Chapter 64 #2
“Swallow, sweetheart, please,” he begged.
“You have to swallow.” Hope fought against the terrible knowing—maybe his blood was so powerful it would run down her throat and somehow revive her?
I didn’t know if any went down, but blood trickled from the corner of her mouth.
“Please, please, please,” he whispered, his lips brushing her forehead.
“I need you … we all need you. I love you.”
Tears blurred my vision, coming to rest on a knife on the floor. The blade glinted crimson. This can’t be real.
Hope was shattered when Karson tilted his head back and roared. His cry of devastation was so loud it shook the windows and blasted through the air. Shock waves rushed through the surrounding trees. Resting birds squawked and took off in terrified flight.
His despair jolted me into moving. I staggered to him, falling to my knees and wrapping my arm around his trembling shoulders. Everything felt surreal. All I could think was this can’t be happening. But the scent of blood was too real as it burned up my nostrils.
His face dipped to her hair, his chest heaving with sobs. “No, Mary. No, no, no.”
Mary, sweet Mary, whose smile lit up our lives. Who cooked our meals with love, who was always there when I needed to talk, always armed with a wise word. She was old, innocent, harmless. And she was dead. Not just dead—murdered.
Tears streamed down Karson’s face. My hand rubbed at his back, trying to ease his pain. But it was pointless. There was no way to help a heart fractured with grief.
“I’m sorry.” My voice choked on the tightness of air trapped in my chest. “I’m so sorry.”
Karson didn’t answer, he didn’t even look at me, as if he didn’t even register I was there. He slipped his arms under her body and rose slowly, his steps stumbling and unsteady as he carried her and gently placed her on the sofa. Then he straightened and turned. He stilled, staring, not blinking.
I followed his line of sight.
The high-pitched squeal increased in my ears. I could not believe what I was seeing. I cried out at the words written on the wall in Mary’s blood.
Tick-tock.
The world fell silent. Even the ringing in my ears died. Darkness stormed over my vision, threatening to take me under, before my body physically jerked on the realization that I killed her.
It was my fault. The newspaper photo had brought Sarah back. Mary was the victim of her sick revenge.
I felt all the blood drain from my head down to my toes. The room spun. My hand shot to the floor to stop myself from falling, a sound like a wounded animal leaving my mouth as I sought Karson. But he was gone.
I rose to my feet and staggered to Mary. Sitting on the edge of the couch, I picked up her head and shoulders and tucked her to my chest.
I killed you. I killed you. I killed you.
“Mary,” I sobbed. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry.” Her eyes stared straight at me. Eyes that used to reflect kindness and warmth were vacant of everything she was. The blood on her chest was still wet but cool.
She’d been killed not too long ago.
Karson was searching for her. There would be no negotiation now. If he found Sarah, he’d kill her.
Sounds of despair lifted my head—Ethan, Michael, and Monique stood in the doorway. A tear ran down Monique’s cheek. Kenneth appeared from behind and pulled her into his arms. Tough, indestructible Monique was crying.
Josh rushed in, his eyes widening in horror as he looked from Mary to the wall and back to Mary. He closed his eyes, blocking out the image, or trying to stop himself from crying.
“It’s my fault,” I whispered, my heart cracking with despair and guilt and pain. “It’s my fault.”
Strong hands around my chest lifted me up and twirled me around, holding me tight. “It’s not your fault,” Ethan murmured. “It’s not.”
I pressed my cheek against his hard chest and sobbed.
Michael had a blue throw rug in his hand. He laid it over her body and gently pressed her eyelids shut. His head bowed as he stroked her hair.
“She looks like she’s sleeping.” Josh’s voice broke.
If Josh was here, who was with Georgie? God, was that what Sarah planned? Panic seized my chest. I pulled out of Ethan’s arms. “Where’s Georgie?”
“She’s fine. Rodney is with her,” Josh answered, scrubbing at tears.
A relieved breath fluttered from a chest too tight to hold it. Rodney might be an asshole, but he was a lethal asshole and he’d protect her.
Ethan placed a pillow under Mary’s head and leaned down to kiss her forehead. He was crying as he whispered something into her ear. Then he lifted the blanket over her face.
I tore my gaze away as fresh sobs crashed through my chest, my eyes landing on a painted frame that read: A mother is the greatest gift on earth.
Mary was the greatest gift on earth.
Next to it was a white picture frame with a photo of her with her husband and son, all smiling.
I felt sick to the stomach.
“I will see if I can pick up her scent,” Monique’s voice cracked.
“No,” Michael said, the despair lifting, leaving in its place a flare of panic. “You need to go, you both need to go. If he comes back and he’s as furious as I know he will be—” Michael shook his head and didn’t finish.
I could barely believe what he was saying, to leave Karson at his darkest moment. I rasped, “I’m not leaving him.”
Ethan swung around. “Don’t be stupid, Amy, you need to leave until he calms down.” He took a step toward me.
“Come near me.” I raised my hands, anger curdling through the guilt and grief. “If any of you come near me, I will throw you out of the window.”
It wasn’t much of a threat. A trip out of the window wasn’t exactly going to hurt any of them. But Ethan hesitated anyway.
“Amy, please.” He drew in a thick breath and thrust his hand through his hair. “Don’t be stupid, just go for a few hours.”
I kept my palms up. “He won’t hurt me.”
“You have no idea what he is capable of.” His voice came out ravaged.
“He loves me, I’m not afraid of him.”
“Sometimes rage defeats love. Sometimes love isn’t enough.”
My hands shook, tears falling down my cheeks as I whispered, “It’s always enough.”
Josh stepped forward with his palms up, tears in his eyes. “Everyone is tense and hurting, we all just need to relax.”
Ethan strode across the room and stared out of the window. “We have to get them out of here. If he comes back in a rage, he will kill them and you know it, Michael.”
“I need to stay to search for clues. I may be about to get a vision on something.”
“Amy is right, her skills might be invaluable,” Michael said. “Kenneth, take Monique somewhere safe until I let you know he’s calmed.”
Kenneth nodded. Monique didn’t argue as he wrapped his arm around her back and they disappeared.
“I don’t want to be the one to point it out, but Amy’s skills won’t be any good to us if she’s …” Josh wrung his fingers together. “Maybe, Michael, you should see if you can find him and talk him down.”
Michael nodded. “I will look out the back and you check the front, Ethan. If he’s followed the scent, he could be miles from here by now.”
I moved back to the kitchen, my sneakers squelching in Mary’s blood. My hand shook as I snatched the bloody knife off the floor. And what I saw and felt had me wishing I didn’t.
Mary was in the kitchen wiping the bench down, humming—happy. She peered out of the window at the rain pouring down. There was a silhouette in the window behind her. I couldn’t make out the detail through the blur of the rain. I felt the spike of fear in her heart as she swung back.
She gasped, “Why are you here?”
The figure stepped closer. Mary’s eyes fell to their black-gloved hand. In it, a sharp blade glinted.
She stumbled backwards, her heart beating furiously. “No, please no,” she pleaded, thrusting her arms up in front of her face and chest in a defensive position.
Mary screamed as slashes ripped through her frail arms.
A red-hot burning pain slammed into her chest. She couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t speak. Her legs lost power, and she slid down the cupboards to the floor.
“Why?” she whispered.
The knife clattering on the tiles jerked me back to the room. My legs felt shaky and I staggered.
“Amy.” Josh held me by the arms, his eyes soft and concerned. “Are you alright?”
My body was bathed in sweat. I swear, I could still feel the burning pain in my chest. I sucked at air, trying to get enough oxygen, tears streaming down my cheeks.
“What did you see?” he asked gently.
I couldn’t answer over the hot coal of despair in my neck. My whole body was shaking. Josh kept hold of one arm as he pulled out a chair from the kitchen table with the other and sat me down. “What did you see?” he asked again, rubbing my arm.
“I saw her being stabbed,” I choked out.
Josh’s hand stilled. “Did you see Sarah?”
I shook my head. “No, I couldn’t see who it was. It could have been her. It could have been someone she sent to do her dirty work. I don’t know.”
“Alright, alright. You did good.” He let go of me and tried to force a smile, but it didn’t reach his eyes. Instead, they swam with a mixture of devastation and concern. “How about I take you home now?”
My gaze fell to Mary’s painfully small shape on the couch. What kind of monster would murder a frail old lady? “I want to keep looking. I may be able to get something from one of the other rooms.”
Josh sniffed and nodded slowly. “It’s worth a try. Do you want me to come with you?”
I could concentrate better on my own. I shook my head and left Josh sitting by Mary’s body, talking softly to her, thanking her for encouraging him to cook again, thanking her for being there for him when he needed someone to talk to. The pain in his voice almost broke me again.
I felt numb as I walked along the hall toward the bedrooms. White-framed pictures hung along the wall.
Snippets of her life, the people she loved.
A smiling young Mary wearing a long-sleeved wedding gown wrapped in the arms of a short, black-haired man with an Elvis-style haircut.
A young Mary with a baby in her arms. A young boy running through long grass.
A picture of an older Mary beside her husband, smiling around a Christmas table.
She’s joined him now, I thought with a fresh lurch of emotion.
I opened the door to Mary’s bedroom, which was painted white with cream carpet.
Beige curtains framed a white-netted window.
A neat floral bedspread covered a double bed.
Two wooden bedside drawers sat on either side.
One had a beige-covered lamp, a book, a radio clock, and a framed picture of Mary and her husband.
Another picture grabbed my attention—it was Mary at around twenty, wearing a long, sleek gown, her hair twisted up and her arm linked through Karson’s.
The way she leaned into him made me wonder if their friendship had at one time been more.
I picked up the picture and tucked it into my pocket.
It felt wrong, but I couldn’t leave it. Mary’s son would come home for her funeral, and if he saw the picture with Karson, he would wonder how he hadn’t aged.
Karson lived forever. He was my whole world.
But for him, we were just fleeting moments.
Passing fish in an endless sea. Maybe he’d admire our colors, maybe he’d fall in love for a while, but then we’d be gone and he’d still go on.
What a tragedy that kind of life must be.