Page 171 of Good Girl, Bad Blood

‘Yes, he did!’

‘It’s alright, Pip,’ Stanley said to her, barely able to talk because he was shaking so hard. He held his trembling hand up and out, to comfort her, to keep her back. ‘It’s OK.’

‘NO, PLEASE,’ she screamed, folding in on herself. ‘Charlie, please don’t do this. I’m begging you. PLEASE! Don’t!’

Charlie’s eyes twitched.

‘PLEASE!’

His gaze shifted from Stanley to her.

‘I’m begging you!’

He gritted his teeth.

‘Please!’ she cried.

Charlie looked at her, watched her crying. And then he lowered the gun.

Took two heavy breaths.

‘I-I’m not sorry,’ he said quickly.

He lifted the gun and Stanley gasped.

Charlie fired.

The sound ripped the earth out from under Pip.

‘NO!’

He fired again.

And again.

And again.

Again.

Again.

Until they were just empty clicks.

Pip screamed, watching Stanley stagger back off his feet, falling hard against the floor.

‘Stanley!’ She ran to him, skidding to her knees beside him. Blood was already overflowing the wounds, sprays of red on the wall behind him. ‘Oh my god.’

Stanley was gulping at the air, a strange whine in his throat. Eyes wide. Scared.

Pip heard a rustle behind her and whipped her head around. Charlie had lowered his arm, watching Stanley writhing on the floor. Then his eyes met Pip’s. He nodded, just once, before he turned and ran out of the room, his heavy boots careening down the corridor.

‘He’s gone,’ Pip said, looking down at Stanley. And in just those few seconds, the blood had spread, seeping out until there were only small channels of white shirt between the red.

Stop the bleeding, need to stop the bleeding. She looked over him: one gunshot in his neck, one in his shoulder, one in his chest, two in his stomach and one in his thigh.

‘It’s OK, Stanley,’ she said, pulling off her jacket. ‘I’m here, it’s going to be OK.’ She tore at the seam attaching one arm, biting it until she ripped a hole and pulled the sleeve free. Where was the most blood? His leg; must have hit the artery. Pip slid the sleeve under Stanley’s leg, the warm blood coating her hands. She made a knot above the wound, pulling it as tight as she could and double-knotting to keep the material in place.

He was watching her.

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