Chapter Thirty-Five Talia
Chapter Thirty-Five
Talia
She’s never held a gun before.
This one is small, built for a woman’s grip. Talia can’t stop running her hands over the cool, shiny surface. It makes her feel powerful, in control. Two things she rarely feels in life. And she needs the protection now more than ever.
Talia takes a breath, attempting to steady herself. Inhale for a count of four, hold for a count of seven, exhale for a count of eight. It’s no use. The betrayal she’s felt since yesterday in the police station—reignited now that Meera stands before her—threatens to tear her in two.
“It’s been her this whole time,” her friend is saying. “She’s been pretending to be her own stalker.”
“No,” Townsend says. “That’s impossible.” Even in her anger, Talia feels a twinge of pride at his loyalty. He knows her too well to believe Meera’s lies. He loves her too much to let Meera stand in the way of their future.
Below, sirens wail. It’s time to do what she needs to do.
Talia takes another deep breath—inhale for four, hold for seven, exhale for eight—and pulls the trigger.
The blood comes first. Blackish-red liquid pools and soaks into Townsend’s eggshell-colored rug like a scene from a slasher flick. Except that the growing puddle isn’t made from corn syrup and red food coloring—it’s blood, gushing from her leg.
Finally, the pain hits. Talia drops to the floor.
“Jesus Christ,” she hears Meera say.
“Talia.” Townsend’s footsteps approach. “Talia, what did you just do?”
“Stay where you are,” she tells him. Darkness starts to cloud her vision. “Stay right there. I need to do this. For us.”
With her last bit of strength, she aims and pulls the trigger again. She hears a scream. A thud. A parade of heavy boots stampeding into Townsend’s condo.
Then voices. “Police. Police. Put your hands where we can see them.”
The last thing Talia sees is Townsend’s face, blurred and swimming in the distance.
Just before he slips out of sight, she tells him again: “I did this for us.”