Page 113 of Victorious Vice

I nod, trying to focus. We have to prepare for what comes next. Whoever shot Bellamy won’t stop there.

We enter the building and head straight for the operations room. Screens display live feeds from various locations around Austin while some show news channels reporting about Bellamy’s shooting.

“Anything?” I ask, scanning the screens.

“Not yet,” Elmo replies, his brow furrowed. “I’m monitoring police scanners and all of our sources. Nothing concrete so far.”

“Keep looking,” I tell him, pacing back and forth like a caged animal.

Hours pass with no break in the tension. Every minute seems like an hour, until finally?—

“Vinnie.”

I turn.

Raven. Two men flank her.

She runs into my arms.

39

RAVEN

“Anything?” Vinnie asks the men at the monitors as I hold onto him for dear life.

“Something’s coming in.” One of the guys adjusts his headset. “It’s… Repeat that please?”

Pause.

“You sure?” Another pause, and he turns to Vinnie. “Report is coming in that Bellamy’s gunshot wound to his head was…self-inflicted.”

My heart plummets to my stomach. My pulse was fluttering so fast, but now it feels like it’s not beating at all.

Surely I didn’t hear those words. My father would never harm himself. Never shoot himself. He’d never leave Mom. Or me. Or my brothers and sister.

“Confirm that, please,” Vinnie says.

“I need confirmation,” the man wearing the headset says.

Pause.

The man pushes his headset into his ears for a moment before turning to us. “Confirming. The trajectory shows that the bullet’s entry point was consistent with self-harm. Bellamy…shot himself.”

A wave of nausea rolls over me, and I grip Vinnie tighter, as if he can shield me from the harsh reality. The room spins around me. I want it to stop. I need it to stop.

Vinnie wraps his arm firmly around me, a steadying force in my whirlwind of despair. “Reconfirm,” he demands, his voice steady despite the tumultuous news.

“We’ve received images from local security cams. Forensics have already processed them,” the guy at the monitors says. His face is pale beneath the fluorescent lights. “It’s definite.”

The words ring hollow in my ears, playing over and over like a broken record.

Self-inflicted.Self-inflicted.

“No.” The denial rips from my throat before I can stop it. “No!”

“Easy, Raven,” Vinnie says. “We need more information.”

“Prognosis looks pretty good,” the man with the headset continues. “He just grazed his skull. Missed major arteries. He’s unconscious but stable.”

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