Rain and blood washed over his face, a dark red stain pooling on the pavement and seeping into the broken asphalt. His hand twitched once, fingers curling as if still searching for mine.
The boots took a step back, then another, until they disappeared from my vision.
And all the while, rain kept falling, indifferent and relentless, as I let out a scream into the dark and empty Maryland night, my lover’s blank eyes fixed on me before I slipped into unconsciousness.
A pounding ache against my skull woke me up.
I peeled my eyelids open, only to be met with the buzzing fluorescent light that drilled further into my brain. I shut them again, then tried to move my head, but it felt too heavy.
Shifting my body sent a sharp pain flaring hot along my ribs and shoulder, stealing the breath from my lungs.
“Easy. Don’t move.” A familiar voice reached me as I forced my eyes open again.
My cousin Kristoff sat beside my bed, hunched forward, his face drawn with exhaustion. When he met my eyes, relief flooded his features.
“What… How…” I blinked and looked away, focusing on the white ceiling and the sound of a beeping monitor. “Where am I?”
“You’re in the hospital,” he said softly. “You were in a car accident. You were unconscious when they pulled you out through the passenger-side window.”
“I don’t remember,” I murmured, my memory a jumbled mess.
“You scared the hell out of me,” he continued.
His voice grew distant and muffled as images of the accident slowly flooded my memory. I stiffened, pulling a breath into my lungs. “Jonathan,” I rasped. “Where’s… Where’s Jonathan?”
Something flickered across his face, but he quickly shut it down.
“You need to rest,” he said gently.
“Where is he?” I repeated, panic clawing up my throat as thememory sharpened. Him being pulled free from the car, the rain failing to mask the sound of the gunshots that followed. His eyes hollow and unseeing.
“They’re still looking for him.”
My heart raced, the monitor echoing it with frantic beeps. “He was shot, Kristoff. You have to… He could be dying?—”
“Sophie,” he said, lifting a hand and putting it over mine. “There’s a search party looking for his… for him.” Then, as if my words finally sank in, he straightened. “What do you mean by ‘shot’?”
“Someone shot him,” I sobbed. “Someone pulled him out of the car and then shot him.”
Kristoff exhaled roughly, rubbing his jaw. “The police didn’t say it was a crime scene. No reports of gunshots. Are you sure?”
I nodded, then winced. “Yes, I’m sure.”
“But—”
“Someone stopped,” I whispered, tears burning my eyes. “Someone shot him.”
“Who would want to shoot him?”
“Jacqueline.”
The word landed like a blow, especially considering Jacqueline was Kristoff’s first wife. The woman who cheated on him with Jonathan, his then best friend, while my cousin was deployed, serving our country. She even tried to pass her child off as Kristoff’s, and Kristoff hadn’t forgiven or forgotten.
Jonathan was tricked and used by Jacqueline, so call me petty and vindictive, but I was happy when I heard Jacqueline’s marriage to Jonathan had ended.
“She’s capable of a lot of things… but killing…” Kristoff spoke carefully. “Where is this coming from, Soph?”
My throat tightened.
