Chapter 11
I didn't hear the sound of the bullet being fired, I didn't even feel the usually strong vibration irradiating my whole arm, from the hand to the shoulder. I even wondered for a fraction of second if I really had shot. My fingers were clenched tightly around the butt of my gun, my knuckles probably already white pale, but simply was unable to let go of it. Every square centimeter of every muscle in my body was tensed, I had become a statue of granite, still and unable to think, or even feel anything. Of course, I still had enough consciousness to put an end to this trance, but I was unwilling to. I just didn't want to open my eyes only to find out that I had killed her. Usually, I was quite good at facing the consequences of my own acts. Take the truth with its worse sides and deal with it. Killing this woman probably was the exception. No. Not probably. It was the exception. That woman herself was an exception, in each and every way possible. An exceptional exception. She was so special, so perfect, I couldn't be the ordinary someone who took that special someone's life. I could have spent an eternity standing there, completely unaware of what was happening around me, the never-ending war of thoughts in the deepest part of my own person, mental and physique intertwined altogether, yet still raging with more intensity than ever. Then I felt it. The tiger in my chest, which had surely been there since the beginning, suddenly whined loudly, the sound waves echoing through my ribs, just like when you can feel the detonation of the fireworks resounding in your whole body on a fourth of July. At the moment I couldn't tell whether it was sorrow or pain, or even a mix of both, but I could definitely feel that it had nothing to do with some kind of celebration. It was extremely powerful, at least twice as much as when I had thought that Olivia was dead, and that wasn't of any consolation. Tears were slowly growing behind my eyelids – maybe they were already cascading on my cheek, I couldn't have told the difference – because that feeling could only mean that what I feared the most had happened. This time, she really was dead, and there was no turning back. And I was the one responsible. I had killed her. That single thought, the only one that followed those long seconds of semi-consciousness, was seething in my brain, hindering my ability to reason and think of an appropriate solution to this disaster. I tried to control the explosion of emotion that burst in my chest, all of this sadness and anger I thought could be harmful for my mental health after everything that I had been through evolving into a desperate need to stop that grotesque masquerade my life had become. I tried to ignore the fact that I still had that fiendish thing that had put an end to her life, and could help me put an end to my own as well – because like I had told Peter a few minutes ago, without her I had no more reason to keep on living and wandering for the rest of my life without a goal wasn't something I was prepared for. I tried to focus on something that would help me forget as long as possible that this wasn't a childish nightmare I would wake up from, that I was probably experiencing one last time those terrible feelings eating you from the inside, the same ones that make you who you are. I waited, for a sound I could analyze, a smell I could define, a sensation I could describe... Anything that would help me forget that I had become a murderer who had killed the most precious thing she could call her own. And then, all of the sudden... A drop on my cheek. Heavy. Just as if it was a rain drop which had born the weight of its long journey and as finally able to get rid of it landing on my skin. That was all I needed. It felt hot, but it probably was only because my whole body was cold. It was small, not any larger than an apple's seed, I presumed. From the outside it undoubtedly looked like one of the many tears coating my face, only I could tell the difference. What I didn't know, on the contrary, was where it came from. It wasn't rain, that was a fact I was almost sure of – unless it was a single-drop rain, it just couldn't be. What was it then? I didn't even get the time to think about it when I felt it slid along my face, slowly, before it found the corner of my lips. I instantaneously had the reflex to sweep my tongue over it to clean it, while little by little, my senses became more and more accurate. I could hear a distant voice calling my name, like a far away plea. I could feel the breeze on my neck, as if someone was standing right behind me, blowing softly against my skin, but without being able to feel their presence. I could smell... Smell an acid fragrance I was sure I had already smelt before, assaulting my nostrils just like the smell of corpses did whenever I had to look at them closely. And I could taste that so particular bittersweet, coppery taste, filling my mouth and sliding down my throat as I swallowed, the same one I was sure I knew but couldn't quite define. It only took a fraction second, it all happened so fast... I suddenly realize what that smell and what that taste were. Blood. All my senses came back at once, breaking the trance I had been experiencing for no more than a minute, and my eyes shot open. What I saw... What I saw was just beyond imagination. Olivia was running toward me, her hair flying behind her like a red flag, with the kind of look that makes you understand everything without a single word. She seemed terrified – I didn't quite know why at the moment, because I had noticed the three shapeshifters were down, lying in a pool of silver liquid, gaping holes in their forehead. I was about to smile, because in the end she was alive, she didn't seem to be hurt, and that was everything we all wanted. But those weren't the object of her nasty scare, it was something else, something that had happened in my direction, probably behind me. Peter. With a pang in my stomach, I turned on my heels to make sure he was okay, only to find out that he was the one standing a few feet away from me, frozen in a strange posture, looking as scared as Olivia – if not more. The smile that had almost had the chance to crack on my face never showed, in the end. How could it, with all that despair and terror in the air I didn't even know where they came from? Then I remembered the blood. I looked down, only to find my feet in the middle of a little red puddle, and soon I realized that my shirt and pants were soaked, drips rolling on my skin and splashing on the floor.
'How... No...' I whispered, the pieces of the puzzle assembling in my brain. But that was impossible, I hadn't felt anything... I finally let go of my gun, my shaky hands unable to hold it anymore. It fell on the hard concrete with a thump, bounced on the floor and stopped a few feet away from me. But that didn't matter. I gently brushed the tips of my fingers against my stomach, expecting to feel an excruciating pain, but nothing happened. Impossible... I looked at my fingers, just to make sure it wasn't a product of my imagination. Red. All over my hand, red everywhere, darkening my clothes and glistening on my skin. Maybe it was the adrenaline, maybe it was because I was dead already, maybe... Maybe... The world started spinning around me, the grass, the trees, the sky, all of them melting in an abstract painting of vivid colors, as a last reminder of everything you can only savor when you are alive and that I had missed. All at once, the last of my strength vanished, just as if it had been drained from my muscles, and it didn't take long before my legs bent like two ridiculously weak straws in the wind. I toppled over forward, and my knees hit one of the step. They were way to fragile to resist to the dead-weight I had become and I heard my kneecaps crushing on the edge of the step. I finally plopped, my basic instincts sharp enough to force me to extend my arms a little, preventing my head from knocking too hard on the floor. Face down, it was hard to breathe, and I could now feel a slight tickle in my belly, which I knew was announcing the upcoming, and surely horrible pain. Someone turned me on my back, and I finally was able to take a deep breath, which did not only make the pain in my stomach worse but also made me realize that breathing was something exhausting. It felt like my lungs were imprisoned in vises, and each time I tried to fill them with fresh air was turning into a real showdown. Two strong hands tugged at my coat forcefully, ripping the buttons off, and thankfully the weight pressing my chest lightened.
'Has someone called 911 yet?' Peter's loud voice asked, though it sounded a bit distant to me, and the same hands landed on the wound tearing my stomach apart, probably trying to stop the bleeding – which wasn't worth going to trouble, I thought. Another pair of hands came to rest on my shoulder, and it's only when my whole arm throbbed with pain, as if electrocuted, that I understood how blood could have reached my cheek. I had got shot there too. Two wounds, twice as much blood. There was no way I could survive injuries that serious.
'Come on, Olivia', I heard Olivia whisper above me, her fingers curling to get a better hold on my shoulder. 'You can't do that to me, you gotta hold on, okay?'
'I... I can't...' I whimpered, unable to do much more. I didn't even know if she had heard me, her sniffles might have covered my words, but I couldn't repeat myself without using the very last of my strength – if ever there was some left. It was true, though. I wouldn't be able to hold on. I tried not to show it, but I knew things they didn't. They didn't know that my right arm had become a lifeless limb I couldn't control anymore, that the only thing I felt was a phantom sensation at the tip of my fingers and an unbearable pain somewhere between my clavicle and humerus. They didn't know that the coughs I was containing were like burning flames licking my already sore throat. They didn't know that blood had began to fill my mouth and that I was doing my best not to let it pearl in the corner of my lips. They didn't know my vision was getting blurred every time I tried to focus on something else than the powerful, dazzling light of the sun filtering through my half-closed eyelids. They were doing their best to keep me alive, and for that I was thankful – even if Peter crushing his palms on my stomach wasn't quite helping. I smiled, lightly, as much as I could, and tried to reach Peter's leg. My finger brushed against his thigh, and though he probably didn't feel it through his thick jeans, I was glad to touch him one last time before I would go.
'Thank you', I finally whispered – maybe I just thought about these words, I couldn't tell – and my arms fell flat back on my side, palm facing the floor. My head became heavy, I couldn't feel any of my limbs anymore, and even the pain had flown away. My eyes closed by themselves and there was no use to struggle to keep them open to take one last look at her face. I didn't need to to remember it, anyway. And it was with that last, beautiful picture in mind, with the muffled sound of their cries reaching my ears, with the rancid smell of the blood I was lying in, with the sensation of a vanishing floor under me, that everything turned black. Death had finally found me.
I'm not truly happy with this chapter (I would have liked to develop it a little more, I think that some passages are worth a few lines more), but I wanted to update the story before my little trip to Paris, so I decided to post it anyway ! :) [I may rewrite it later, though, I'll let you know if that's the case]
It's shorter than usual, but as there's not a lot of dialogues I don't think the difference is very important. I hope you like it, and please review, your opinion is important to me! :)