I can kill this man and still reach Jesse. I’ll have time for both, but I need to do this first. I need to kill him… I need to…
I step back and my foot kicks the bat. Quickly, I scoop it up and think about bludgeoning Tate’s head in. I mean… there might be less blood to clean up if I go that way.
Jesse’s fist bangs against the ice and I turn and drive the bat down. The ice cracks, but it’s not enough and Tate is recovering. I slam it down again and watch the cracks spread. Jesse’s disoriented; I’m afraid he’s going to move away from me in his confusion.
The ice cracks enough that the tip of the bat goes through it. I smash the bat against it again but realize that Jesse is going in the wrong direction and if he goes too far, I don’t know if I’m going to be able to find him again. I dive down, and pain spikes into my arm when I slip it through the small hole as the ice cuts through my skin like a knife, but I catch onto something and drag Jesse toward the hole. It’s not large enough to get him through, but I can’t have him getting away from me. Desperately, he grabs me, panicking while he claws at me and latches on tighter.
This… is not what I had planned. Being pinned down to the ice while some asshole is coming at me is definitely not the best position to be in.
“You’re fucked,” the man says as blood runs down the side of his face where I’d gouged into it. I see the knife he must have dropped when I stabbed him, and I try to carefully reach for it without drawing it to his attention, but Tate is coming quickly.
I try pulling Jesse’s arm up out of the hole so I’m not pinned here, but he’s struggling to get up and I’m struggling to help him.
Tate laughs while he goes for the bat. I kick at his legs to keep him away and he rushes at me, trying to kick me in the face. I jerk Jesse’s arm higher up just in time to roll back and lift the knife. I drive the knife right into Tate’s thigh, aiming for the artery as I do.
At this point there’s no sense in taking the man alive. He’s going to die right here on this ice and I’m going to make it happen.
The man hollers and slams into me, punching me in the face while my arm is pinned against the ice that digs into it. Jesse’s nails are digging into my flesh, and I question whether he’s able to get a breath at the very least because if he doesn’t get one soon, all of this will be for nothing. Tate falls into me as I ram the knife up under his rib cage and into his side.
After the first strike hits his lung, judging by the sound he makes, I know I could throw him off and he’d likely stop fighting. I could call it in. Hell, they might even be able to save him if I stopped the bleeding on his leg.
But I don’t want him to live.
I want this miserable fucker to die.
So I drive the knife in three more times.
I throw his body off me and grab the bat. Jesse is at the surface, the hole only big enough for him to get a breath.
“You have to go back down so I don’t hit you with the bat,” I call.
He refuses to and isn’t planning on letting go of my arm at any point.
“Hold your breath,” I demand and then push him back under. I slam the bat against the ice, cracking it, and with one more hit, I break it enough that I can use the bat to pry the edges of the ice away. Then I drag Jesse up and out onto the ice where he collapses. I pry his fingers off my arm before I walk over to Tate and check his pulse.
The man is dead.
Very dead.
I toss the knife down and scoop up my gun, well aware I’ll have to deal with this mess, but I have to deal with the panting man who is wallowing on the frozen pond first. I realize I’m bleeding, so I try to hold my arm in a way that the blood won’t drip anywhere—the last thing I want to do is leave my DNA anywhere near this crime scene. I do the same to Jesse.
“You’re fine,” I assure him while I pick him up and hurriedly carry him back to his car. His clothes are already beginning to crystalize and he’s shaking violently.
“Absolutely none of this went well. What the fuck were you thinking?” I ask, pulling the back car door open as I start by yanking Jesse’s jacket off. It seems like the material has damn near sucked up half the pond with how heavy it feels. Honestly, I’m surprised it didn’t pull him under and keep him down. I toss it in the back where his shirt and pants soon join it. I keep my body in front of his while I disrobe him, hoping that there are no cameras on us.
Then once he’s naked, I force him in the front seat. I didn’t want him to bring the wet clothing in with him when I warmed him up, knowing it’d be best to have him on a dry seat.
“This is a fucking mess, Jesse,” I mutter as I reach into the back and pull his keys out of his pants pocket. Quickly, I get into the driver’s seat and start the car before aiming the vents at his chest and turning the heated seat on.
I pull his hand toward me and see that his fingers are red, but nothing too concerning. My jacket is wet and bloody, so I toss it, my sodden gloves, and my mask in the back with the rest of the mess, then grab a lap blanket from the back to cover his legs. I weigh the possibility of someone finding the body against the fact that if I don’t get Jesse somewhere warm, he might die. It’s so far out on the pond; who exactly would be out that far on adark Christmas night? I highly doubt anyone is going to find that body for now, so my first order of business is getting Jesse warm. I begin driving, deciding my house is probably closest at about fifteen minutes from here. Closer if I speed.
“Jesse, talk to me,” I say while I smack his cheek. His head is bleeding and he’s leaning against the window as I question whether I need to take him to the hospital instead of my house. If I do, it’ll fuck up my whole plan even worse than it’s already fucked.
“Jesse.”
“I-I-I’m okay,” he whispers.
“Yeah? You don’t act okay. What day is it?”
