Page 204 of Seizing Control: Part One

Tyres screeching, I skid to a stop in the driveway. In a rush, I grab the pre-loaded syringe from the kit made up by the Adjudicator’s pharmaceutical sector. My vehicle beeps when I leave the driver’s door open in my haste. The front door gives way when I ram my right shoulder into it.

I noisily burst into the house.

Nothing has changed since Scarlett died.

The stairs are climbed three at a time.

My heart lodges in my throat as I reach the end of the hallway.

A familiar blue door greets me.

I open the green door on the left instead.

Flat on his back on the bottom bunk, Everett sleeps peacefully. His arms are crossed over his chest. The barbiturates he injected into himself in his quest for death are neatly laid out on the scratched desk. A precisely written note has been propped up by an old GI Joe.

He is unnaturally still.

Chest immobile.

Paler than he should be.

I fear that I’m too late.

“Fuck me. This better work.”

I drop to my knees beside him and tear the cap off with hypodermic with my teeth. Spitting the plastic lid on the floor, I clasp the syringe between my lips. My hands feel like they don’t belong to me as I rip open my younger brother’s shirt. Without hesitation, I jam the needle straight into his heart, and depress the plunger with my thumb. The contents, a concoction created specifically to counteract the drugs stolen from a vet clinic owned by the Shamrocks, are pumped into Everett’s clammy body.

Ten seconds later, my brother resurfaces from unconsciousness with a gasp.

His eyes, almost identical to mine—a fact I overlooked for twenty-two years—fly open, then they close. Clutching my brother to my chest, I sit him upright and use two fingers to check his airways.

All clear.

When I lower my fingers to the pulse point in his neck, I hold my breath.

A thready but faint heartbeat can be felt.

The wave of relief that crashes through me is overwhelming.

My grip is brutal as I lean his head on my shoulder, then heave him onto his side so I can place him into the recovery position.

“Venom? You saved me...”

My temper snaps as the close call I just averted hits home.

Eyes bulging, I lean down to glare at Everett. “You fuckin’ idiot!”

“You’re... dead,” my brother whispers. “Does this mean—” He gulps and tears gleam in his gaze. “I’m... finally... dead too?”

“No,” I snarl, the hopefulness in his question makes my eyes burn. After thumping his chest with a closed fist, I seize a handful of his ripped shirt and shake him. “You selfish little prick—how dare you put something like this on your sister’s shoulders. Don’t you think she’s suffered enough?”

“I’m sorry... just... wanted...” Everett trails off as he’s wracked with coughs. “Easier.”

When his eyes roll back in his head, I gently lay him back down. I make sure he’s not going to choke and double check his pulse. It’s stronger than it was a minute ago. The colour is returning to his skin. I can feel the warmth returning to his face when I press the back of my hand to his forehead.

“Goddamnit.” I swallow hard to dislodge the lump in my throat. “That was too close.”

Opening my phone, I text my team to arrange for emergency services to attend this address. A new text notification catches my attention when I flick back to the home screen. My gut roils as I read it, gravity deserting me as the full implication of the admission drops on me like a tonne of bricks.

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