Page 78 of Among the Sins of my Father

The sound of a gunshot echoes through the house. There’s a cry of pain and a door flings open. Jericho stumbles out of the room. He’s covered in blood. His face is swollen and darkening in patches. There’s a gash above one eye. Another over the bridge of his nose.

“Berkley,” he says my name quietly as he clutches the wall for support.

“Jericho!” I run to him and with his free arm, he crushes me to his chest, burying his nose into my hair. He breathes in deeply and then coughs a little, his entire body flinching in pain. I feel the rapid beating of his heart. I cling to him desperately, as though afraid he’s going to disappear.

“Did you miss me?” he says. He coughs. And then he groans in pain. My only answer is to squeeze him tighter. “Careful,” he warns. He attempts a chuckle and a bubble of blood forms at the corner of his mouth. “I think I might be hurt.” He presses another kiss to my head. “We need to go.” His words are stilted, his breath held tight.

“Here,” I wrap my arm around his back, trying to support him.

He takes one step, then his body falls heavily against mine. He’s too heavy. I can’t hold him up. I scramble, trying to find purchase but he slumps to the ground.

“Jericho!” I screech, falling to my knees beside him.

Ette screams. But she’s not looking at Jericho. She’s looking at me. The white feathers of my costume are stained red. Blood red. It blooms like a crimson petal across my chest.

For a moment, I think it’s my blood. My hands fly to my stomach, checking for wounds, but then the truth hits. The blood didn’t come from me. It came from Jericho. I tear at his clothing, shoving his top up and exposing his stomach. And that’s when I see it. The nasty gash on his side, weeping blood.

“Jericho.” I shake his shoulder, but he’s out cold. “Jericho, please wake up.” I hold my hands to the wounds, but the blood keeps coming, seeping out between my fingers.

“Is he dead?” Ette’s pressed against the wall, face ashen.

“Give me your cardigan.” I reach toward her as she pushes it off her shoulders and hands it to me. I press it to the wound and tell Ette to come and kneel beside me. “Press hard, okay?” I say, placing her hands under mine, and pushing down hard so she understands.

She swallows and nods. But as I get up, she looks up in fear. “Where are you going?”

“We need help, Ette. I can’t carry him and we need to get him out of here before the police arrive.” I look around the still deserted house, the finals strains of Swan Lake floating down the hall. “If the police arrive.” It’s too quiet. There are no running steps of the guards. No wailing sirens. “You need to wait here, okay? Keep pressure on his wound and I’ll be back with help as soon as I can.”

Her chin trembles, tears well in her eyes but she nods.

“You’ve got this, okay, Ette? You can do this.”

And then I turn and run, desperately hoping to find Barrett. I go into the room Jericho came from first. There’s been no noise, no sound since the gunshot, and as soon as I open the door, I know why.

Two guards are lying on the ground. Both of them dead. Their bodies don’t shock me like others have before. I’ve already seen too many. Aaron Keating. Michael. I was looking into their eyes the moment they died. But these men mean nothing to me. I barely give them a glance as I run through the next door.

This room is empty, but there are traces of a fight. Turned over chairs, the top of a desk shattered and broken. I find the bodies of three more guards. All of them still and lifeless. All of them dead.

Did Jericho do this?

Is he responsible for all this death, because of me?

But I don’t have time to consider the state of my monster. His life is in danger. He’s bleeding out on the floor.

Giving up on an effort to remain quiet, I start to yell. “Barrett!” I round another corner. The stairs beckon me. “Barrett!” I scream as I race up the steps. “Barrett!”

Mr and Mrs Gormans’ room is at the end of the hall. I push the door open hesitantly, scared of what I’m going to find on the other side. The room is dark apart from a slice of moonlight falling across the bed from an open split in the curtain. Even though I know Barrett is not here, something pulls me in. I creep across the floor and study the lone figure lying on top of the covers. It’s Mr Gorman. I step even closer, needing a better look, and feel something damp beneath my feet. A glass has tipped over on his bedside table, the contents having spilled on the floor.

Looking back up at Mr Gorman, I see his eyes are open. But they don’t move. They don’t blink or come to rest on me. His body is still, but there’s no sight of a wound, no blood. Cautiously, I touch his shoulder.

“Mr Gorman?” He doesn’t reply so I shake him gently. His arm flops off the bed, and I jump, startled by the movement, a gasp escaping me.

He’s dead.

Another body to add to the tally.

Running out of the room, I resume my desperate search for help, aware that every second that passes puts Jericho more and more at risk.

I start yelling for Barrett again and barge straight into him as he races up the stairs.

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