Clarity 3

by Loretta Lost

  Copyright © 2014 Loretta Lost

  Cover art by Sarah Hansen of OkayCreations.com

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without permission. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  The night is deathly still.

  I can hear the moonlight. It’s dripping all around me like liquid silver, and making my blood run cold. Crickets are calling out to each other and singing about the stars. I can hear all of this, but I can’t hear the sound that I want to hear most.

  A man’s breathing.

  I press my hands against my heart to keep it from pounding right out of my chest. It feels like a jackhammer is trying to drill through my breastbone. My knees tremble, and I struggle to remain upright in my high heels. I am empty and numb and weak. I wobble a little, and my toes graze along the shoulder of a lifeless human being. A bit of bile lifts in my throat, and I force myself to swallow down the bitter combination of stomach acid and saliva.

  There is a possibly dead body resting against my toes. It’s still warm.

  I’m afraid that if I fall to my knees, I will touch the man’s face and recognize the familiar curve of Liam’s chin. The warm tickle of a tear squeezes itself through my lower eyelashes. It slowly slides down my cheek, but I am so mannequin-stiff that I cannot lift my arm to brush it away.

  Please, I repeat mentally as I press my eyelids together tightly. As if I could possibly see any less. The stars and streetlights are all obscured, but try as I might, I can’t block out the horrible images in my mind. Please. Please let him be okay.

  My thoughts continue to race as I begin to lower myself to the ground. I reach out to touch the man before me, but I pause. I’m afraid to know. I remember the light stubble of Liam’s five-o’clock shadow, brushing against my cheek only moments ago. My fingers twitch as they imagine tracing the hard angle of his handsome jaw, only to discover blood seeping from a gruesome wound. I need to identify the body, but I am terrified of plunging my hands into a pool of blood that used to be a bright young man. I don’t think my heart could take it. I hesitate.

  A sound breaks through the darkness. A groan.

  “Liam?” I whisper desperately. All hesitation leaves me as I throw myself to my knees. My skin scrapes roughly against the cobblestoned ground, but I ignore the bruising. My hands dart out to clutch the body before me. If he has a moment’s life left in him, I want to spend that moment holding him. I want to feel his final heartbeat against mine. I want to taste his last breath.

  My hands brush against the fabric of a cotton collar. I lift my fingers higher and touch the man’s face. It’s smooth. Freshly shaven.

  I jerk away with a gasp, recoiling from what must be Grayson’s body. I fall back onto the cobblestones, my palms slamming clumsily against the cool ground. I shiver in horror at having touched my enemy. I draw in a deep breath. He was motionless. I was unable to touch his vile skin long enough to determine whether he was dead or alive. But if he’s on the ground, does that mean...

  “Winter,” says a hoarse voice, a few feet away. He groans softly. “It’s okay. I’m okay.”

  “Liam,” I sob. “I thought you were...”

  “No,” he tells me. “I was just dazed. I don’t get shot very often.”

  I feel like a small grenade has detonated within my chest, and I experience a sudden inability to breathe. I scramble back onto my knees and move around Grayson toward the sound of Liam’s voice. “You’ve been shot?” I whisper. “Where? How bad is it?”

  “It’s fine,” he assures me as he reaches out to pull me close. He wraps his arms around me and presses his lips against my forehead. “Hey. I’m—I’m fine. Don’t worry.”

  I gratefully accept his embrace, collapsing into the warmth of his chest. I bury my face into his shirt, pressing my ear against his heart so that I can listen to it pounding nearly as fast as mine. He doesn’t sound fine. I run my hands over his body, searching for his wound. “Where were you hurt? What happened? Should I call an ambulance?”

  “No, no. It’s nothing. I’m a doctor, remember?” he speaks in a soothing tone as he brushes my hair back from my cheek. “This is a minor graze. I can handle it.”

  “Are you sure?” I ask him as I move my hands all over his chest and sides, followed by his arms. When I move to his thighs, he finally winces and pulls away. I gasp at the feeling of sticky moisture soaking the side of his pants. “Liam! We need to get you to a hospital.”

  “For this little thing?” he says in the tone men always use when they’re trying to be tough. “Don’t worry. He got me in a lucky spot. A fifth-grader could patch this up with a basic first-aid kit.”

  “Are you crazy? This is a bullet wound!” I try to put pressure on his leg because I can’t think of anything else to do. “What kind of fifth-graders do you know?” I ask him angrily.

  “Well, I was a boy scout,” he explains, “and I played a lot of Operation.”

  I can’t believe he’s making a joke at a time like this. I glance over at my silent brother-in-law who remains motionless on the ground. “What about him? Is he...”

  “He’s alive. I just broke both of his arms and took his gun. I think he passed out from the pain—or it might have been my left hook.” Liam shrugs as though he does this every day.

  I exhale slowly. “Are you serious?” I ask in wonder, releasing a little hysterical laugh of relief. “You broke both of his arms?”

  “I told you judo was useful,” Liam says casually. He pulls away from me and grunts as he slowly rises to his feet. He reaches out to help me stand. “Lights are being turned on in your house. It seems the shots woke up your family. We should go tell your dad and sister what happened—Grayson is going to need medical attention. They’re probably going to call the cops, and we’ll have to file a police report...”

  “No,” I tell him softly as I clutch handfuls of his shirt to help keep myself upright. The idea of having to go through all of that bureaucracy gives me headache. Why is it that immediately after surviving a traumatic event, you are always faced with a great deal of equally traumatic paperwork? I step closer to Liam so that our bodies are almost touching, but not quite. I can feel his warmth surrounding me. I release his shirt and slide my hands over the taut muscles of his torso. He feels tense, like he is still in the middle of a fight and ready to spring into action. I take a deep breath. I can’t seem to stop touching him. After that terrifying moment of uncertainty, I need constant proof that he is alive. “Can we just... go?” I plead. “Somewhere. Anywhere. I don’t want to deal with this right now.”

  He is quiet for a moment, and he reaches out to cup my face. “Winter,” he tells me softly. “You’re shaking.”

  I try to breathe slowly to chase away my terror and regain control of my body. I had not noticed my pathetic state until he mentioned it; I know that my mind is tough and resilient, but my body is a mess. My hands are trembling and my shoulders keep shuddering sporadically. I must look like a bundle of exposed nerves, all frayed and split. Liam senses my anxiety, and moves forward to wrap his arms around me. He cradles me against him, locking his arms around my back fiercely. After a moment, I close my eyes and sink into his embrace. I feel my tension begin to ease away, and my body begins to grow calm. He is so strong; so amazingly strong. He is overflowing with so much quiet power that it seeps into me. I feel shielded against everything. The gunshots and Grayson seem far away, almost in another lifetime. I know that Liam would never allow any harm to come to me.

  But Liam hasn’t always been around. He won’t always be around.

  I grow suddenly aware of the large bulge in his pocket. I am confused for a moment, but then I realize that it’s Grayson’s gun.
I move my hand to touch the metal instrument curiously through his coat. A horrifying thought crosses my mind; I consider taking the gun and shooting the unconscious Grayson in the face. It would permanently remove him from my life. I can see myself pulling the trigger—I can hear the gunshot ripping away his life. I immediately feel ill, but intrigued.

  “What if I... got rid of him?” I ask Liam breathlessly. My voice is so soft that it blends with the wind. As I taste the whisper of dark words on my tongue, the idea begins to seduce me. I know that I’m not capable of such a thing, but my hands are inching over the edges of his pockets anyway. I slip my index finger between the folds of fabric and touch the cold metal. It sends a little jolt of excitement through me, along with a shiver of dread.

  I know that my sister would never forgive me.

  But I almost don’t care. I’d be protecting her. I’d be protecting myself.

  “No,” Liam says, taking my wrists and guiding them away from his pocket. “You’re not thinking clearly right now. No one deserves that—it’s not for us to decide. You’re not that type of person.”

  Anger rises in my chest. “How do you know what kind of person I am? He made me into a different kind of person.” I pause as I my indignation gives way to helplessness. My hiss fades into a whisper. “Liam... shouldn’t I do something? He hurt Carmen. He tried to kill you.”

  “That doesn’t make it right,” Liam tells me, gently squeezing my wrists. “We need to be better than him.”

  I shake my head in dismay and confusion. I wish I could be tough enough pull the trigger. But if my sister and dad are coming downstairs to investigate the gunshots, then I wouldn’t like to need to explain why Grayson is lying on the ground unconscious, with both of his arms broken, and a bullet in his body. He’s defenseless; it would be in bad taste to hurt him now. It would be low. It would be despicable. But he just shot at us! He just wounded Liam. If I don’t do something now, will he try to hurt us again? Am I missing my last opportunity to gain the upper hand?

  My head begins to ache. Could I live with myself and accept the consequences if I did this? I haven’t given hurting him any real thought. I haven’t really felt a great need for revenge—just the need to get away. Maybe I should get revenge. Maybe it was what I really needed all along. Maybe this is the only way I can really get away—while simultaneously remaining in one spot. Would it be somehow liberating or healing? Would life magically get better if Grayson was gone? Would I return to who I was? Could I reclaim my innocence and optimistic look at the world? Could I be around people again without falling apart?

  My breathing is quick and labored as the adrenaline and panic courses through me. No, I command myself. You could never. You’re out of your mind for even considering this. Snap out of it. I try to purge the images of revenge from my thoughts. At the same time, I feel disgustingly powerless and upset with the idea of doing nothing at all. I can’t live like this. I can’t live in constant fear. I can’t let Grayson live, and let him keep doing this to me. But I can’t take his life either. Guilt and remorse would consume me, and living under that shadow might be more difficult than living with constant fear and anxiety. I pull my hands away from Liam and let them fall to my sides.

  A few feet away, I hear Grayson stirring and groaning on the ground.

  My eyes widen as I turn to the sound, and I flinch ever so slightly. The knowledge that his arms are broken does nothing to comfort me. I move back a step, wishing there were walls and fortifications between us. I wish I could turn and run—run away from here forever. But I already tried that. I feel lost and overwhelmed, and trapped in this mess. I feel my knees trembling, and my ankles bending as I lose the strength to keep myself upright in my high heels. I close my eyes and clench my fists, trying to maintain a bit of dignity and not let myself fall to the ground and collapse into tears.

  “Fuck it,” Liam says suddenly and harshly. He slips his arm around my waist to help me stand. “You’re coming home with me. I’m not letting you sleep in the same house with that man anymore.”

  “Thank you,” I whisper.

  “Come on,” he says as he guides me over to his car. He curses when he sees his shattered windows. “At least he didn’t hit the tires,” he says furiously as he stoops to survey the damage on his vehicle. He pulls the passenger door open wider, as I had previously left it ajar. He brushes some glass out of the car before guiding me into my seat and shutting the door.

  “Liam,” I whisper, seeking an answer to a question that escapes me.

  He has taken a step to move around the car, but he returns and reaches through the shattered window frame to hug my shoulders. “We’re okay. It’s going to be okay. Do you trust me?”

  I give him the tiniest of nods. He leans forward to press his lips against mine, but I am too emotionally numb to feel comforted by the kiss. He lets his mouth linger against mine for a moment, until the warmth of his skin reaches that dark place inside me and pulls me back to him. Once he feels my frozenness thaw, he squeezes my shoulders and pulls away. Liam briskly walks around the car, but I hear a change in his step. Even though he moves quickly, I can hear the new limp in his gait as he tries to avoid putting his full weight on his wounded leg.

  When he climbs into the car, he winces in pain.

  “Are you sure you don’t need to go to the hospital?” I ask him as he starts the engine.

  “I’ll be fine,” he tells me with a low growl. “Good thing that motherfucker has terrible aim.”

  “What an awful night,” I say softly, pushing my head back against the headrest. I just want to get away from here and lie down. I want this to be over

  I hear the sound of footsteps on the cobblestones, and a feminine gasp.

  “Helen?” my sister calls out from a distance. “Helen! What the hell happened?”

  I hesitate, hearing the panic in her tone. My first thought is to comfort her and explain the situation. Then a frown warps my features. I have nothing to explain. “Just go,” I tell Liam quietly. “I don’t want to deal with Carmen right now.”

  Liam doesn’t waste a second in slamming his foot on the gas pedal, and the car peels away from the driveway. I feel my body pressed back against the seat with the momentum as we turn out onto the main road.

  “I can’t believe that just happened,” Liam says angrily. “What the fuck is wrong with that man? Why would he shoot at us?” Liam slams his hand down against the steering wheel. “Dammit! And I just bought this car. I’ve been taking it to the car wash every day and wiping off every speck of dust. Then that asshole goes and puts bullet holes in the side of my car. Great. Just great.”

  “Liam,” I say, wrinkling my face in frustration. “I’m much more concerned about the bullet hole he put in you.”

  “I can stitch up my leg! The bullet just tore a minor cut into the side of my thigh. It’s not that deep. It’s mostly stopped bleeding already, and it will mostly heal itself—and probably leave a cool scar. But my car can’t heal itself! I’m not a mechanic—I don’t know how to fix the bullet holes in the metal! Dammit.” He takes several deep breaths. “I should have never taken you to that house. This is my fault. I’m keeping you far away from that man from now on. You never have to go back there.”

  A thought suddenly strikes me and I bolt upright in my seat. “My computer. My braille notetaker. It has my story on it.”

  “We can just get you a new computer,” Liam says.

  “No—my book was half-finished,” I say miserably. Sinking back into my seat, I sigh in frustration. “I haven’t been able to make any progress since I came home, but I had written a good chunk of the novel when I was back in New Hampshire. I can’t lose all that work.”

  “I’ll get it for you in a few days once things have calmed down,” Liam says. He suddenly lets out a laugh. “Look at the two of us! We just escaped a life-or-death situation, and you’re worried about your computer, while I’m worried about my car.”

  Somehow, even in this moment, he is able
to make me smile.

  “I guess life isn’t worth living unless we also have our stuff,” I say in a feeble attempt at humor. The sound of ringing causes me to jump violently. In the second before I identify the sound, my body has already jerked and recoiled as though I have been stung by a bee. My heart pounds fiercely again, and I bite down on my lip. After hearing the gunshots, even the sound of a phone ringing seems to send me into a state of fear and paralysis. With stiff fingers, I reach into my pocket for my cell phone and answer the call.

  “Hello?” I say into the small box as I bring it to my ear.

  “What the fuck, Helen?” My sister’s voice hisses at me through the cell phone. “Grayson’s in so much pain! What did you do to him?”

  For a moment, I can’t respond. I shake my head, caught somewhere between anger and hysterical laughter. “What did I do to him? Your beloved husband shot Liam.”

  There’s a pause on the other end. “I don’t believe you,” Carmen says hesitantly. Then she repeats herself with more conviction. “I don’t believe you! I’m calling the cops.”

  “Go ahead!” I encourage her viciously. “Let’s have a nice long discussion with the police. But I would advise your husband to get a fucking lawyer. After what he did tonight and what he’s done in the past, he’s probably going to spend a very long time behind bars. Long enough to miss your kid growing up; that’s for sure.”

  “Helen,” Carmen says softly. “Grayson doesn’t deserve to go to prison. I don’t know what happened here, but he’s a good man. For god’s sake, he’s injured. He can’t move his arms. Isn’t he suffering enough? I need to get him to a hospital. Will you come home and help me out? Dad’s freaking out.”

  At the mention of our father, I clench my teeth together. I know that Dad is innocent in all this, but I can’t help lumping him together with Carmen as one of Grayson’s allies. He said that Grayson was like a son to him. The three of them are family, and I’m the outsider. I’m sure Dad would defend me and take my side if he knew the whole story, but I don’t think I can break his heart like that—maybe it’s better that he remains innocent. All three of them were doing fine until I came into the picture; maybe if I remove myself, things will go back to normal.