CHAPTER 84
1105 Words
Calla gripped the bannister, her bloodstained knuckles aching from
the strain. She stared down at the dark shape sprawled on the
ground far below. So far. She could still hear the satisfying crack
as his skull made contact with the polished floor.
She would relish that sound for the rest of her life. However long
that would be.
The bullet in her shoulder sang, and that song was agony. How the
hell had that thing not gone straight through her? It had to be
some sort of divine punishment. Penance for the evil things she'd
done, and still had yet to do.
"Punishment?" a silky voice purred.
Calla whirled around, nostrils flaring. Cooper knelt on the ground
where she'd last left him, locked in a sort of trance. He swayed
from side to side, his eyes closed and head tilted back to the
ceiling, still mumbling about monsters.
Somewhere off to the side, she saw a flash of black hair—or was it
merely a shadow?
"What punishment does my murderer deserve?" the voice asked
again, closer now. Something cold brushed the back of Calla's
neck.
She turned. And came face to face with a very dead Tracy Smith.
She gave Calla a mocking smirk and leaned in. Cold air brushed
her face as Tracy's nose hovered by hers, millimeters away.
"Calla," she breathed, almost lovingly. "I'll always be with you."
She blinked, and Tracy was gone.
"You b***h," she whispered, clapping her hand over the bullet
wound in her shoulder. She clenched her fingers around it and
closed her eyes. Warmth gushed between her fingers. "You
miserable b***h ."
From down the hall, the door leading into guest-bedroom-turned-
prison-cell burst open in a flurry of splintered wood. Cooper
flinched. And then blinked several times, shaking himself from a
horrible trance.
Vincent stumbled out into the hall, disoriented. Blood wept from a
cut above his brow, but it was his shoulder that looked worse for
wear. His right arm hung by his side, immobile. He gave the hall a
quick sweep. He spotted Cooper first and started forward, his eyes
dancing over her—
He stopped. And then his face crumpled.
"I thought you two were dead ," he croaked.
Unable—or perhaps unwilling—to move, the three stared at each
other from their respective places in the dark hallway. Afraid to
blink. Afraid to breathe. Afraid that their nightmare was not, in fact,
over.
Blood rolled over Calla's fingers. A wave of dizziness struck her
and she wavered, her grip tightening on the rail. At least, it felt like
her grip tightened. But her fingers, slick with blood, slipped against
the smooth wood and she stumbled, falling to her knees.
What punishment does my murderer deserve? Tracy's taunting
words drifted across her thoughts. Calla's vision dimmed. This
time, there was no headache.
Just pain.
"Calla? Hey, Calla." Warm hands stroked her cheeks, her hair. She
felt fingertips brush the back of the hand that clutched her
shoulder, trying desperately to hold the blood inside her body.
"Coop?" the same voice asked, rising with panic. "Coop, she's—"
"We need to call an ambulance." Cooper's voice sounded different.
Stronger. And much closer. "We need to find a phone ."
"No time." Vincent mumbled a string of curses as he hauled Calla
into his arms. Her stomach did a flip as he lifted her, cradling her
to his chest.
"How the hell did you get out of the zip ties?" Cooper asked in
bewilderment, some of the life in his voice returning. "How the hell
did you get out of the room ?"
"No thanks to you," Vincent muttered darkly. Calla stared up at the
vague shadow of his jaw.
She couldn't be sure.
The pain swallowed her whole, pulling her under.
"Let's argue later," Cooper offered, evasive.
Vincent grunted, striding down the hall. He held her close, trying
not to jostle her. But there was nothing he could do about the
stairs. She grimaced as the fire in her shoulder intensified, each
step pushing her further into darkness.
Too much blood, she realized. I'm losing too much blood. That, and
I probably already have a concussion.
"I'm sorry, I'm sorry," Vincent murmured, anxious. "Hang on,
okay?"
Behind her, Cooper remained
silent. His words from before played through her head, drawing
her out of the dark.
You have to be fine. You owe me, you b***h. You promised.
She owed him nothing, not anymore. She'd paid her debts in full.
Cory was dead. He would make one hell of a
zombie if he ever reanimated, she decided.
I'm losing it, she thought, amused. Cooper would have appreciated
the zombie reference. But when the hell had she ever cared about
his approval?
Monster, he'd whispered. Over and over and over again.
I came for you, she wanted to scream, to rage. I came for you, you
ungrateful little s**t. I killed for you.
The ultimate truth. The thing she'd been denying since the moment
she pushed Cory off of that ledge.
Not for Vincent. Not for Rachel. Not for myself. For you , Cooper
Daniels.
She couldn't say the words, not while Vincent cradled her in his
arms. Not while so much was still uncertain.
Calla felt the moment Vincent caught sight of Cory's lifeless body.
He froze mid-stride, rocking her. But he didn't say anything. Not a
curse, nor a prayer.
A few seconds passed, and then he drew a sharp intake of breath.
"What are you doing ?"
"Trying to find his phone," Cooper muttered. "He's got—f**k me .
It's totally busted. I guess the fall—"
"We don't have time, Coop. Let's just go."
" Go ? Where—"
"Car," Calla mumbled, the fingers on her left hand twitching.
"Car?" Vincent asked, leaning down. She felt his lips close to her
ear. "Where? What car?"
"Coop," she elaborated, blinking away the dark spots in her vision.
She took a deep breath, a moment of clarity gripping her. "The
Mustang. End of the driveway. I left the keys inside."
"You..." Vincent was already striding for the front door. From
somewhere behind them, she heard Cooper shout, "You drove my
baby into this mess?"
Calla smirked, her sight dimming. Above her, Vincent sighed.
"Just hold on," he murmured. And then—the sound of a door
opening. Cold air washed over her face, and she thought Tracy had
come back for her, after all. Back to drag her soul to hell. "Hold on,
Calla."
I'll hold on, she thought.
Darkness gripped her hand and together, they slipped under.
- Writer
