Total pages in book: 114
Estimated words: 108141 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 541(@200wpm)___ 433(@250wpm)___ 360(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 108141 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 541(@200wpm)___ 433(@250wpm)___ 360(@300wpm)
The sight before me sends my world—for the second time today—into a tailspin. My brother, my best friend, is lying in a pool of blood. Rushing over to him, I place my hands on his chest, which has blood spewing out of it. Drips of water fall onto his still face, and I realize they’re tears—my tears.
“Stephen, wake up, please.” A sob breaks out and my throat tightens. “You can’t leave me. God. Please.”
His eyes are open as if he’s looking at me, but they’re hollow and lifeless. I brush my fingers over his lids to close them.
Terrified that the man who did this will come back through the door, I know I need to get out of here now. I hate leaving Stephen like this, but if whoever killed him finds me, I’ll most likely be killed as well. Without another thought, I run back to the bathroom—there’s no way I’m going out the front door—and push open the window. I jump onto the back of the toilet and, after looking around to make sure no one is around, slip through the window, falling onto the hard ground.
I stand, and it feels like my body is completely numb. My heart is pounding and my head is spinning. I’m about to have a full-blown panic attack. What I need to do is get to my car and get out of sight before I completely lose it.
Willing myself to hold it together for just a little longer, I take off toward my car. I hear a noise to my left and see a man, who looks to be dressed in a black suit. My eyes are filled with tears, blurring my vision, so I can’t be sure. I should probably run to him for help, but I don’t. Instead, I keep running through the parking lot until I get to my car. But when I get there, it’s then I realize I don’t have my keys. Oh my God! I don’t have anything. Not my shoes or my phone or my purse. But I can’t go back.
Then I remember, after the second time I locked my keys in my car, Stephen placed a spare key in a magnetic case under my wheel well. I drop to my knees and feel underneath for the case. Once my fingers hit it, I snatch the case from underneath and slide the top open. I grab the key and shove it into the hole, turning it to the right to unlock my door. Once inside, I smash down the lock, turn the ignition on, and take off. I drive for miles—where I’m going, I have no clue—but it isn’t until my gas light comes on, I finally pull off into a gas station and put my car into park next to the gas pump.
And everything that just went down hits me like a ton of bricks.
Somebody shot my brother.
He’s dead.
In his living room.
Bleeding out.
And I left him there.
I bring my hands to my mouth and notice the crimson stained on my flesh. Grabbing a spare sweater I keep in case I get cold, I try to rub the blood off, but it’s already stained my skin.
Giving up, I toss the sweater onto the floor. My forehead hits the top of the steering wheel, and I lose it. I cry until my tears eventually turn into anger. Then I scream and yell and hit the steering wheel. I lose myself as I mourn the loss of my only brother and curse whoever did this to him.
And for a moment, I even curse God. I know I’m supposed to believe God has a plan for us all, but right now, what I want to say is fuck God and fuck his plan.
My brother is gone.
He’s never coming back.
My head falls back against my headrest, and I cry until there are no tears left. Then, robotically, I get out and pump my gas—thankful I had a five-dollar bill in my cupholder since my purse is still at my brother’s place—and then go home.
After showering to get the blood off me, I throw my stained clothes, including the sweater, into the washer. I sit on my bed and, with my house phone in my hand, contemplate calling the police. Someone needs to go to Stephen’s house to investigate what happened. And then a thought occurs to me—what if whoever shot him goes back and finds my purse? They’ll have access to my driver’s license, which has my address on it. They could be coming after me next.
Thank goodness Blaire is staying at Victor’s all weekend, so I know she’s safe. She left a message on our board that she’s packed a weekend bag and will be going to work from his place on Monday. I need to let her know I don’t have my phone, in case she tries to get a hold of me, but I’m not sure I would be able to make it through an entire conversation with her without losing it, and then she’ll come home to make sure I’m okay, which can put her in danger.