63 Quinn
Quinn
The day of the fall
Robbie moves toward me, slowly, and I lean away, my backpack pressed against the closed door.
“You got off work early,” I say, trying to buy time, calculating how I can maneuver myself to block his view while I twist the door handle behind my back. I’m not looking at the knife in his hand. I’m looking right in his eyes.
He flashes a small smile, and then it’s gone. His eyes cast down to my feet. He almost looks repentant. “Did you know?”
I swallow, nod.
“After the deer sacrifice didn’t work, I realized it,” he says.
“Bloodspell requires a human sacrifice. Someone with the magic in their veins.” Then he says, “I’m sorry,” and presses his lips together.
He might be apologizing for showing up late for a date; that’s how casual he is.
Behind me, I find the door handle and grip it.
I attempt to turn it, but it’s stuck, and the backpack keeps me from getting a good purchase.
He sees. Pauses. Watches my hand with curiosity.
My breathing is erratic, and I sense that I have no choice.
I have to commit. I spin around and use both hands to try to unstick the handle.
And then, I have it. It turns, and for a second—no, less than a second—I think I’ve done it.
I imagine myself running through the house, throwing chairs and tables behind me, sprinting out the front door, my dad pulling up at that exact moment…
Instead, I feel Robbie’s arm hook around my neck and jerk me backward.
And then, I feel the blinding sensation of something sharp piercing through skin.
Then it sinks into me even deeper, through muscle, and the pain is like nothing I’ve ever known.
I only have enough time to look down, to see a dark blot of blood forming on my favorite pink hoodie, and to hear him say, “There’s no other way. ”
The pain comes again and again, and I want it to stop. I just want it to stop.
Until, finally, it does. Until, at last, there’s nothing.