by Monica James
My body reacts before my brain can catch up and I lunge forward, pointing my gun at Phil, but I’m too late.
“Wrong answer,” Phil snickers, and pulls the trigger.
The next few seconds pass by in slow motion, and I will be permanently scarred from seeing Phil shoot Hank in cold blood.
My entire body freezes as I watch Hank drop to the ground with a nauseating thud, while my father and Phil laugh as they begin raiding the cash register, behaving like they didn’t just kill an innocent man.
“Stupid, old bastard,” my father chides, looking down at Hank, who is wheezing heavily, gasping for air. “You deserve to die for protecting that good for nothing little bitch.”
The pain in my chest isn’t from my father’s venomous words, because his words mean nothing to me. He is nothing to me.
The pain is from watching the only person who believed in me and loved me die before my eyes.
My eyes hysterically drop to Hank, my gun hanging limply and uselessly in my hand, as I see him lay motionless, blood covering his kind, gentle face. His gaze is fixated on mine, and slowly, the light leaves his eyes, because he’s dying. He gives me one final smile, and as a small tear spills down his cheek, his eyes close, and just like that… he’s gone.
NOOOOOOOO!
This is surely a dream.
But as the metallic tang of blood hits my nostrils, I know this isn’t a dream. This is my worst nightmare come true.
This is hell.
The rage that I feel can’t be put into words, and a bloodcurdling scream comes tearing out of my throat as I charge toward the door, ready to dish out revenge on the two men who have killed an innocent man. A man who stuck by me until the very end. A man who died to save me. A man I loved.
I don’t care if I go down, it’ll be worth it. To watch those motherfuckers pay for what they have done to Hank, will be worth any ramification I receive.
But my scream and my attack are stopped when a strong set of arms wrap around me. One hand forcefully covers my mouth, while the other yanks me up by the waist, lifting me off the ground, dragging me away hastily. I kick and scream, but it’s futile as Quinn is far stronger than me, and he’s running so quickly, the landscape is blurring ahead of me.
He throws me into the truck from the driver’s side, as he knows I’ll head straight back out there to finish them off if he doesn’t hold me down.
“Stay!” he snarls, as I make a move to open the passenger door.
He latches onto my arm and starts the car, pulling out of the car park so quickly we slip and slide all over the gravel. Surely by now my father and Phil know that someone has seen them, but do they know it’s me?
I don’t care.
My brain is desperately attempting to process everything that has just happened, but it simply can’t. It cannot accept the fact that Hank is dead, because his death was caused because of me.
I didn’t pull the trigger, but I may as well have, as this is my fault, and there is only one thought in this whole clusterfuck of events that is clear. And that is, they need to pay. Not tomorrow, or the day after. But they need to pay now.
Quinn is driving with one hand gripping the steering wheel, while the other is clutching my arm, stopping me from wriggling around and trying to break free. I still have my gun, so I do something stupid.
“Stop the car!” I demand, pointing the gun at him.
Quinn flicks his eyes toward me and looks down at the gun, smirking angrily.
“You’re gonna shoot me?” he asks, his eyes darting between me and the road.
I don’t know what I am capable of doing right now, as the rage I feel is clouding any rational thoughts.
When I don’t budge, he pulls the car over so abruptly, I nearly slam my head into the dashboard.
“Go ahead, do it, then! What are you waiting for?” he shouts, turning to face me as he seizes my hand and positions the gun at his heart.
My hand begins to shake and tears spring to my eyes as I see the rage and hurt contort his face into a snarl.
“Go on, Red, shoot me! Rip my fucking heart out!”
His words slap me across the cheek, and I begin sobbing as my hand goes slack, the gun dropping onto the seat near me. I cover my face with my hands, weeping into them uncontrollably. Quinn grabs the gun, and I hear him throw it into the glove compartment.
I’m howling, my throat sore from the screams that are bubbling from the pit of my stomach.
“They killed him!” I sob. “Quinn, they killed Hank! He’s dead! He’s dead… because of me!”
The realization of what happened hits home, and I’m going to be violently ill. I throw open the door and heave up the entire contents of my stomach, not being able to stop until there’s nothing left to give. But still that’s not enough. I force my body to expel the hurt and the anger inside of me until I am gagging and retching.
Quinn is behind me, rubbing my back, attempting to soothe me, but I shrug him off as I don’t deserve any comfort. I don’t deserve any sympathy because I am the one that deserves to be lying in her own pool of blood, not Hank.
“Red, enough. We’ve got to get out of here,” he says quietly, his hand still stubbornly caressing me.
“No,” I choke, my head still hanging out the door. “Turn back. I have to find them. They have to pay for what they did to H-Han…” but I can’t get the words out, because once I say them, it’ll make what happened tonight real.
“They’ll pay, I promise you. Just trust me, please. But we have to get outta here,” Quinn whispers, and the urgency in his voice alarms me to the fact that he too, is now in danger if I am caught with him.
I won’t allow another person I care for to perish, so I reluctantly pull myself into the truck, but I can’t face him. Turning my face to stare out into the night sky, he reaches over me, and softly closes and locks my door.
“Red,” he sighs, but I shake my head, cutting him off.
“Drive,” is all I say, and thankfully, he complies.
***
I’m pretty certain I pass out because when I come to, I’m in Quinn’s bedroom, bundled up in his bed.
“Quinn?” I croak, straining my eyes to see.
“I’m here, Red,” he says, hands filled with clothes, as he’s packing a bag.
“What are you doing?” I ask, eyeing him curiously as I slowly sit up.
“Nothing,” he says, throwing his clothes onto the floor and switching on the light.
“How you feeling?” he asks, sitting on the edge of the bed.
His hair is wet like he has showered, but he still looks weary and exhausted.
“Have you slept?” I ask, rotating my stiff neck from side to side.
He shakes his head, and rubs a hand down his face.
I feel my heart break because he looks overwhelmed because of me. I have brought nothing but sadness and danger into the lives of people who have done nothing but care for me, like no one has done before.
My lip trembles, but I pull it together because I’ve done enough crying.
Now is the time for retribution.
“We need to go to the police. We need to tell them what we saw. What they did to Hank,” he whispers.
I bite my lip, not being able to deal with the fact that Hank is dead.
“You’re right, I owe that to Hank,” I reply, my stomach turning as my mind replays the last memory I have of him.
“Red, you can’t run… that’s no life for you to live,” Quinn says, his eyes softening.
I nod.
Now that my father is alive, it’s probably safer for me to go to the police and tell them everything, because if I run, I’m as good as dead.
“I was thinking, if you tell them your story, what your dad and Phil made you do, you’ll get off. You won’t do any jail time,” Quinn pleads, reaching for my hand.
“I don’t care if I go to jail, I deserve to do time,” I whisper. “I’ve been given a life sentence anyway for what I did to Hank,” I sa
y, tears stinging my eyes.
Hank is dead because of me, and I’ll never forgive myself for killing an innocent man.
“Hey, stop that! You did nothing, you hear me?” Quinn pulls me into his arms and hugs me until I am once again sobbing hysterically.
I try pushing him away, but he’s so strong, and I’m so fucking weak that I need his strength to pull me through this shit storm that I’ve created.
Once my sobs turn into jolted hiccups, I slip into a welcomed coma, hoping that when I wake up, it’s all just a bad dream.
Chapter 31
The Real Me
I wake before Quinn, his warm body enveloping mine protectively. But I unfold myself from his arms as I feel dirty, and am in desperate need of a shower. I tip-toe down to the bathroom, and stand under the shower spray until the water turns cold.
Quinn is right. I have to turn myself in. A life on the run is no life to live. I’ve tried it, and if anything, I felt more imprisoned than I would be locked in a cell.
I quickly dress, wanting to talk with Quinn about my decision. He’s slipping into a clean shirt, his hair tousled and sleepy looking, and to me, he’s the most beautiful person in the world. But I’m a realist, and I know this will probably be one of the last times I spend alone with Quinn.
Once I talk to the police, I’m sure the only time spent with him will be through a glass window, talking into a phone.
“Hey,” he says, turning to give me a small smile.
“Hey,” I reply, walking over to him quietly and stepping into his open arms. “Thank you for everything,” I mumble against his chest, inhaling his scent for the last time.
“This isn’t goodbye, Red,” he says, his arms encircling my waist tighter.
I don’t reply, as I don’t want to taint this last memory I will revert to when missing him.
We stand hugging; collecting our breaths after the whirlwind of the past twenty-four hours. We pull away however when we hear the front door slam shut, and a hysterical Tabitha screaming out to us from downstairs.
Both Quinn and I are down the stairs in a heartbeat, and are confronted by a tearstained Tabitha.
“Abi?” I ask, feeling like a horrible friend for lying to her for so long.
“Paige!” she sighs, throwing her arms around my neck, hugging me tightly.
It feels weird her calling me by that name as she knows my real name now, but I let it be.
“Is it true? Hank is…?” she asks, tears running down her cheeks as she pulls away to look at me and Quinn.
As Hank’s name passes Abi’s lips, my bottom lip trembles and tears threaten to fall from my bloodshot eyes. But I tell myself no more tears, and look at Quinn, who only nods sadly, answering Abi’s question.
She breaks into a sob, hugging me tighter and I rub her back numbly.
She pulls away, wiping away her tears.
“It’s not true! You wouldn’t do that to him!” she sobs, and I freeze.
“Abi, what are you talking about?” Quinn asks, taking a step toward us.
Tabitha’s sobs get louder and louder, and I pull her out of my embrace, meeting her eyes.
“Abi, we wouldn’t do what to him?” I ask, trying to remain calm.
“Kill him,” she replies, her lip trembling.
“What?” I wheeze. “Who told you we… did that?” I ask, eyes wide.
“I overheard my mom talking to the police this morning. They were looking for you,” she says, looking at me, “and you,” she whispers, looking at Quinn.
“Why?” I ask her, my heart launching into my throat.
Tabitha takes a deep breath and rubs her eyes. “The police think you and Quinn… shot Hank. That you stole the money out of the safe, and when Hank found you, you shot him.”
“Motherfucker,” Quinn gasps, pulling his hair into dismay.
“Why would they think that?” I ask, trying to piece everything together.
“Anonymous tip,” she replies.
Anonymous my ass. No doubt this is the work of my father and Phil. Explains the bag I saw Phil holding when he shot Hank.
They did this so I would run and not go to the police. My dad and Phil are smarter than I gave them credit for, and probably had the same idea as Quinn. They knew I would turn them in, and in turn, they would be the fugitives, not me. But now, by pinning Hank’s murder on me and Quinn, they are hopeful we’ll run. And then they’ll follow, and deal with justice their own way.
But I’m so tired of running.
Then my world comes crashing down, if they know about Quinn, then they know about… Tristan.
“Where’s Tristan?” I ask, the panic clear in my voice as I turn to Quinn.
“Fuck!” he screams, bolting up the stairs.
Tabitha has her hands over her mouth like she’s about to be sick.
“Abi, I’m so sorry I got you involved in all this shit. But I will tell them you had nothing to do with it. No harm will come to you, I promise,” and I pull her in for a tight hug.
“Paige… Mia,” she corrects, and my real name has never sounded sweeter. “I don’t care what you did. You may have lied to me about your name, about what you did, but I know you never lied about being my friend. I will do anything to protect you,” she says, tightening her arms around me.
I can’t stop the tears that fall from my melancholy eyes.
“Thank you, Abi. You’ll always be my… best friend,” I whisper, truly understanding the meaning for the first time.
Quinn sprints down the stairs, his phone pressed to his ear. “He’s not upstairs, or answering his phone,” he says breathlessly.
I notice Lucky isn’t around and come to a conclusion. “He’s probably walking Lucky. Keep trying his cell, I’ll send him a message and tell him to come straight home. It’s not safe for him to be walking around.” I sigh, rubbing my temples. “I’ve gotta go to the police.”
Quinn turns to look at me, eyes wide.
“Red, we need to come up with a better plan. Now that we’ve been pegged for Hank’s murder, things have changed.”
I shake my head. “No, Quinn, don’t you get it? My dad and Phil won’t stop until I’m either dead, or they kill everyone I care about. This is about vengeance, and they’ll stop at nothing until they’ve had their fill.”
“Don’t you dare,” he says, his jaw clenching. “Don’t pull this martyr crap.”
Tabitha looks from Quinn to me. “What is he talking about?”
I look at my friend, who has been nothing but kind to me, and I’m so lucky to have met her.
“Red, no!” Quinn yells, grabbing my arm, trying to shake some sense into me.
“It’s the only way,” I whisper. “I confess to Hank’s murder, and I go to jail. The police are already looking for me. It won’t take much to convince them that I shot Hank because of a robbery gone wrong. It’s the only way for you to be safe,” I say, a tear falling down my cheek. “That’s all I care about.”
Tabitha gasps. “Mia, no! That’s a lie, you can’t,” her eyes widen, pleading with me not to do this.
“I have to. Otherwise, I’ll be running from my dad and Phil for the rest of my life. What kind of life is that?” I say, reciting Quinn’s words.
I hear him curse under his breath, but I continue. “But if I go to jail, they’ll stop chasing me, and they’ll leave you alone,” I reply, trying not to crumble.
“But you’ll go to jail for a long time,” she cries, and her compassion for me touches me so deeply, a sob wracks my body.
“It’s the only way,” I whisper, looking at Quinn, tears streaming down my cheeks.
The look in Quinn’s emerald eyes breaks my heart, but I have to do this. I owe him this.
When he sees I won’t budge, he suddenly turns toward the wall, hitting it so hard the plaster crumbles around his fist. I flinch, but try not to show any emotion as I pull my phone out of my back pocket, ready to end this.
But as the front door opens, the cool breeze slapping me in
the face with its iciness, all plans of calling the police get thrown out the window as my phone falls to the floor, shattering on impact. Tristan slumps onto the floor, his hand braced on the handle, blood staining his white t-shirt.
Lucky comes running in after him, covered in blood and barking hysterically. The scene is pure bedlam.
Quinn reaches for his brother and heaves him inside, slamming the door behind him, the look of panic reflected from head to toe.
“Tris! What happened?” Quinn yells frantically, his hands attending to every part of his body to find the source of his wound.
He doesn’t have to look far.
Tristan has a knife wound to his side, blood seeping out quickly.
“FUCK!” Quinn roars, cradling his brother to his chest, rocking him backward and forward.
My eyes widen and I pull my hair in rage.
“NO!” I scream. “NO!”
This can’t be happening.
“Red, go get some towels, anything to stop the bleeding,” Quinn says, his hands pushing down on Tristan’s wound.
But the bright swirls of red running over his hands and down Tristan’s side are not a good sign.
“Call an ambulance!” I scream, running over to him and dropping to my knees, ignoring the pain of smashing into the hard tiles.
I slip my hoodie off, bundling it up and pressing it to Tristan’s side.
“No,” Quinn says between clenched teeth. “Not until we’re gone.”
“What?” I gasp.
Tristan’s eyes flicker and he tries to focus, but can’t.
“Quinn?” he whispers weakly.
“I’m here, brat,” Quinn says, trying not to break down, needing to be strong for his brother. “Didn’t I tell you running with scissors is hazardous to your health?” he teases softly, but I can see the tears forming in his eyes.
“Ha… funny,” Tristan says breathlessly, attempting a smile, but wincing when he tries to move.
“What happened?” Quinn asks, leaning forward, his hair covering his eyes as he bends in to listen to Tristan.
“They… they were looking for… Mia,” he gasps, his eyes searching for me.
“I’m here,” I sob, latching onto his hand, kissing his fingers which are ice cold. “Abi, call an ambulance, now!” I beg, and thankfully she dials.
