Page 34 of When Sinners Rise
“What do you think you’re doing? Let me out. Let us both out.” I look at the man, then snatch a glance back at Shaw.
“You want to see what Cortez does? What about this?” He takes another swig of his drink and then smashes the bulb of the bottle against the wall, shattering the glass.
The alcohol and glass shower down on the floor, and I step back instinctively, but it’s not me that he aims for. He launches himself at my good Samaritan and shoves the broken end of the glass deep into his throat. Not just once but repeatedly. The blood pours from his neck, covering Shaw and the room as he violates him, slicing the delicate tissue of his neck. The man didn’t even have time to clutch at his neck to stem the bleeding. It just runs free, pumping out of his body and onto the floor.
“No!” I scream and lunge forward, desperate to get Shaw off of him. My arms push him away, and he obliges.
As soon as Shaw’s hands leave the man, he slumps to the ground with a heavy thud. It was over before it even started. The moment he punctured his artery, he was dead. I still bend over and assess the damage, though, hoping, but there’s nothing I can do. Nothing I could have done, either.
Lifeless eyes shine up at me.
And I’m suddenly back in the same room. Another death. Jackson fights with Elias, putting his arm around his neck and silencing him. For me. He did it for Naja but also to protect me. It was just the next shock in the line of things I had to deal with since we were captured. My tears were a permanent feature on my face back then. I could be weak because Naja was so strong, but it made me feel sick to think of someone dead.
But that’s nothing compared to how I feel now. This man was going to help me. He came to save me. He wasn’t the bad man in this story. He didn’t deserve to die just because he heard me calling for help.
Guilt, an overwhelming emotion, sits in my stomach, mixing with all the anger and rage and bitterness, and turns into a potent poison.
It’s the Cortezes who should be dead on the ground.
I stare at the man as the puddle of blood edges out wider and wider, free to drain from his body.
“You caused that, Miri. You.” I swallow and feel the tears brimming. “What was your number?” I shake my head, but it’s ringing in my head louder and louder. “WHAT WAS IT?” I jump at his tone and scuttle backwards. He just killed a man.
Killed him.
“Eight,” I whisper, letting it slip past my lips.
“Good. Now you’re really home. Shut the fuck up from now on.”
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
SHAW
Time’s just passing by in this hellhole. At least I got a chance to kill something. That helped ease my nerves off. I dragged the body down to the cellar, unsure what to do with it. It’s still down there now, lifeless and under a pile of old crates. It was a necessity, a problem that needed dealing with because of her stupid fucking shouting. I hope she’s feeling guilty as fuck about it, because I’m not. He might have just been some guy, some relatively innocent passer-by, but my conscience doesn’t get rattled easily about a death I caused.
That’s one thing about my family’s life that always came easily to me. It was protection at first. I had to give Abel the back-up he deserved that first time he took me out with him. I pulled the trigger, made sure he was alive, and then he made me go look at what I’d done. I can still feel his hand on the back of my neck, forcing me to look into that dead guy’s eyes. It hurt for a minute or two, but then that was gone, and we were both alive and walking out. Killing is just another thing that needs doing in this kinda life, and the more you do it, the easier it gets.
She’s been quiet for a long time now. No asking for food or water, no shouting for help. Eight. Number eight. I wish I could forget her name, but I can’t. I know it, and I knew her intimately before I knew that number was what we gave her. Miri.
I pick up the phone and look at all the missed calls from Abel. There’s even some from Dante now. My thumb hovers over the call icon, part ready to just get this done so I can get on with my life. It doesn’t press, though. Just hovers there like a useless digit unable to make decisions for me.
Tossing bits of stone chips at the blackened, rotting walls, I watch them bounce off to pass the time. I’m not even sure what I’m waiting for or what day it is. A conscience to catch up with me? I snort and toss another, putting some weight behind it this time. It gets lodged in, stuck. I’m stuck, too. Stuck between doing right by my family and right by someone of no importance to me. Nothing’s gonna happen either way unless I make it happen, though. Can’t even do that right.
I’ll just go fuck her again. Make myself like Elias would have been again.
That’ll work.
Footsteps sound a way off after a while more. I look up and scowl, listening. They crunch hard through the stones and rubble, getting closer. I lift up slowly, grabbing a lump of old, twisted iron that’s lying nearby. Maybe that’s what I need – another killing. Sets me in the right mood normally, makes me pissed enough to deal with all the rest of the crap.
The steps get closer, close enough that I stand back against the wall and bring the iron up ready to strike. Another lands, then another and the final crunch makes me swing hard and turn out into the space. The iron’s wrenched out of my grip instantly, torn away and slung until it crashes to the ground away off. It isn’t until I right myself on my feet that I realise who it is.
I back up, confused by Dante’s arrival.
He looks me up and down and drops his cigarette. “At least it felt like you meant it.”
Looking up at him, I scowl at his jibe and walk away. “Why are you here?”
“Come to bring you home. Sounds like your pansy ass got a little too invested in fucking the product.” I keep walking on, pissed at his tone.
