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Jolie

“Don’t leave me!”I cried. “Please!”

Mason’s eyes were closed now, and his face was blanched. The blood kept flowing thickly out of his body, seeping through my fingers no matter how much pressure I put on it.

Keeping one hand firmly on the wound, I felt around for his pulse and found it thready and weak. He was still alive, but he wouldn’t stay that way for much longer. “Please,” I whimpered. “Stay with me.”

“Miss? Can you hear me?” A tinny voice echoed from somewhere to my right. I looked down to see my cell phone lying on the ground. In all my panic, I’d forgotten I dialed 911 and screamed something at the operator about Mason being shot.

I reached over and put it on loudspeaker with my free hand. “Help me,” I said, my voice weak and laced with terror. I’d never felt so powerless and useless.

“I have your location, and I’m going to stay on the line with you,” the operator said. “Help is on its way. Try to stay calm.”

“I can’t. He’s dying,” I choked out. I’d gone through a lot in my life, but nothing could’ve prepared me for the horror of watching the life ebb from the man I loved. The sheer hopelessness tore at my soul, rendering me hollow and numb. I couldn’t even cry now. The tears seemed to have frozen on my face.

“Are you still applying pressure?”

“Yes, but it won’t stop bleeding!”

“Don’t be afraid to use your knee,” the operator said. “That will help you lean on it as hard as you can.”

“Okay.”

I pulled my hands away so I could do what he suggested. The blood flowed out even more in those few seconds, sticky and hot as it coated everything in red. Despite the warmth and color, everything seemed chillingly gray to me. I couldn’t stop picturing Mason’s gravestone, granite and cold.

“No,” I whispered, more to myself than him. “Please don’t die.”

As I crouched over him, doing everything the operator told me to while I waited for the ambulance, I replayed the last half hour in my mind over and over.

It was my fault. If I had just hit Tom right in the face or chest when I pulled the trigger earlier, none of this would’ve happened. Instead I missed by a long shot, and that set everything else in motion. Tom tried to shoot me and got Mason instead as he jumped in the bullet’s path, trying to keep me safe.

He’d convinced himself he was a monster for a long time, but his actions clearly demonstrated otherwise. What sort of monster would jump in front of a gun to save someone else?

“See?” I murmured, staring down at Mason’s pale face as I thought out loud. “I knew you were still a good man, even if you didn’t believe it.”

The sound of crunching on gravel pulled my gaze up for a second. Through the window, I could see an ambulance and several police cars tearing down the rain-soaked driveway.

“You’re going to be okay,” I whispered, even though it wasn’t something I could realistically promise. “Just hold on a little longer.”

Mason’s right hand suddenly shot up, grabbing my left wrist. “Jolie,” he mumbled, eyelids fluttering as he tried to look at me.

Stinging tears flooded my eyes again. “I’m here,” I said. “The ambulance is almost here too. Just hold on. Promise me you’ll hold on.”

He nodded and dropped his hand, eyes drifting shut again. I wasn’t sure if he’d actually comprehended what I said, but I knew I had to try to keep my hope alive and dispel all the morbid gravestone images from my head. I chose to believe he understood and was trying as hard as possible to cling to life, just to keep that promise.

The next hour or so was a dazed blur. I didn’t recall anyone pulling me away from Mason so the paramedics could work on him and take him away in the ambulance, and I didn’t recall anyone helping to clean me up. At some point I simply noticed with faint surprise that I was sitting on the couch with a brown blanket wrapped around my shoulders and a warm cup of tea in my freshly-washed hands.

I barely remembered telling the police what happened when they asked me, either, though I knew I did, and I barely registered the buzzing voices and activity around me as forensic personnel photographed the scene and bagged whatever might be considered as evidence. All I could concentrate on was the pool of blood several feet away. There was so much. Too much. How could anyone survive that?

It suddenly occurred to me that if anyone could survive such an event, it was Mason.

“Jolie?”

I looked up at the sound of the familiar voice. Detective Beck was standing close, holding out another cup of tea. “Thank you,” I murmured.

She sat down next to me. “How are you feeling?” she asked with a gentle smile.

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