The scene had changed. Ryan was on his side, moaning and clutching at his face. Tim was on his knees, Ben standing over him before crouching. Tim remained kneeling, shaking his head at something Ben was saying over and over again.
Jason kept the gun on Ryan and stepped forward, not understanding what had happened.
“You’ve been shot!” he heard Ben say through the ringing in his ears.
Tim shook his head again. “I haven’t.” He forced himself to his feet, looked like he wanted to kick Ryan in the side, but instead fell over.
That’s when Jason saw the blood, crimson and wet and turning Tim’s light blue shirt maroon. Ryan got to his feet, forcing Jason to tear his attention away. Ryan pawed at his own eyes, at the blood soaking his face. Then he ran. Jason raised the gun to shoot just as Ben cried out, a horrible panicked scream. Tim was on his back, Ben pressing two bloody hands against a spot near his neck, a pool of blood continuing to spread across the floor.
An artery. Jason set aside the gun. Ryan had fled the room anyway, and more barking was coming from the backyard, meaning he wasn’t sticking around. Jason rushed to Tim’s side, trying to remember what he’d learned in the first-aid course Mr. Hubbard had made him take before the hunting trip.
“I can’t stop the bleeding!” Ben raised trembling hands.
“Let me see,” Jason said, pushing him away. He wasn’t doing much good anyway.
The bullet had gone straight through the meat above Tim’s collar bone. This wouldn’t be so bad—at least not as far as gunshots went—but he was bleeding far too much. Jason didn’t know where all the arteries were, but the bullet had to have passed through one of them. He closed a hand over the two holes and squeezed. Tim moaned in pain, eyes wide and unfocused. The scene was disturbingly familiar—the hunting trip buck, Jason’s hands slipping on the red-stained fur, the animal growing still, the life draining from it. Tim moaned again before his head lolled and he stopped moving. Passed out from the pain, or dead?
“Call an ambulance!” Jason said, but when he looked up he saw Ben already on the phone, stammering out their address.
“They’ll take forever,” Ben said when he hung up. “We’re so far away!”
“He’ll be fine,” Jason said, not knowing if it was true.
“We should drive him,” Ben said. “You pick him up, put him in the car, and I’ll drive.”
Jason shook his head. “It’ll kill him. We can’t move him. He’ll lose too much blood.”
“Is he alive?” Ben whispered, dropping to his knees. “Tim?”
Ben reached for one of Tim’s hands, eyes wide in panic.
“Check his wrist,” Jason said, trying not to crumble under his own sorrow.
Ben’s fingers trembled as they moved up Tim’s arm. His whole body was shaking, his breath shuddering, before he looked up in shock.
“I felt something!”
“Of course you did,” Jason said. “He’ll be fine.”
He focused on keeping the wound from bleeding. Jason wanted to remove his hand and use a shirt or something else instead, but worried about the blood loss this would cause. He had a pretty good seal on the wound now, or so he thought. There was so much blood that it was hard to tell. Tim’s normally dark skin was unnaturally pale. Ben was right. The paramedics were taking forever. Jason wished he could slit his own wrist, let Tim gulp down the blood he had lost if that would save him.
Ben was whispering to Tim, saying things Jason felt he didn’t have a right to hear, but that were impossible to ignore. You promised not to leave me. You promised I would die first. Don’t do this to me. Please stay. Please. I can’t go through this again.
Jason clenched his jaw, forcing himself not to cry. When he heard the sirens come near and then stop, he started shouting to summon help. Ben pulled himself away and ran to the front door. Jason looked at the gun on the tile, praying that Ryan really had left. Surely the sirens had scared him away. Chinchilla was howling now, one long mournful sound.
A police officer entered the room first, gun drawn. Jason screamed at him to let the paramedics through. When they were allowed in, they had to pry his hands off the wound and shove Jason aside. He scurried backward across the floor, trying not to be in the way. He felt relief when they put a specialized bandage on the wound, then felt confused as they placed a collar around Tim’s neck, as if it had been broken. Then Tim was loaded onto a stretcher and rushed from the room. Ben followed after him, and Jason tried to do the same before an officer blocked his path.
“We need to ask you a few questions,” the man said.
“I need to go with them!” Jason responded, trying to push past.
“There isn’t room,” the officer insisted. “Help us catch the person who did this.”
Jason felt deflated as the ambulance doors closed and the vehicle started down the long drive. He nodded his agreement. Then he tried to explain what had happened, but couldn’t stop thinking of the ambulance, and of Ben, who would be all alone with no one to comfort him if Tim died.
* * * * *
Jason stared at the scene from the kitchen doorway, scarcely believing it could be real. A pool of blood on the blue tile, smeared to one side where Tim had been laying. Shards of a broken tea cup, the liquid that had once filled it splattered near the table. Messy footprints everywhere, misshapen maroon ovals, marring what had been one of Jason’s favorite rooms. Now it was a mess, a ridiculous crime scene where a photographer tiptoed around in plastic-covered shoes, camera flashing like a tourist desperate to document his dwindling holiday.
“Son?” The officer standing next to Jason moved the digital recorder closer, hoping it would prompt Jason to speak. Officer Flynn was middle-aged, heavyset, and perhaps a little too young to call anyone son. At least not anyone Jason’s age. “Are you feeling all right?”
“Yes,” Jason said, even though it couldn’t be further from the truth. His heart hadn’t stopped pounding, his every breath feeling forced, as if the normally ignored function now required constant vigilance, lest he forget to breathe entirely. “What was the question?”
“When did you first notice the perpetrator enter the house?”
“We were waiting for Tim to come back when we heard the dog— Chinchilla!”
Jason turned to the backyard where a constant noise finally got his attention. Chinchilla stood just outside, clawing repeatedly at the glass to signal she wanted in. Jason rushed to open the door, a hand on his shoulder stopping him just as he was reaching for it.
“You’d better let me,” Flynn said, nodding at Jason’s hands.
He noticed them for the first time, how they were covered in dried blood, his skin feeling tight and dry beneath the grime. Smears ran up his arm, and his T-shirt made it look as though Jason had also been shot. The knees of his jeans were still damp from where he had knelt in Tim’s blood.
“Do you have a leash for the dog?” the officer asked. “We can’t have her running through the crime scene.”
He told Flynn where to find it, and while the officer went to fetch it, Jason stared through the glass, locking eyes with Chinchilla. She had stopped clawing now that she had his attention and had begun whining instead. Jason felt she was asking him one question. How was Tim? Was he going to be all right? Chinchilla continued to stare, Jason wishing more than anything that he could answer her truthfully and say that everything was going to be fine.
Motion farther away in the yard caught Jason’s attention—a person creeping around—causing him to yelp.
“It’s okay,” Flynn said, returning. “It’s just one of my colleagues securing the area.”
The officer stepped outside to fetch Chinchilla before she noticed this other person, Flynn holding on to the leash when he returned inside with her.
“She looks fine,” the officer said. “Just a little shaken up.”
“Ryan fired at her,” Jason said. “He was trying to sneak in through the back, Chinchilla started barking, and then we heard a gun
shot.”
Flynn nodded encouragingly, lifting the digital recorder again. “Then what happened? Tell me everything.”
The facts became Jason’s top priority. Whatever was happening inside the ambulance, whatever happened at the hospital, all of it was outside his control. Nothing Jason could say or do would change a thing. But he could ensure that the police had all the evidence they needed to bring Ryan to justice.
Jason began rambling, Flynn interrupting with the occasional question. The officer even returned to the kitchen doorway, eyes searching the scene for anything important, any little piece of information that was missing. While it was clear from his lack of abhorrence that Flynn had seen worse, he seemed eager to do his job and do it right. Jason felt thankful for that, trying his best to put his fear aside and be helpful. He allowed himself to be photographed, only second-guessing the police when they wanted his bloody clothing.
“As evidence,” Flynn explained.
“But this is Tim’s blood, not Ryan’s,” Jason said.
Flynn nodded his understanding. “Yes, but when this Ryan person is in court and starts lying, you’ll want every shred of truth possible backing you up.”
“Okay,” Jason said, already stripping off his shirt, “but that’s it. I need to get to the hospital now and—”
“You need to get yourself cleaned up or you’re liable to scare someone,” Flynn said.
“Fine.” Jason took one step toward the stairs and froze.
“The entire house has been searched,” Flynn told him.
“Okay.” Jason didn’t move. What if the police had missed something? What if Ryan was hiding up there, maybe in the attic, crouching behind the smiling portrait of himself. Nowhere seemed safe anymore. He turned back to Flynn and swallowed. “Do you think you could come with me? Just in case.”
The officer glanced up at him, seemingly unsurprised by the request, and nodded. How often did he see this? Every day? Were people in various states of shock and terror so often? The world normally seemed so sane, but this wasn’t the first time someone had been attacked in their own home. Not by far. Jason felt like he’d gone through life in blissful ignorance up to this point, believing such violence an invention of television to get viewers watching through the commercial breaks.
Flynn escorted him to the upstairs bathroom, giving Jason plastic bags to put his stained clothing in. He allowed Jason to take Chinchilla into the bathroom with him before the door was closed, Jason washing his hands off in the sink before looking up to see a thick smudge of blood on his cheek. He required more than just a quick rinsing of the hands. This time Caesar wasn’t there to lovingly dab at his face with a washcloth, but at least Jason wasn’t alone. He looked down at Chinchilla who continued to whine.
“I know,” Jason said. “I’m worried too. I’ll hurry. Just a quick shower, and I’ll take you to see Tim. I promise. ”
* * * * *
When Jason was clean and the police were finished questioning him, he loaded Chinchilla into his car. A rushed shower and fresh clothes did little to make him feel better. His pulse was still racing too fast, matched by the frantic fear coursing through his system. Jason felt paranoid as he drove, almost expecting Ryan to leap into the street and clamber over his windshield like something out of a horror movie. Chinchilla wasn’t faring much better. She kept climbing over the center console to lick Jason’s face, still whimpering and whining.
As they reached civilization, Jason obsessed over what had happened in his absence. Had Tim made it to the hospital, or had he… So much blood had been lost. On the long drive into Austin, despite the best efforts of the paramedics, maybe he had… Jason shook his head and tried to imagine his home, the perfect paradise he’d been invited into, without Tim. Doing so was impossible. That happy place would be ruined forever. The sun would never shine again.
As they neared the hospital, Jason tried to picture what he’d find when he entered the emergency room. Ben wailing in uncontrolled grief, the staff trying to subdue him? Or maybe he would just be sitting there motionless and pale, the shock making him numb. Each of these visions tore at Jason’s heart. No matter what happened, he didn’t want Ben to be alone.
Finally having reached their destination, Jason parked hastily. He whispered a quick apology to Chinchilla that he had to leave her behind before sprinting across the parking lot to the emergency room entrance. He found Ben sitting there pale and wide-eyed, just as Jason had feared, but at least he wasn’t alone. Allison, an attractive black woman and Ben’s best friend, had one arm wrapped protectively around him. Jason felt somewhat relieved, because he knew she would take care of him, even glare at anyone who dared look in Ben’s direction. Literally, because she did exactly that before she recognized Jason and opened her other arm to him.
Before he went to her, before he accepted any sort of comfort, he had to know. “Tim?” It was all Jason managed to say, but he was instantly understood. And answered.
“They’re operating on him now,” Allison said. “The bullet nipped an artery, which they’re trying to repair.”
Jason nearly cried out in relief, because at least there was hope. Tim was still a part of this world, so everything wasn’t over. Not quite yet. He hugged Allison when she stood, then grabbed hold of Ben. They clutched at each other, Ben crying and mumbling incoherent words.
Ben was wearing hospital scrubs, his hands washed clean, like he intended to perform the surgery himself. Luckily, Officer Flynn had prepared Jason for this, suggesting he bring along a change of clothes for Ben and anything he’d need for an overnight stay. When this was all over, and if Jason was still sane, he planned on sending that man a ridiculously huge basket of fruit.
“You’re okay?” Ben kept asking. “You didn’t get hurt?”
Jason had to reassure him over and over before he would let go again. When Allison made them all sit, Jason made sure Ben was in the middle, still feeling the need to keep him safe.
“The police left just before you got here,” Allison said, “but they didn’t have any news. Did they catch Ryan?”
“I don’t know,” Jason said. “I don’t think so. They found a bloody handprint on the fence gate, so there’s evidence. The whole house is a crime scene. I don’t think any of us should go back there. Not alone.”
“Chinchilla?” Ben asked, already braced for bad news.
“She’s fine.” Jason said. “She’s in the car, but it’s hot out there.”
“You can take her to my place,” Allison said. “I can clear out the office tonight, make it into a spare bedroom again.”
Jason shook his head. “We’ll stay at Marcello’s house. He has plenty of guest rooms and the best security money can buy.”
Ben nodded his agreement, his hands shaking, even though they were resting in his lap. “Maybe you should go there now. I want you to be safe.”
“We’re perfectly safe right here,” Jason said, settling back, but he kept his eyes on the emergency room door. The rules of the game had changed. If they could be sitting at the kitchen table and be attacked, then surely nowhere was safe. Not completely. Jason kept clenching his jaw and shaking his head. None of this made sense. They hadn’t done anything to deserve this.
They sat in silence for a few minutes, listening to a news reporter rattle off other tragedies in the world, all of them bigger than their own. He wondered if emergency rooms did this on purpose. Keep calm. At least you don’t live in a war zone. Except now Jason felt as if he did.
“Seeing him lying there on the kitchen floor,” Ben spluttered, “waiting for the paramedics to show up again…”
Allison hugged Ben tight, kissing his hair and murmuring comforting words. Her affection for him made Jason think of Emma, even though she’d be more likely to slug his arm and tell him to get over it. She’d want to know about this. Jason pulled out his phone to text her, but it was all too complex for one hundred and sixty characters. He excused himself, stepped outside, and called.
Emma had barely said hello before it all came pouring out. Halfway through the story, Jason started crying, and he was glad Ben couldn’t see because he wanted to be strong for him. After he was done talking to Emma, he checked on Chinchilla and brought the clothes and toiletries he’d collected for Ben back to the emergency room. There still wasn’t any news on Tim, and after sitting there another half hour, he decided he needed to take Chinchilla somewhere cool.
“Call me,” Jason said. “The second anything happens, call me.”
Allison promised she would. When he returned to the car, Chinchilla was desperate to see him. Jason wondered if she could sense that something was wrong. Maybe Tim wasn’t doing so well. That idea alone nudged Jason’s fear toward a different emotion. He hoped Ryan was lying in a ditch somewhere, bleeding to death.
This anger was shared by Marcello as Jason sat in his living room and explained everything. Marcello was normally so chipper, like a big happy hippo without a care in the world. Now his face was grim and dark. He barraged Jason with questions, becoming more furious with each answer. When he was finally satisfied, he looked like the devil incarnate, eager to claim a soul.
Marcello swept from the room without a word, leaving Jason sitting alone. He was happy for the silence, petting Chinchilla as she tried to settle down next to him. Eventually she did. Jason hoped this was a good sign, that she knew somehow that everything was going to be okay.
When Marcello returned, he was somewhat calmer, although still nowhere near his usual jovial self. “I’ve made some calls,” he said, pacing the room. “Ryan was picked up by the police half an hour ago. I don’t know the details yet, but they don’t matter. Ryan is going away to prison, where I imagine he’ll be very popular with the other inmates, whether he likes it or not.”