He looks at the circle of blood on his shirt, on mine, on my hands.
Blood. Warm blood.
Always blood with me.
Annabel’s blood.
Michela’s blood.
Cristina’s.
My dying brother’s.
It’s all on my hands.
Lucas looks up, meets my eyes, and I see pain. Old pain. New pain.
I don’t see fear, though. That’s gone. Maybe he was ready all along. Maybe I was wrong about having seen fear last night.
His hands go from my shoulders to my face, then down to close over my hands. I think he wants to pull it out, but he doesn’t.
Keeping his eyes on mine and with a choked grunt, he tugs it sharply upward.
He watches me, eyes dimming, and I think he wants to say something. I think…fuck…his knees buckle and blood leaks from the corner of his mouth. Still, his hands grip mine, grip that knife.
He’s slipping away. And I have to let him go.
I pull the dagger out. Release him. Let him drop. Knife in my hand, I let my brother go.
And I know the moment his soul leaves his body. I feel it. I feel my twin die because something inside me lets go, too.
But then from the corner of my eye I see her stop moving. Stop fighting.
No.
Not again. I can’t walk away again when they all die around me.
I won’t.
As if in some time warp, I turn to look up at her. Her eyes meet mine for an instant. A fading, dimmed violet haze as her body twists, dangling from the rope. Arms dropping to her sides. Her right leg twitching once more just before her eyes close.
The fire sends hot smoke in my direction, making me choke as I leap onto the desk and gather Cristina’s limp body to mine. I hold her, give her some slack as I use the bloodied knife to cut her down.
Fire licks up my back.
My god, the pain.
How can there be so much pain?
I keep the knife in my hand and hold her to me, cradling her head against me. Her arms and legs hang loose, her body boneless. I don’t look back. I don’t think. I step over my dead brother, then turn my back into the window and throw myself through it. It’s the only way to protect her as shards rip my back. I land hard, the impact knocking the wind from me.
Turning, I lay her down and look at her.
“Please don’t be dead. Please don’t be dead.” No more blood on my hands.
Not your blood on my hands.
Touching her face, I put my head on her chest to try to hear over the groans of the house, over the bellowing of the fire. But I can’t hear, and her chest is still. I smear my brother’s blood on her face as I try to rouse her. It’s on her mouth, her too delicate hands and wrists.
“Breathe. Breathe. Hate me but breathe.”
But she doesn’t. She won’t move and when I lift her hand, it just drops down to her stomach when I let it go. Rope still dangles from her neck. It’s done. What my father wanted. Too soon, though. She didn’t get that year Annabel had.
Dead.
No.
No, no, no.
Please. Fuck. No.
“Damian!” Tobias screams in the distance. I don’t look up. I don’t care.
“I’ll let you go,” I whisper close to her ear. “Just breathe. Just breathe.”
“Fuck! We need to move!” He’s closer.
Something crackles and bursts behind me. I smell burnt meat and feel the brand of an iron on my shoulder. But I don’t care. I don’t care about any of it.
“Just open your eyes and I’ll let you go. I promise.”
“Damian!” Arms pull at me. “Leave her. She’s gone. The fucking house is coming down!”
And as he says it, a beam big and heavy flies through the sky, flames like wings as it lands too close.
I get to my feet, but I don’t go when Tobias tries to drag me. I bend to lift her body. Limp, dead weight, she hangs over my shoulder like a ragdoll as I run.
An ungodly sound deafens us. When I look back, I watch the house topple, watch what’s left of it disappear into the flames, my brother’s dead body in its belly. His flesh soon to be ash. Dust.
Dead.
Like he wanted.
For a long moment, I can’t see through the thick smoke. Through the debris and dust.
I shift my grip on Cristina and drop to my knees on the ground. I lay her on her back, and even now, even in death, all I can think is how beautiful