I’d found a few grand rolled up when I’d dug my baby’s grave. It was still in my pocket, ready for the therapy Jolie and I would need when I caught up to her and we were finally free. . . Nessie, too.
I didn’t ask my father questions. Nothing he could ever say would be enough. I quickly lifted my gun, pumping another shell into place. His gun was up, too, but his delayed reactions thanks to the alcohol in his system, meant it wasn’t aimed at me when I pulled the trigger.
Bang.
His blood splattered my face. His arms flew back, his gun firing off in the distance. He didn’t go down instantly, despite the garnet smudge staining his bedraggled tank top. I hit him in the stomach, not having the time to angle my shot where I’d have preferred.
My shoulder ached from the poor positioning of my gun, reminding me of my healing wound. I was more careful lining the gun up to my body the next time.
Seconds later, another shot hit him, taking off half of his head.
His brain stained the walls, dripping from picture frames that showed off much nicer relatives of mine.
I lowered my gun, remembering Nessie’s fear, and I turned back to her direction. . .
But she was no longer standing on the stairs.
I dropped the gun where I stood and jumped to the stairs before it hit the ground.
I pulled Nessie into my arms, lifting her lifeless body. A small hole sat between her open eyes. Her skull was where my father’s bullet landed.
A scream ripped from me—one, so loud, I had no idea I could even voice it.
“No. No. No. NOOOOOO!”
I pulled her onto my lap, my long legs comforting her body as I brushed blonde curls from her face. My thumb wiped at the smudge of blood, trying to stop it staining my last memory of her.
I looked over her, my heart breaking all over again. My tears landed on her pale cheeks, making her open eyes look liked she’d cried them herself.
I pulled her into my chest and rocked her in my arms.
“I’m so sorry, baby. I’m so sorry.”
The blood between her legs almost made me sick. I tucked myself into her hair so I wouldn’t have to look at it. But I was still heaving over the idea of the pain and fear she felt before God welcomed his little angel home.
“Find peace, baby. Find that better place.” I placed a kiss on her wet cheek, saying my goodbyes long before I was ready.
A shadow darkened where I sat. My mother stood at the top of the stairs. Her face covered in badly-applied makeup, hiding the bruise matching the size of my knuckles.
“Nessie?” she called out. “Ville? Ville!” she screamed out.
But Ville wouldn’t rush to her side today. The fire was already eating him.
“He’s dead,” I said coldly.
I didn’t fucking care.
Actually, I was fucking glad.
“And her? What happened to my baby?”
I didn’t answer, remembering their threat from earlier, of how Nessie would suffer.
And, fuck, did she suffer.
“You don’t get to talk about her. You don’t get to look at her. You don’t get a fucking goodbye, because you sick fuckers caused all this.”
She screamed again, no words just a roar of intense hate. She launched at me, her pointed nails digging into my flesh as she tackled me to the ground.
