Every inch of me.
Why is the world upside down?
Oh, it’s me. I’m still hanging from my seatbelt. We were going to a new club, Michael and I and…
“Michael!” I wheeze, “Michael, what’s-” Turning my head makes tears drip down my forehead. He’s still in his seatbelt, too. There’s a huge gash on his face, he’s covered in blood. “Oh, god don’t move,” I’m panting, trying to get my seatbelt to unlock. “I’ll get help.”
“No, Mal…” His eyes are open. “You gotta go.” He’s staring at something outside the shattered windshield. “I don’t want you to see this part. My- here’s my knife.” His shaking hand holds out his lock blade. “Cut yourself loose.”
There are footsteps, I can hear voices, and we’re on a hill. There’s a rock holding the car stable, it must have stopped it from rolling all the way down. People are coming!
“Help is almost here,” I groan, “it’s okay, see?”
I can hear men cursing as they slide down the hill, one landing on his ass. I jam my thumb into the seat belt lock. This thing, this fucking thing won’t-
“Cut yourself loose!” The words sound torn from his throat. “They’re not here to help. I can get out my door, I’m fine. Roll out your window, keep rolling. We’ll meet at the bottom, okay?”
I’m mindlessly, obediently sawing at the strap, stifling a scream as I land on my shoulder. “Now you, Michael. C’mon-”
He’s pushing me why is he pushing me? His poor bloody arm shoves me out my broken window and I’m rolling and I moan in agony as a boulder digs into my ribs we’ll be okay we’ll meet at the bottom I hear gunshots oh fuck I see the muzzle flash light up the night and then blinking red emergency lights coming up fast on the road next to me…
Why is Cormac holding my hands? Did… did I say that out loud?
He’s whispering soothing words and the Dean and Professor Fitzgerald are speaking together quietly, giving us room.
“But Michael’s was different. It was- it was those Irish assholes, the Ryan Clan. They did it.”
Cormac cups the back of my head again with his big, warm hand like he’s trying to protect me from a fresh wound.
“My father’s been after them ever since,” I’m trying to explain and he keeps looking at me with a kind smile. “He was so angry when I woke up in the hospital. They found me still holding Michael’s knife. He didn’t get out. Those fuckers shot him and my father was furious. He kept asking why Michael didn’t cut himself loose, and…”
“I don’t want you to see this part…”
“He gave his life for me.” I rub my cheek blankly. “It should have been me. Everyone says so.”
“Your jackass of a father is the only one who says that,” Professor Fitzgerald says firmly. “He wouldn’t listen to reason, he wouldn’t look at the evidence that it wasn’t the Ryans. You and your brother were targeted. Just like so many of the other sons and daughters.”
“My brother is dead because of these bastards?” It feels like I’m dragging a piece of glass from my heart as I say the words out loud, it hurts like hell, so much. “My father wouldn’t listen? He just went after whoever he wanted? He didn’t try to stop this fuckery?” The glass is out of me, and the pain is so much less than when it was inside, cutting me for the last two years.
“He wouldn’t hear a word of it,” she says coldly. “He mocked our ‘conspiracy theories,’ as he called them. Only a few of the Elite families know what’s happening, and they’ve all taken it seriously. Everyone but the Chandlers.”
“What can I-” I shake my head like I can force all my scattered brain cells back together in some formation that can create thought. “What can I do?”
“So, the Dean, Professor Fitzgerald, they knew you and I were together?”
Cormac is walking me back to my building, the sun is close to coming up.
“There are things that Helen knows that defy all logic or reason,” he says ruefully. “No matter how careful we were.”
“I’m glad she didn’t put a pitchfork through your hand,” I offer. It’s awkward. It’s never been hard to talk to him but now that I know all of this… We pause in front of my building. “What happens now?”
“I hate this,” he growls, running an impatient hand through his long hair, “I dinna want this for you.”
“They killed my brother,” I say flatly. “And now that I know that anyone - myfriends,even- could be part of this sick alliance? I’m going to help you.”
“Be smart,” he says, squeezing my hands, “be clever.”
I smile. “Be a spy.”
