ORIGINAL TITLE: (Original) Chapter 20 of Going Ahead to Galilee
DESCRIPTION: Boone was supposed to have a much different, and much more depressing, reaction to Maggie being strangle in GAtG. This is the original published end chapter. (Can't complain. The story went on for 26 more chapters after I rewrote it.) 879 words.
His head jerked forward, and he opened his eyes to a different room. Blinked, in surprise. Was he still dreaming? What was going on―
Maggie was choking. He could hear her, the agonizing noise of a woman being strangled, a man grunting with the effort of doing so. His eyes focused on the scene ahead of him, catching a swinging door in his periphery. His rifle was in his hands, and he was covered in blood, and Maggie was being strangled on the floor in front of him―
No thoughts.
The bullet ripped clean through the man's skull, impacting with the far wall, and he toppled downward onto her. A thin trickle of blood from the wound began to drip out onto her body, trapped underneath him. Boone stood there, dumbstruck, his rifle raised and hands shaking. What was going on―
No thoughts.
Boone moved to her, kicking the body away and dropping his rifle. He grabbed her at the shoulders, picking her up. Maggie's head lolled in his grip, flopping around like her neck had been broken. He held her still, staring at her.
"Mag―" he coughed, spitting up blood. His blood. She was―
"Maggie," he groaned, bloodied fingers moving stiffly to his pockets, looking for stimpaks. "Maggie, stay alive. Stay alive."
Only one left.
Fuck it, he owed her.
Boone angled the stimpak to insert it at the base of her neck, his fingers slipping on the grip. He depressed the plunger, watched the skin swelling slightly, watched the bruise. He wiped his face, felt the tears falling, breathed out shakily, blinked rapidly. Blood sprinkled over her face every time he spoke. He wiped it clean, his hands stiff against her soft skin.
"Goddammit, Maggie!" He sucked snot up into his head, wiped his neck of the blood streaming from it. His neck throbbed in pain, gushed with every heartbeat. He was going to die―
Maggie didn't move. Boone gasped out a sob, clutching her to his chest, feeling her wrist for a heartbeat. Couldn't―couldn't―couldn't feel one. She was―she was―he pressed his hand against his own neck, two fingers sinking into a bullet wound, sticky and hot.
His heart thudded strongly in his own chest. Blood coming from multiple wounds. Felt faint, felt the static in his head growing louder, felt like―
He laid her down, carefully, adjusting her hair with bloodied fingers. Putting it right. His blood in her hair―she looked like Maggie, she looked right, she looked like Maggie. Yellow and red streaked her head, as he stroked her hair. Pain in his ears, pain in his throat, his face felt like fire. He was―
Burning in hell. She was―
She was―
He wiped his face, smearing blood everywhere. Blood, everywhere. Jesus Christ, no―no no no no no no―
He grabbed her up and clutched her to his chest, a long thin sound coming from his throat. Pain in his chest, pain. He began to sob, cried out loud, shuddered with the pain. It was too much―he couldn't.
Goddammit―Maggie―she was―
He cried, crushing her into his chest, clinging to the last hope he'd had. The last―the last―he wanted―but she was―
She was dead.
Boone rocked her back and forth, mumbling and sobbing and wiping his face, rubbing bloody fingers along her cheeks, staring at her closed eyes. Just―just open them, Maggie―just open your eyes―goddammit, Maggie, open your eyes!
She was dead!
He felt his hand hit the floor. Numb to the pain, now. She slid onto his knees, limp, bloody, bruised. Couldn't―couldn't feel his heart beat. Put his hand on her chest and willed her heart to beat. Willed her to have his own, his heart beat. The blood wasn't pumping, anymore. Slowing to a stop―
Boone looked down at Maggie, sliding off his lap, and saw his leg. A stimpak in it. He'd―
He'd―he'd injected himself.
And not Maggie?
"No―no, no―" Boone stared, not believing. No, he couldn't have done that, he'd―he'd just stuck her in the throat! It wasn't possible―
She was dead and he could have saved her―
No!
He ripped the stimpak from his leg, flinging it across the room, and picked up his rifle. Stared at it, stared at Maggie, stared at the barrel, ran a bloody finger across the end of the metal, wondered how it would feel. She could have told him. She could have told him how it felt to have a bullet tear through his head.
Her straight edge. He leaned over and picked it up with his other hand, turning it from side to side. Caught the light, shined like nothing else. She took care of it, loved it. Loved it like she couldn't love him. He could have―he should have done better―
She hadn't loved him. She'd only needed his help. To kill that man―Boone's head turned to the body. To kill her true love.
His reflection in the blade―a monster. He turned away and dropped it to the floor. He was good at killing. Killing love. He would never―never have that, ever again―
No thoughts.
Picked up his rifle and held it under his chin.
Stared up at the ceiling. Felt the cold barrel digging into his skin.
Finger on trigger.
She was dead.
She'd gone ahead to Galilee, and left him behind.