From The Nights Before Christmas © 2010 by Kerry Allen
Chapter Seven
Harvey woke on the floor, sticky, stiff, and feeling every bruise and strained muscle acquired during the night. Lovemaking generally wasn’t such strenuous exercise, but Bowe possessed a competitive streak and didn’t like being on the bottom, at least until she found herself there.
At the moment, she was neither above nor beneath him.
He sat up, the hand used to steady himself slipping in something wet. It could have been any number of substances he didn’t want to examine too closely, but the bright red color didn’t require close examination to identify. Drops of it led toward the bedroom like a trail of gory breadcrumbs.
He followed them to the bedroom, where the drops culminated in a puddle. Anxiety iced his skin. What had he done to her? “Bowe?”
He flipped the bathroom light switch. The blood-splattered room looked like the set of a horror movie.
Bowe hugged the toilet bowl, skin white as the porcelain. Her dress and the belt cinching her waist were tighter—rib snapping, organ-rupturing tighter. She didn’t open her eyes. “Sorry about the mess. I meant to be gone before this happened.”
“You tried that, remember?” If he hadn’t stopped her, she’d be bleeding out in an alley now, cold, alone, vulnerable to predators. What could she have been thinking? She needed someone to take care of her.
He wet a towel in the sink, crouched beside her, and washed the blood from her face. “I’m not giving up on you.”
“There’s nothing you can do.” A spasm wracked her body. “Wrap me in a trash bag so I don’t make a mess of your car and dump me in the river.”
Her words alarmed him more than her appearance. She wasn’t equipped to fight this enemy, so she’d accepted defeat.
Harvey, however, had spent decades training for this sort of battle. “It’s not over yet. There’s still the last refuge of those who need deadline extensions: bureaucracy.”
A corner of her mouth quirked upward for a second before falling, the effort to sustain it too great. “That’s necktie talk. You can’t stall the Council with red tape.”
She underestimated the adhesive power of that substance. “If I apply for a stay of execution, they can’t carry it out without a judge’s ruling.”
Her hand fluttered over his. He gripped it hard, trying to transfer some of his strength to her. “I had my doubts at first, but I kind of like you a little, Harvey Doyle. I’m glad I got stuck with you. I’m going to die for a while now.”
He caught her before she collapsed on the bloody floor. He’d been through this routine before. For several minutes, she would exhibit no signs of life. Then her heart would stutter and stall, stutter and stall again. Eventually, it would manage a beat or two, and she would gasp for air. It would take an hour—maybe two this time, considering the severity of her condition—but she’d regain consciousness and get back to taunting him.
Knowing that didn’t stop the vise crushing the breath from his lungs or the fire searing his throat.
He touched her face. Skin that had burned against his was now cold. He shuddered. This was the fate awaiting her: suffering, death, followed by more suffering. For eternity.
Unless he found a way to save her.
He scooped her into his arms and carried her to his bed, well aware the bloodshed was far from over. Giving her a minute degree of comfort surpassed the value of a ruined mattress and bedding. He drew the blanket over her. Except for the blood smeared on the pillow, she appeared to be sleeping.
He picked up the phone on the bedside table and dialed. “I need help.”
Mason responded without hesitation. “Anything. What do you need?”
Harvey rattled off a list. He glimpsed the bathroom from the corner of his eye, demanding attention like an open wound. “Better bring a mop, too.”
.
From The Nights Before Christmas © 2010 by Kerry Allen
Prefer to read this story in its entirety on your ereader? Buy now for only 99¢
Satisfied reading it here? Consider supporting the author with a donation through the “10 Minutes to Write” button. Every dollar contributed buys 10 minutes of writing time.
