Page 38 of What's Left of Us

Blinking past the rain, I look towards the coffin again. The priest is moving away, the guards stationed near the burial spot watching as the few attendees leave. They plan to lower him into the ground as soon as the rain lets up -

My breath catches as I think about it, and a shiver rolls through my cold body.Bury.They are going to bury him.

“Jo,” Vinny says more firmly, eyeing me. I know I’m supposed to be letting him help me, leaning on loved ones for support and all that, but it feels like I’m floating all by myself in the rain. There’s a sense of loss everywhere I look.

When Alastair was in prison, waiting for Death Row to call his name, I knew where he was. I knew that as abysmal as it was, he was alive and safe. Now the only thing I’ll have to hang onto is where he’s buried.

My gaze goes watery again, and when I blink there’s more tears. I don’t know how I’m still crying when it feels like it’s all I’ve done for weeks.

Something covers me, blocking the rain, and when I look up there’s a black umbrella over my head. It’s Vinny’s. He didn’t open it when we were listening to the ceremony, an official statement that lacked emotion and love, and now that the authorities and the priest are gone it’s time to get up.

Vinny is standing when I peer at him, holding out a hand. In a dark black pinstripe suit with the dark orange accents I told him would look nice, he looks more like a mafia heir than he ever has before. It’s an expensive suit, something he got while we were down here, and the luxurious fabric matches my dress.

We dressed up because… well, why wouldn’t I? I never had a chance to show Alastair what I looked like in a big, gorgeous dress.

Standing, my heels sink into the mud. I don’t care that the long skirt will be dirty when we leave, or that it’s hard to walk across the damp grass as Vinny takes my hand. The soaked orange tiger lily that I’ve been holding throughout the funeral droops in my hand as we move away from the chairs. Vinny's hand is warm on my back as he guides me forward, and I think he’s saying something to Emeric. I should say something too. It’s his brother we’re about to bury.

But my eyes can’t move from the coffin, housing my favorite person. I love Vinny, I always will, but the reason the three of us worked when we were younger is because Vinny and Alastair are so very different.

I almost choke on the thought.Were so very different.

My steps quicken, and I all but drag Vinny over to the coffin. No one bothers us as I stop in front of the big wood box, the expensive design looking so… useless as I look at the deep hole beside it.

Once he goes in the dirt, it won’t matter what the box looked like.

“Jo-”

I tug myself away from Vinny, closing the distance between myself and the coffin with two more short steps. Then I sink down beside the box, dropping my head to the wood as the tears spill over again.

I just want to stay right here and hug the box, thinking about the person that should still be here. It’s notfair.

“You have to help him!” I scream, Vinny barely able to hold me back as they undo the restraints keeping Alastair connected to the wheelchair. There’s blood, his and Wallsburg’s, all over the floor. Armed guards are covering the ER, there’s a code something being said by every nurse or doctor who passes, and they want to pull us away.

It doesn’t matter. The shooter went down. Sterling shot him. It’s the last thing I registered before Alastair became all I could see.

He’s not moving. The two holes in his chest keep bleeding, and they shoved Sterling out of the way so the doctors could get in close. One of the guards with Alastair is on the ground too, but he’s still talking. He’s not dead.

But Alastair…

“Help him,” I say again, and I don’t think anyone is listening to me. Everyone keeps trying to push us out of the way. If I can’t see him, how am I supposed to know he’s still with us?

Alastair doesn’t look up. Even when the doctors start ripping at his prison jumpsuit, tearing it open. Not when they heft him onto a bed, nurses swarming to help. His gaze stays to the side, and I can’t see his eyes.

I need him to see me. I need him to know he’s not alone here.

“You two,” Sterling says, stepping in the way. I slash my hand at him, trying to catch him with my nails, anything to get him to move. “We have to get out of the ER.”

“And you?” Vinny asks behind me.

“Me too,” he agrees, helping Vinny turn me, dragging me towards the exit. I don’t know what should be happening next, if they should be ushering people out of the ER or in now that the gunman is on the ground. “All of us.”

They roll Alastair’s bed in the opposite direction of us. He’s surrounded by people holding needles, defibrillator paddles, and doctors in white coats. I can’t see his face.

“Help him,” I say once more, and Vinny grips me tighter before guiding me from the ER. No one’s listening to me.

Lights catch my attention, and I turn briefly the opposite direction from the Slayers, to see the lone news truck. Someone thought it would be fun to disturb the ceremony, and I suppose the only thing that didn’t happen that I expected was the victims' families coming out to cause a scene.

That might be the only good thing about Porscha still being alive; there’s still someone else to blame.

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