
But I am already too late.
She is falling.
“No,” I scream.
My hand catches hers. My fingers lock around her wrist. The skin burns as my arm shakes. I hold on with everything I have.
“Zayne,” she whispers. Her grip slips. “Please.”
“I won’t,” I say. “I won’t let you go.”
I hold on to the last piece of hope I have left.
Her hands are wet, her fingers slide, and then she lets go.
She falls to the ground, and around her, nothing but dirt and blood.
I stagger back, staring at the empty space. My mouth opens, but nothing comes out.
“No,” I whisper.
“No.”
My body moves without permission. I run down the stairs, down to the back of the building.
They are there.
So close to each other.
I drop beside her.
But I am too late.
I scoop at the dirt, at the blood beneath her head, trying to push it back where it belongs. I press my hands against her skull, shaking her gently, but she doesn’t move.
“Emily,” I whisper. “Wake up. Please. Just wake up.”
She doesn’t move.
There is too much blood.
I lost her.
The only person who ever made me want to live, fully, truly live.
I lost her.
As I shake her again, something slips from the hoodie I gave her. A piece of paper.
I knew it before I read it.
“I forgive you.”
My chest caves in.
Tears fall before I can stop them.
“No,” I cry. “No. No. Freckles. Please.” My voice breaks. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”
But sorry doesn’t reach her.
Sorry doesn’t bring her back.
I place the paper in her hand.
“Take it,” I whisper. “Take it back.”
If she takes it, maybe she comes back.
It doesn’t make sense.
Nothing does.
Life without her doesn’t make sense.
I lift my head to the sky as the moon fades and the sun begins to rise. I gently let her head rest against the ground and stand.
The moon is nothing without the sun. The sun is nothing without the moon. Always close. Always apart.
Something inside me tells me to get up. To give her the ending she wanted for me, even if it destroys me.
I take the phone from Zeke’s pocket and dial 911.
“911, what’s your emergency?”
“I found the body of Zayne Mercer and a missing woman,” I say. “They’re at a construction site near Ozark Avenue.”
She starts to speak.
But I put her on mute and let the screen on.
Sometimes an ending doesn’t lead to a beginning.
Sometimes it is just the end.
And even though she never reaches the last page of my story, she will always be my favorite chapter. Folded and stained and written into me forever.