Page 123 of Veiled in Brick

Chapter 21

The panic was finally gone, and it left dread in its wake.

There were several hours which I didn’t want to relive—those directly after I had legitimately killed a man being included in those hours.

Cassie had arrived first. Upon hearing her brother’s scream and the subsequent gunshot, she had sprinted to us in a state of near-hysteria, and James closely followed. They had hesitantly questioned whether or not the man was, in fact, dead—it was quickly deciphered that he was deceased due to the mess that I had made of his skull—and then, Luke and Claire ran up to the scene.

It was all very dramatic, really, the realization that the man was no longer living. James continually pressed his hands into his eyes, looking to the sky, and speaking in mostly groans. Luke paced before us, rattling off that we needed to contact the police and admit that the crime had been committed in self-defense. Once I pushed myself off of his lap and onto my tailbone, Liam remained sitting beside me, chiming in every so often to the discussion regarding a literal corpse, an elbow resting on his bent right knee as his other hand stroked up and down my back slowly—I neither knew nor cared if the gesture was more of a calm for him or me. Cassie had sat herself against a tree, choosing not to look at the gruesome scene as she busied herself playing devil’s advocate for anything that Luke, James, or Liam threw her way. Claire stared at me with a concerned gaze whilst the others vocalized their internal thoughts.

I didn’t blame them for it—the drama, I mean—I was a little too busy attempting not to hyperventilate because I could still hear the man’s skull cracking beneath the rock. I couldn’t help but look at him again every so often, though nothing had changed. I hadn’t expected it to, but the stillness that surrounded him was jarring. The way that the back of his head was caved in, displaying a horrific sight of what was meant to be neatly kept beneath skin and bone, was enough to induce nausea and haunt dreams. I knew for a fact that it would be haunting mine.

The idea that we could contact the police was abruptly dismissed. Of course, the action was in self-defense, but the sight before us didn’t appear as such. It was far more likely from a layperson’s point of view that the man was targeted, cornered, and subsequently beaten to death. It could have all been explained away, sure, but the length of time that the investigation would go on was an unknown that I didn’t want to explore and, somehow, it seemed that if I were to go down that route, I would be keeping him alive. I would still be answering questions for months—years, perhaps—and the man would live on in my memory.

Though his identity was still a mystery to us all—and, as I had vehemently argued, would remain as such—there was no doubt that he would live on in all of our minds. We didn’t dare touch his pockets or search for identification for putting a name to his face was moot, and I had no desire to humanize the one who had acted so inhuman towards me…but he still would live on in my memory. I knew he would. Washing our hands of him entirely at this very moment wouldn’t change the outcome of our collective trauma from it all either but, however dirty the thought was, it felt…cleaner…so, we considered the options ahead.

Spending hours digging a grave was lowest on the list, for we neither had the tools on hand nor the collective energy to do so, and the thought of the body being uncovered was one that we didn’t want to entertain. Cassie recommended burning him. Liam winced at the suggestion, immediately admonishing his sister for bringing it up at all with a chaste, “Cassandra!” The third and final thought on the matter was water—not a large body of it, as Liam had crudely offered back in North Carolina, but a river.

The one just east of where everything had occurred was swiftly flowing and filled with rocks. Sharp rocks. If one were to slip and fall, the current would take them quickly, pull them under without a trace, and the damage done by the jagged stones below could be irreversible.

It was plausible.

We all agreed it was plausible.

So, amongst the options of earth, fire, or water, we chose water.

Liam grabbed his arms by the wrists, James held his ankles, and the man was tossed into the overflowing river along with his gun and the rock that I had weaponized. We watched his body flow downwind, and then he was gone.

Quickly.

Remarkably quickly.

The six of us stared off into nothing for an amount of time that never would have felt long enough, and then we all bid each other a quiet, somber goodbye. Cassie returned to her home. The rest of us drove back to the complex in a silence that spoke louder than any words could, and we allowed the world to continue to spin. Luke and Claire went up to 3C, James took his place back in 2A, and Liam and I walked inside 2B.

Ambledinside 2B, really, and I stopped at his kitchen. I stood before the island, my arms hanging at my sides as I recalled the events from the past twenty-four hours—hell, the pastfourhours. I was…distraught.And, somehow, also…happy.Happywas the wrong word. I was devastated, yet relieved. Still terrified—ever-terrified, yet the weight that had been laying on my shoulders was lifted upon the man’s death.

Liam approached me hesitantly from behind, his steps clunking until I could feel the heat of him encompassing me from behind. His arms wrapped around my shoulders, his head rested on top of mine, and I let out a ragged breath.

“I’m so tired,” I admitted in a mousy, soft voice.

It was an understatement. A massive one. So massive that I didn’t even cringe away from the pathetic way that I said it.

Liam hummed. “Me too. Do we—do we need to talk about it all?”

His tone hinted that he’d rather everything be forgotten, and I agreed with that wholeheartedly. It wouldn’t be, of course, but it need not be mentioned.

“No,” I replied simply as I turned in his arms.

His gaze was exhausted as well, his dark eyes sunken in and the pallor of his face accentuating the freckles on his cheeks. Blood had seeped into his hair once again—only a scant amount, but enough to be noticeable—and I reached up to touch his jaw. A corner of his lip pulled up softly at the gesture, but when I flexed my fingers to angle him away from me, he frowned.

“My head’s fine.”

My gaze traced the laceration—the false stitch had somehow remained glued to his scalp, but the rough yanking of his hair had irritated it enough to briefly cause it to bleed.

“It’s bleeding again.”

“Figured.”

“Can I clean you up?” I whispered the question, and he nodded into my palm.

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