Page 123 of No Saint

I didn’t recognize the single car parked out front but that didn’t mean shit.

The door creaks open as I push it, one hand holding my gun. There was blood smeared across the wooden floorboards, more on the walls. I follow the trail, keeping my feet light and silent.

It was against everything I taught myself, against all better judgement heading into a house with no clue to how many could be hiding inside, or what I was up against.

But Amelia was here.

My wife was here. And I’d blindly throw myself through the flames for her.

I suppress the urge to call out her name, instead I follow the trail that’ll lead me to her. It stops at a steep set of narrow stairs and there was nothing but darkness. I take them slowly, careful with where I place my feet guessing a house this old and forgotten, the wood would have rotted through.

Silence greets me at the bottom, the air moist and stifling. I could feel my heart pumping hard in my chest, I wasn’t scared of what was down here but how I may find her. That was too much blood. She had to be alive.

This was my fault. I’d failed.

I’d fucking failedagain.

The deeper I go, the heavier the air becomes until a rotting sort of smell hits my nose. I’d recognize the scent anywhere.

A decaying body.

For a minute panic seizes my muscles but sense takes over quick enough for me to realize if Amelia was dead, her body wouldn’t be rotting just yet. I find the door the scent is coming from and push on it, instantly having to stop the gag that threatens to take me out. I press my jacket to my nose, staring at the body laid in the middle of the floor.

That was my brother. I step forward, hearing a splash beneath my foot.

Someone had been sick here.

Amelia.

The bastard had shown Amelia this.

Rage burns at a whole new level as I spin away from the body and thunder the rest of the way through the darkness coming to the only door left.

I kick it open.

And there she is.

My Amelia. My wife.

“No!” She screams roughly, her face bruised, body bloody and her ankle at an alarming angle which suggests a break.

“Amelia!”

Something slams violently into the back of my head.

“No!” Amelia screams again, “No stop!”

I go down and a foot collides with my abdomen and then my face. I hit the grit, vision blurring but I won’t stop. I drag myself towards my wife.

“Amelia!” I cry again.

“Stop!” She screams, “please, no stop!”

A foot hits the back of my neck, pinning me before I’m whacked once more, and all the lights go out.

“Amelia!” It’s the first word out of my mouth when I come to. I try to move but something stops me. Chains rattle, my arms, they’re stuck above my head, and I dangle there by my wrists, the very tips of my toes – my bare toes – brushing against the floor. Crusted blood makes my skin on my face tight.

“I’m here!” I hear her cry, “Gabriel, I’m here!”

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