Page 180 of Crew
It happened in slow motion after that.
My heart ripped out of my chest.
I struggled against Jordan's hold. I kicked at him, twisting, trying to fall out of his arms. None of it was working and he slumped to the ground with me, wrapping his legs around mine, keeping them in place and positioning his head next to mine so I couldn't hurt him that way either.
I was a pathetic, wiggling worm, and I watched Cross go into that house, the gun in his hand.
I waited.
Nothing.
I waited longer.
Still nothing.
Cross went into that house, and...nothing.
There was no yell, no gunshot, not even a struggle. Just the same silence that always accompanied me wherever I was, whoever I was with. It was always there.
I stilled and finally said, "Alex would've heard us."
His arms tightened around me. "Shit."
He let me go, and we both scrambled up, running for the house.
I got there first, bolting through the front door. "Cross!"
All the lights were off inside. There was a cold feeling to the house, like no one lived here. In that split second, I took in the pictures on the wall. The blankets folded over the couch. A pink little backpack on the floor, next to a larger black bag. The tennis shoes lined up by the wall. The little glittery sneakers next to them. A piano in one corner of the living room. A table that had mosaic tiles on the top of it. A kitchen counter with mail in a pile, a bag of bread with the end tucked under, a bowl of oranges next to it. A coffee machine in the corner. A tray of the little coffee cups that go inside it.
A cupboard of mugs.
There was a staleness in the air.
People lived in this house, but that wasn't the way it felt.
It felt cold--like death.
"In here!" Cross' voice came down the hallway.
We ran past doors until we found him, in a bathroom off the hallway.
Alex was slumped on the floor, a bottle of pills and whiskey next to him, his head hanging low. His body was already pale.
"Shit."
Jordan said that, but I didn't recognize his voice.
Cross wasn't standing over him with a gun. The gun was on the floor next to his foot as he knocked the pills and booze away and felt for Alex's pulse.
He yelled over his shoulder, "Back the truck up. We have to take him. Paramedics won't get here in time."
He wanted to save his life.
Both Jordan and I were paralyzed a second, letting the scene register.
Cross looked up and barked, "NOW!"
Jordan hit the doorframe next to me, using it to push himself around in a tight turn, and he was off.
