He sucked in a thin ragged breath. Our eyes connected. His beautiful eyes glazed over, the light drained from them and they marbled like a doll’s.
Even though it was expected, it was still brutally shocking. My breath caught in my throat and my heart beat like fists in my chest. I stared at him, unable to comprehend his death, waiting for him to draw another breath.
“No, no, no. You hang in there. Brian,please,” my voice cracked.
Panicking, I took the pressure off his neck and placed my hands on his chest and pushed. ‘Staying Alive’ beat in my head; Tom had taught me to do heart compressions to it in order to keep compressions even. With each compression blood bubbled, popped, then sprinkled down from a wound between his ribs. I ignored it and kept pumping. The words became a bitter cruel irony.
The boy stammered, “Oh god, oh god.” He was so pale I thought he’d pass out, but he held the stomach wound. There was little point to it, I think we both knew that, but I felt compelled by a sense of desperation to try everything we could, a tiny shaft of hope somewhere kept us both going.
I caught a blur and the four vampires stood staring down.
Finally!
“Amy, get away . . . it’s too late!” Ethan looked appalled.
I ignored him and kept pumping. “Breathe, breathe,please breathe,” I pleaded, as if my words might somehow magically solicit him back to life.
Ethan knelt on the ground opposite. With an annoyed grunt he began the compressions himself. With shaking hands, I pushed the fabric of my dress back against his neck wound, the blood no longer pulsed. Horrified cries echoed in the background. The humans had caught up.
“What’s going on?” a voice commanded. Cole barged through. “Jesus Christ, Jefferson!” He was breathing rapidly, a look of horror on his face.
I lowered my ear to his mouth, checking for breath, found none, my eyes locked with Ethan’s. An understanding passed between us. He stopped pumping. To see blood was one thing, but the smell seemed to invade my senses, clinging to my throat, and wound its way to my stomach. My stomach revolted and boiled, I had to fight to keep it down.
Ethan removed his jacket and placed it over Brian’s body, leaving only his face and legs exposed. We stood up as a young man came running around the corner.
He stopped abruptly, staring down at Jefferson. His eyes wide and glassy, his chest thumping. The resemblance was uncanny, dark hair, chiselled jaw, brown eyes. This was Jefferson’s son. The color drained from his face until he was ghostly-white, he made a terrible, despaired, weeping sound.
“Dad . . . Dad,Dad,” he staggered forward and crumbled to his knees. He reached out and touched his face. “No, no, no, please, you’re all I have. Don’t leave me,please, Dad!”
The sounds of his voice breaking, the pain plastered on his face, tore at my heart. I reached out and touched his shoulder, not that there was any comfort I could really give. I became aware that I’d left an imprint of his father’s blood on his shoulder, but it was too late now. Someone had turned on the outside lights, they leaked across the ground, washing everyone in a dim glow, making it easier to see, and so much worse.
I thought of Karson—did he, could he have done this? Was he capable of such a cold, callous murder? The two men hated each other, that much was abundantly clear, and he hadn’t hesitated to remove the vampires who’d threatened him. A blanket of cold swept over my body. It seemed implausible that he’d be capable of something so horrendous. Yet.
‘He probably killed the damn dog himself!’
I jerked my head up and met his eyes. He read my thoughts, his brow twitched. I thought I could see a glint of something troublesome in them. What did it mean? Could it be guilt? It could just as easily be hurt. He shook his head and now he looked annoyed. Guilt sent a sharp pang through my chest. I dismissed the notion as the construct of a distraught mind.
I lowered myself down and wrapped my arm around Chris’s shoulders, his body shook violently. I gulped hard to keep the sobs which sat against my throat down, my chest expanded painfully against its walls.
“Dad, please,” Chris’s voice trembled. He lowered his face to his father’s ear, “I love you. I love you.”
“He said he loved you,” I whispered.
Chris began to sob then. He bent down, laid his head on the side of his father’s face and hugged him.
A circle of people had gathered now, most stood in quiet shock, a few women wept openly, others stood with their mouths ajar, staring with morbid fascination.
“Get back,get back, everyone goback to the house!” Cole commanded, guiding them with his arms. A few women remained immobilized by shock. “Move,” Cole shouted, pulling them from their trance-like state, they turned, shoulders bowed, cradling their own bodies, back toward the house.
An older male spoke in low, calm tones, “Chris, come away boy.” The man knelt beside him, he seemed to know him well.
I got up and moved away.
“No,” Chris’s voice was on the edge of hysteria. He cradled his dad’s head in his arms, stroking the side of his hair and his face. The man wrapped his arm around Chris. “Okay, we’ll stay here until the ambulance arrives.”
“Did you see anything, did anyone see anything?” Cole asked, both angry and upset.
I shook my head.
