I bent over and reached out my hand to help him up. He raised his head to look at me and we shared a look of shock when we realised there was a patch of blood on his shirt, spreading and growing rapidly.
“Curtis…”
My back straightened as the prickle of fear smothered me; I turned to scan the area and a loud roar ripped through Curtis as something hit the side of my head and sent me tumbling to the ground.
I opened my eyes with a dazed groan. My cheek was flat on the floor as a light drizzle fell to the concrete around us. My head felt like it had doubled in size and my pulse hammered in my ears, bringing a throbbing pain with it.
Curtis.
I struggled to my hands and knees, crawling to where he laid, curled up on the floor with one arm stretched towards me. I tapped his cheek and his eyes opened to focus on me with relief.
“God, Curtis, what happened? Where are you hurt?”
I felt his neck for a pulse; it thumped against my fingertips and I sighed.
“Pressure,” he groaned, grabbing my wrist and thrusting my hand down to his waist.
Warm, sticky blood covered my fingertips and I felt a slash beneath the liquid that pumped out as his heart beat.
“We need an ambulance.”
“Jesse,” he whispered. “Call Jesse.”
“Jesse’s gone. We don’t have time to search for a ghost.”
“I’ll be fine. The bleeding will stop. Call Jesse.”
I snagged my top lip in my mouth, resisting the urge to give him a lecture about just how much of an emergency this was. He couldn’t see the blood, but I could. I fumbled in his pocket for his phone, pulled it out and called the last number he dialled.
“Hi, you’ve reached Jesse. Leave a message and I’ll return your call as soon as I can.”
“Jesse, this is Skye. I'm with Curtis…there’s an emergency and he needs you. Please, Jesse, call me back.”
I hung up and tossed the phone onto Curtis’ lap as I rolled him onto his back.
“You need to go to the hospital.”
“No hospitals,” he replied adamantly.
“Who would have done this? We weren’t robbed.”
I began to panic. I knew it wasn’t good for Curtis, I knew I had to keep him calm, but it didn’t stop me frantically looking around for a figure lingering to watch the effects of the attack play out. Satisfied – I scoffed at the word, considering the state Curtis was in – that we had no spectators, I pulled my jacket off and whipped my shirt off my body; I screwed it up and held it over the gash in Curtis’ side as the blood continued to ooze out.
“You’re losing blood. We need to…”
His phone lit up with an unsaved number. I answered the call and held the phone to my ear.
“Jesse?”
“Where are you?”
I heard the rising sound of a car’s engine, a gear shift, and the distant honking of nearby cars. Jesse was alive and he was coming to save Curtis.
“Outside a club called Angels.” I finally let the panic loose. “There’s so much blood. It’s everywhere and I can't stop it.”
“Where?”
“His ribs.”
“I’m on my way. Keep your hands on it. Push hard, Skye, no matter how much it hurts him. What happened?”
“It’s a straight slash. I think he was stabbed.”
“Can you get your fingers in it?”
“Yes,” I answered, already knowing I could.
“Keep something on it.”
“I am.” I looked from Curtis’ wound to his face. His eyes were rolling back as he fought for consciousness. “Stay with me, Curtis.”
“I’m here, I’m just tired.”
“You can sleep soon, baby. Jesse’s coming.”
“Put me on speaker and put the phone down,” Jesse instructed. “Use both hands, Skye.”
I did as he asked and he began talking to Curtis.
“How are you doing, Cut Throat?”
“I’m good,” he lied, earning a synchronised snort from Jesse and me. “I can't look weak in front of the lady.”
He tried to laugh. I smiled. My animal – even in pain, teetering on the edge of the place I refused to think about, he was still worrying about me.
“So you found her.”
“I did.” Curtis’ eyes opened wide to meet mine. “I can't let her go now.”
“You most certainly cannot. Angels, eh? Did you introduce her to Ernest?” Curtis chuckled and a pulse of blood flowed over my fingers. “Stay still, mate.”
“It’s our secret. I'm not letting her in on the genius.”
I shook my head and tried to squash the fear that the blood flow was slowing. Was that good or bad? I didn’t know. My knees were sopping from a mixture of rain and blood, and it didn’t look good from this vantage point. I kept my hands pressed hard to his wound, concentrating on the sound of Curtis doing something I never thought I’d hear him do – exchanging banter with a friend.
Headlights fell over the alley and illuminated the state Curtis was in as a car turned into the no-entry road. Curtis’ white shirt was now dyed crimson, as was mine, his hair was dripping with sweat and his usually golden skin was far paler than it should have been.
The car stopped a few feet from where we were on the floor and the driver’s door shot open.
“I’m right here, Cut Throat.”
Jesse’s voice came from the dark figure approaching us and from Curtis’ phone before the call ended. Jesus fucking Christ, Jesse Kennedy should have been a model – not the androgynous kind that made you want to feed them and confiscate their razors, but the kind that would have women tearing at the pages of magazines, imagining they were his clothes. I’d seen pictures of him in my Google search, but nothing compared to the real thing. As he kneeled by Curtis’ side, it was like being in the presence of a potent, infertility-curing duo.
“What happened, superstar?” Jesse asked, nudging my hands away and replacing them with his.
“We were targeted.”
“The mission?”
“Yeah. That or…” he glanced sideways at me before turning back to Jesse. “…John.”
John? Who was John? Jesse was John?
I didn’t like the cryptic, encoded talk. Jesse knew more than I did, and I didn’t like that. It seemed Curtis didn’t keep everyone in the dark.
I backed away and sat against the wall with my knees bent.
“Are you okay?” Jesse asked me. I nodded.
“Check her head.”
“I’m fine,” I insisted. “He’s lost a lot of blood.”
Visions of Thomas entered my head and the déjà vu set in. He was unsaveable. I just had to pray Curtis wasn’t, too.
“I can see that.” He eyed me suspiciously and slipped his arm under Curtis’ neck. “Come on, let’s go patch you up.”
Jesse’s car zipped along the road, weaving in and out of the cars, much to the dismay of the oncoming vehicles he narrowly missed. He ran every red light, refusing to slow down. A blue siren on the roof of his unmarked BMW stopped him being pulled over by the police, but it didn’t stop the abusive outbursts from pedestrians or the purposeful slowing of cars, just to be assholes.
Curtis was lying in the back across the seats, dripping with rainwater and blood. The scream that erupted from him when Jesse pulled him to his feet would haunt me forever. I sat in the front next to Jesse, facing Curtis to keep an eye on him and avoid the sight out of the windscreen.
“He’ll be okay,” Jesse assured me.
“Is it bad?”
Jesse tipped his head from side to side and looked in the rear-view, “Well, it’s not good, but he’ll be fine. I can examine him properly when we get back, but the blood is clotting.”
“And that’s good?”
“Yes.” He rolled his eyes. “It’s good.”
“Where are we going?”
“We’re already here.” He handed me Curtis’ blood-stained phone. “Hit speed dial two and tell th
em to clear the lift.”
I did as he asked; the woman I spoke to had no qualms, asked no questions and didn’t sound shocked in the slightest by my request.
Jesse parked in a visitor’s spot in the car park and we climbed out. I took one arm, Jesse took the other and together we helped Curtis out of the car and up to his apartment.
I threw back the duvet and Jesse set him on the bed; he produced a large plastic box from beneath the bed and flipped the lid up.
“You’re going to operate here?” I shrieked and recoiled. “He should go to hospital.”
Jesse laughed. “Am I going to perform surgery in Cut Throat’s bedroom? No. He just needs patching up.” Sensing my discomfort, his eyes met mine and softened with reassurance. “Why don’t you go put the kettle on and clean yourself up? I’ll look after him.”
It wasn’t until then, as he pulled a pair of scissors out of his box and began cutting Curtis’ shirt down the middle, that I noticed the metallic smell of blood, and it was coming from me. I was covered in Curtis’ blood; it was on my hands and face, it matted my hair and had dried and stuck it to my face and neck; it was soaked into my bra and jacket, my shirt discarded and unrecognisable on the bedroom floor. I nodded, complying and hiding my shock as the nausea roiled within. I stumbled towards the bathroom and threw myself into the shower, finally allowing the tears to fall.
I was sitting on the sofa in silence, dressed in pyjamas and a Curtis’ sweater from the back of the bathroom door, staring out at the city with a hot cup of tea, when Jesse emerged from the bedroom and sat opposite me.
“Jesse the Gentleman,” he said, extending his hand towards me.
“Skye.” I took his hand. “Is he okay?”
“Yes. I’ve given him a mild sedative and something butt-kicking for the pain. He’ll be out for a while. I’ve packed out the wound, but he’ll need you to replace the dressing. The medication will make him…spacey. But it’s all I had left in the box. I’ll re-stock when I can.”
“And Curtis happens to have medical equipment, sedatives and kickass painkillers lying around the house?”
“Something tells me you’re not shocked to discover that.”
I shrugged in response. I wasn’t, and I knew whatever connection Jesse and Curtis had, it went far beyond Jesse’s ability to shove gauze in open wounds. Why was it even the done thing?
“He needed you,” I said, meeting his gaze and assessing his body language. He gave nothing away – he was a closed book. “He’s needed you for a long time.”
“I know.” He laced his fingers together and one leg began to bounce. “I got his messages.”
“So why, if you’re his friend, would you leave him and ignore him when you knew he needed you here?”
“Things happen, Skye, and it’s better if we go our separate ways for a while.” When his eyes met mine, I saw the pain I hadn’t seen before. “I’m in hiding.”
“From what?”
“I haven’t figured that out yet.”
“We can help you.”
We had enough on our own shoulders, but whatever it was that Jesse and Curtis shared, it was mine, too. He felt like family; Curtis would offer our help without a second thought, so I would, too.
“There are things I have to find out first,” he answered, with what would have been a soft smile, were it not for the darkness that swirled in his eyes, and the sense of haunted detachment that tainted his voice. “And I get the feeling you and Curtis have your own answers to find, now that you’re back together.”
“He needs you here. There are things he won't let me help with. He thinks I’m too weak to save us.”
“He doesn’t think that,” Jesse muttered, getting to his feet. “You’re his weakness. He’s vulnerable because of you.”
I stared blankly at him, blinking once to let his words settled. He tossed a slip of paper on the table and moved out of view. When I tucked the sheet of aftercare instructions into the pocket of the sweater and stood to find Jesse, he was moving closer to the front door.
“You’re leaving him,” I said as his hand froze above the handle.
“Our paths will cross again.” He opened the door and shot a look over his shoulder at me. I didn’t know if it was hatred, or pity, just that it made me uncomfortable, like I was under assessment. “But for now, I'm dead. I’m a ghost and you have a mission to complete. Don’t be his weakness, Skye. He’s going to need you to patch up the wounds impossible for me to reach.”
He nodded once. It wasn’t a look of empathy or hatred, or the distrust I was worried about. It was a look of alliance.
I nodded in return, pledging my loyalty to Curtis, to our mission, and to Jesse – to help him when we’d fixed what was broken here, and scattered the ashes of our past. The three of us were a team, bound by our hunger for the truth.
“Until then, Skillet.”
“Just say the word.”
He left and the sound of the door closing echoed around the apartment before silence descended.
I got to my feet and went to Curtis. He was sleeping, patched up, wrapped up and safe. Someone attacked us. Someone wanted to hurt Curtis and just needed me out of the way. I had to find out who and why.
As I bent down to pick up our blood-soaked clothes, a piece of paper fell from his pocket and fluttered to the floor. I picked it up and turned it over; the word ‘snap’ was written diagonally across it and a red kiss stained the corner. There was only one person who wore red lipstick.
And she was going to pay.
Twenty Two
Even now I felt nothing. The darkness moved in and I was allowed to sleep, but my mind wouldn’t let up. I was trapped somewhere between being alive and being blissfully unconscious. Sleep brought dreams, but my dreams were never nice. They weren’t even nightmares – they were an alternative reality, and they only cropped up to tell me I’d failed. I always failed. I was supposed to be the knight in shining armour, swooping in to save my princess from the fire-breathing dragon. Instead I was trapped, in a sedated body, with no choice but to listen to the sobs of my damsel in distress as she fought through the darkness alone and tried to come up with the next phase of the mission.
~Curtis~
It was early morning when I made my decision. I’d sat for the last three hours, holding another bedside vigil, as Curtis slept, and dreamt, and cried out in pain both physical and mental. I didn’t touch him, or call for him to rouse from sleep; Jesse had given him enough medication to keep him comfortable, so all I could do was let him sleep and allow the dreams to fade away in their own time. When they’d gone, I was left in silence, with only the sound of my teeth, chattering as I shook with rage, to keep me company.
When I couldn’t take anymore, I grabbed Curtis’ phone from where it sat on the bedside cabinet, left the room and crossed the apartment to the spare bedroom at the other end. I hadn’t stepped foot in here before; there was no question I’d be sleeping with Curtis, in his bed, and I wondered why he had an extra room in the first place. I doubted Charlie slept in another room. The thought of it brought the anger to return in full force. I slumped onto the plush double bed in the centre of the room and called the number Curtis had for Charlie.
“I wondered when you’d come running back,” she answered.
“Do you ever fight your own battles?”
“You.”
“Yes, me. Hello, Charlie,” I said with a sarcastic humour and crossed one leg over the other. “When will you get it? You’re not getting anywhere near him.”
“I think tonight has proven I can do whatever I want.”
“No you can't. I’m assuming it wasn’t you who plunged the blade into him.”
“Stop…”
I didn’t.
“I’m assuming it wasn’t you who stood by while he fell to the floor bleeding out and gasping for air.”
She sucked in a shattered breath. I felt sick. I didn’t want to relive tonight, but she didn’t know he’d survived. She had no idea if
she’d played a part in his murder and I intended to keep it that way.
“Were you there to see the look in his eyes when death approached and tried to steal him away?” Silence was all I got. “Answer me.”
“No.”
“Was it you, Charlie? Did you have to wash the knife of his blood and scrub your hands clean?”
“Is he…?”
“Did you?”
“No.”
Her voice cracked and a sob squeaked through the phone. It was too late for remorse, and I wasn’t buying it.
“No, because you paid someone to do your dirty work, didn’t you?”
“Yes.”
“Because you’re a coward.” She didn’t respond. I knew she wouldn’t. She wasn’t about to admit to anything other than her own perfection. “I think it’s about time you did something for yourself.”
“What are you talking about?” she spat, getting over her moment of humanity and allowing the witch to return. “You have no say here.”
“Oh, I believe I do.” I knew I’d got her. And I was going to ruin her. “I’ll be texting you an address and a time. If you don’t turn up, I’ll find you. Charlie, I will find you.”
I ended the call and tossed the phone to the bed as I fell back and closed my eyes, just for a second…
It was almost midday when I woke up and rushed out of the room to Curtis. He was awake and lying in bed with his iPad.
“Jesse knew I’d get bored,” he smirked and tossed the tablet aside.
“How are you feeling?” I asked, perching on the edge of the bed and handing him a glass of water.
“Like I’ve been ploughed down by an eighteen-wheeler.” The concern returned when he tried to move and froze in pain. “What happened?”
“Charlie,” I said, handing him the paper. “We shouldn’t be living a life where it’s a game of Guess Who trying to find out who tried to kill you.”
Curtis took a sip of water. “She didn’t try to kill me. She does this. She knows I’ll get back up.”
“She’s done this before?”
“Just to check I’m still with her. She’s never attacked me, though.” His eyes welled up and he squeezed them shut as a tear escaped and ran down his cheek. I stroked it away with emotion of my own halting my next breath. My poor, lost animal. “This is all fucking with my head, Skye.”
Thrive Page 16