by Lexie Ray
“Piece of shit,” he remarked, right in front of me, his face devoid of expression in the dark, swinging.
It wasn’t until I was on the ground that I realized he’d hit me with the shovel, my head only dully registering the ringing in my ears. He was saying something, but I couldn’t understand what it was. All I could do was focus on the cries for help coming from the hole in front of me. I crawled as best I could to see if I could peer over the edge, and was surprised again by a kick to the ribs. Right away, I knew one of them was broken. At least one of them. But that didn’t matter anymore, because I was going to die. I’d been shot three times, and I couldn’t stand up to save my life — or the life of the woman I knew he had.
“All of you cops are pieces of shit,” he said again. “Stupid pieces of shit. If you’re so eager to see that grave, let me help you. You can join her. Keep her eternal company.”
I got exactly one shot off before he finished kicking me into the hole he’d been filling, and he cursed, but I couldn’t be sure of my aim. I was tired, and I couldn’t seem to figure out which way was up or down, or what I was supposed to be doing, until I landed hard on something soft, the cry of pain right next to my ear.
I rolled, wincing, trying to find the words to reassure the person I was sharing a grave with, still holding my gun and ready for the worst, and looked into her face.
I expected a woman down there, suffering, but it wasn’t.
It was a man.
It was me.
Me. Tucker Corbin.
~~~