respect about you. But let’s be honest, we all know I’m a better actor. Hell, I’ve done a great job of pretending to be your friend for years now. I think that deserves an award.”
Julie felt something at her elbow, thought it was another rock, but as she adjusted to pick it up, hope soared in her chest. Cal’s gun. “Put the knife down.” Her voice shook as much as her hands.
“Gladly. I’ve been wanting to put it down for days now.” Cal changed the grip on her knife. From stabbing to throwing. Julie fumbled behind her and grabbed the gun. The shock on Cal’s face gave way to pure hate. “No!” She drew back to throw and Julie pulled the trigger.
The recoil shot all the way to her shoulder. The bullet threw Cal back a step but didn’t stop her. She lunged again and this time Julie kept pulling the trigger. One, two, three, four bullets.
Cal stood there. Stunned. She looked down at the growing patches of blood on her blue tank top. She wobbled, her eyes glazed over. She hit the dirt on her knees. The knife slipped out of her bloodless fingers. “Not fair,” she mumbled right before hitting face first into the dirt.
Julie scrambled backward, farther away from Cal, her heart slamming against her ribs. She threw the gun as far as she could toward the trees and stood up, unsteady. She circled Cal, kicked her thigh, but got no response even though Julie watched her ragged breathing. An old tire swing sat along the side of the house and Julie ran for it. Using the knife, she sliced the rope from the tire. Seconds later, she yanked Cal’s hands behind her back and picked up her leg for good measure and hog-tied the bitch, thankful to have learned that trick during the run of her sitcom.
She wouldn’t have wasted the time, but as long as Cal still breathed, she remained a threat.
Julie scrambled to Troy, stumbling over her own feet. “Troy!” She screamed his name as she skidded to his side and took in the blood pooling on his shirt and under his head.
Sirens wailed in the distance. Her T-shirt had a fresh tear from her fight with Cal, and she ripped a chunk of it to cover the wound bleeding from his abdomen. “God dammit, don’t you die,” she cried. Why was his head bleeding when Cal got off only one shot? Julie gently lifted his head and found the reason. Troy had slammed into a rock after he’d been hit. The gash on his head bled profusely. “Don’t you fucking die.” Tears slid down her cheeks. She ripped more of her T-shirt and held it against his head as she cradled him in her lap. She’d brought this on him by calling Cal. He’d told her not to tell anyone where they were, and he was bleeding now because she hadn’t listened.
His eyes fluttered open. He set his cold hand on top of hers. “I’m so sorry,” he whispered. “I never meant to hurt you. I swear to God. I never wanted that.” He coughed and blood gushed out of the wound.
“Don’t talk, dammit. Don’t say a fucking thing.” She didn’t want to hear an apology, not when she owed him a bigger one. She could barely talk through her tears. “I hear sirens. Help is coming.”
“Love you, Julie. Love you.” His eyes slid closed and Julie shook his shoulder.
“Don’t you die.”
Blood. So much blood. It ran down her arm, stained her hands. His blood. Her blood.
He didn’t respond and the despair in Julie’s chest hurt worse than any bullet, any knife wound. How many times did the man have to get shot for her before she realized he loved her and wanted to protect her?
“Troy. Please, please don’t die. Please. I love you.”
His eyes opened into slits and his hand squeezed hers a fraction before his head lolled to the side.
“No!” Julie screamed. “No!”
A police cruiser turned the corner followed by an ambulance. Julie lifted her hand to wave them over and everything went topsy-turvy. Blood gushed freely from the wound on her arm. She fell to the side as police and paramedics gathered around her and Troy.
“He needs help. You have to help him.” Her words sounded miles away and so foreign.
“Holy shit,” one of the cops said. “This is Julie fucking Fraser.”
They were the last words she heard before everything went black.