The Sinners of Saint Amos - Logan Fox Page 0,239

on top of me. I cry out at the agony when his head slams into my chest. I try and push him off me, but I’ve only got one working arm and he’s still wedged between my legs.

I let out a wail of frustrated agony, but thank God I’m taking a breath when I hear footsteps coming up the stairs.

It takes everything I have to lift the gun again. I sling my arm over Nick’s back, gritting my teeth through the pain as I try and aim it at the door.

It’s too quiet out there.

Is it Jess? She said she’d leave—how long was Nick busy with me for? And if she’s gone, then who’s coming up the stairs?

The impostor.

He’s back.

I curl my finger around the trigger and blink sweat and blood out of my eyes.

The gun steadies.

Someone yanks at the handle. They rattle the door. Then a shot goes off.

Pop!

There’s a thump, and the door gives in, handle distorted by the bullet.

A silhouette darkens the doorway.

I squeeze the trigger.

The clap of the gun is deafening. It falls from my hand onto the floor. The figure in the doorway leans to the side, and then slowly topples to the ground.

I killed him.

I killed my father!

Tears spring into my eyes, blurring my vision. I let out a choking sob and try to shift Nick off me. He won’t budge, but then the bundle by the door starts moving.

A hand appears on the carpet. Thin. Delicate. Speckled with blood.

Jess.

I shot her.

But I didn’t kill her.

“No, fuck,” I whisper. My movements become urgent, but I still can’t shift the fucking dead body off me.

A second hand joins the first. Jess drags the top half of her body into the room. She looks dazed—eyes wide and unfocused, lips slack—but as soon as she spots me on the bed, her eyes narrow.

Other than her hands, I can’t see any more blood. But it’s as if the bottom half of her body doesn’t work anymore, because she doesn’t stand, or crawl…she just keeps dragging herself over the floor.

I stick my hand in Nick’s hoody pouch. Cigarettes, gum, a wallet. Useless shit.

I swallow hard, steel myself, and reach down.

My hand brushes smooth skin.

Lower.

I recoil when I touch his ass. If I could lift my head, I’d be able to see better, but there’s a terrible lameness spreading through me.

The dizziness is back. It comes in waves, each higher than the last.

It would be so easy just to let one of those waves take me away. To let it consume me.

Because it promises no more pain. No more leaden terror.

Jess grabs onto the side of the bed. How did she get here so quickly? Or did I actually pass out for a second?

I reach down again, pushing away my disgust and horror at touching Nick’s dead skin.

He must have pushed his pants down to his fucking knees, because I can’t feel them. Even if he had anything useful in them, they’re too far out of reach.

Jess grabs my right hand, tugs. Despite the dead body lying on top of me, she still shifts my arm enough to send a spike of pain through me. I sob, my breath catching. I wriggle furiously, even hoping that her grip might pull me out from under Nick.

She’s grimacing at me, but her face is whiter than the walls. “F’kn ’tch,” she says through her teeth. “F’kn kill you.”

Metal drags over the fabric. She lifts Nick’s gun, aims it point-blank at my face.

I don’t even have time to close my eyes.

This bang isn’t as loud as the first, but maybe that’s because I’m already dying. I also expected this bullet to feel like the first. Like a blazing-hot punch, then a poker being shoved through my flesh.

But I just see red.

The side of my face is hot, then warm, then cold. And very wet.

I blink.

The world turns pink.

I blink again.

Jess slides to the floor.

Shapes move, too fast for me to make out. A weight is lifted. I hear voices, a yell.

Someone looms over me. My eyes are squeezed closed from the pain, so I don’t know who.

For some reason, I’m sure it’s Nick. That he’s somehow still alive, and he’s about to climb on me again. To finish what he started.

“No,” I manage, slurring the word. “No.”

Another wave of dizziness comes. The biggest yet. My face tingles furiously, my fingers ice-cold and numb.

I try to fight it, but I can’t. It’s too big, too powerful.

It lifts me up, so I’m flying, and then