Page 110 of Victorious Vice

But the words are ridiculous. He’s not moving, and blood is seeping out of the side of his head.

He’s not okay.

More than not okay.

I fall to my knees next to my father. “Daddy! Daddy, wake up!”

I touch my hand to his neck. His flesh is clammy but…

“He’s got a pulse! There’s a pulse! Call 911!”

“I already called them before you got here,” Jared says. “They’re on their way. But Raven, he’s bleeding out.”

“No, no, no,” I shake my head, tears welling and spilling over. “He’s got a pulse, Jared. He’s still alive.”

Jared kneels beside me, his hand on my shoulder. “I know,” he says softly. “But we need to stop the bleeding. Can you do that?”

I nod, wiping my tears away. “Yes, yes,” I echo to myself and fumble with my trembling hands to open the drawer of the nearby desk.

There are towels there. Dad always kept some in case he spilled his coffee while working late nights. He was so meticulous about everything, never leaving anything to chance.

I grab one and press it against my father’s wound, wincing at the sticky warmth spreading through the fabric.

“Keep pressure on it,” Jared instructs me.

Mom continues to sob softly from where she’s collapsed against the desk, her body shuddering with each hiccupping breath.

“Keep pressure on it. Pressure…” I chant in my head like a mantra, forcing myself to focus. I need to keep the blood from pouring out, need to keep my father alive until help arrives.

Outside, a siren wails, growing louder as it approaches our house.

“I’ll go flag them down,” Jared says, standing abruptly.

My heart sinks as he leaves the room, leaving me alone with my mother’s sobbing and my dying father.

The towel is quickly becoming saturated, so I grab another one from the drawer. Each second feels like an eternity.

The sirens grow louder and then stop altogether. The front door bangs open and I hear distant voices shouting commands at each other.

“Jared! Jared, he’s bleeding out!” I scream at the top of my lungs, my voice cracking under the strain of my terror.

Mom’s sobs turn into wails, loud and piercing.

Footsteps echo through the hallway, coming closer and closer until two paramedics burst into the room.

“I’ve got a pulse,” one of them says after examining Dad. “But he’s lost a lot of blood.”

As they begin to work on my father, I’m pushed aside, relegated to a corner where I can do nothing but watch. Jared comes back into the room, his face drawn. He looks at me, and in his eyes, I see the same helplessness that gnaws at my own heart.

The paramedics move quickly, their hands a blur as they try to stabilize my father. They speak in medical jargon that only seems to heighten my growing panic.

My mother is led out of the room by one of the police officers who have arrived, her frail form shaking with each sob. The sight of her falling apart rips my heart into pieces.

Here we are in another nightmare.

How many are we supposed to endure?

Chaos reigns in the once-peaceful study. The paramedics operate with a controlled frenzy that is both reassuring and terrifying.

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