Page 121 of Deliver us from Evil

It weighs thirty million tons.

I pull the trigger.

Where I expect him to go flying backward, he instead collapses on top of me. I cry out at the agony when his head slams into my chest. I try and push him off me, but I’ve only got one working arm and he’s still wedged between my legs.

I let out a wail of frustrated agony, but thank God I’m taking a breath when I hear footsteps coming up the stairs.

It takes everything I have to lift the gun again. I sling my arm over Nick’s back, gritting my teeth through the pain as I try and aim it at the door.

It’s too quiet out there.

Is it Jess? She said she’d leave—how long was Nick busy with me for? And if she’s gone, then who’s coming up the stairs?

The impostor.

He’s back.

I curl my finger around the trigger and blink sweat and blood out of my eyes.

The gun steadies.

Someone yanks at the handle. They rattle the door. Then a shot goes off.

Pop!

There’s a thump, and the door gives in, handle distorted by the bullet.

A silhouette darkens the doorway.

I squeeze the trigger.

The clap of the gun is deafening. It falls from my hand onto the floor. The figure in the doorway leans to the side, and then slowly topples to the ground.

I killed him.

I killed my father!

Tears spring into my eyes, blurring my vision. I let out a choking sob and try to shift Nick off me. He won’t budge, but then the bundle by the door starts moving.

A hand appears on the carpet. Thin. Delicate. Speckled with blood.

Jess.

I shot her.

But I didn’t kill her.

“No, fuck,” I whisper. My movements become urgent, but I still can’t shift the fucking dead body off me.

A second hand joins the first. Jess drags the top half of her body into the room. She looks dazed—eyes wide and unfocused, lips slack—but as soon as she spots me on the bed, her eyes narrow.

Other than her hands, I can’t see any more blood. But it’s as if the bottom half of her body doesn’t work anymore, because she doesn’t stand, or crawl…she just keeps dragging herself over the floor.

I stick my hand in Nick’s hoody pouch. Cigarettes, gum, a wallet. Useless shit.

I swallow hard, steel myself, and reach down.

My hand brushes smooth skin.

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