Page 39 of Aftermath
“Yes, the same one,” I answered. “I’m looking into the cold case.”
“If you’re on assignment, why am I keeping this from Grey?”
“It’s not for assignment.”
Silence hung between us, and I thought for a moment the line may have disconnected.
“I’ll keep this discreet,” she said, her tone turning serious. “Give me a few days, and I’ll have everything you could possibly need.”
“I appreciate it. I owe you,” I said, but my heart didn’t stop pounding.
It was a risk, but I didn’t want to go in blind, not if I was bringing Lenore with me. I needed all the information I could gather.
“I’m just glad you’re back,” she said.
She was one of the few who knew everything. Blythe and Mags had become close during their time working together. My heart pained for the loss I knew she experienced too.
“Thank you, Mags.”
I clicked the phone off and set it down on the empty nightstand next to my bed. I climbed in, ready to shut my mind off for the night. Sleep was the only escape I had from it sometimes. As useful as it was to think how I did, sometimes, it was a curse, never being able to turn off seeing everything from an analytical point of view.
I pulled the covers up and shut my eyes, praying I could escape just for a little. My chances were completely split. Some nights, sleep was the remedy I craved, and during the other half, the PTSD slipped through the cracks, and the nightmares came crawling right back, placing me right back into that moment.
* * *
Blood pooled on the floor.
I knelt in the puddle of it, the warm, sticky liquid clinging to my clothing. Another body lay only feet away, but I didn’t bother to check its pulse. I ignored every protocol I’d been taught. My mind was blank, nothing but red filling my vision.
“No, no, please,” I begged.
I grabbed her lifeless body, cradling it in my arms.
I was too late, far too late.
Blood coated my hands. I couldn’t tell exactly where it was coming from, but there was too much of it. I searched for the wound, my hands scrambling across her torso to find it.
She wore a bulletproof vest that left her lower abdomen exposed. I felt gently around and found the tear in her skin. It was too wide, something from a blade.
I covered it with my hand, trying to minimize the blood.
She wasn’t moving, wasn’t responsive to my touch at all. Her skin was cold to the touch.
“Help!” I yelled at the top of my lungs.
I knew back up was too far. We should’ve waited, should have followed protocol the way we were taught.
A hand on my shoulder startled me.
I glanced up to find a young girl staring down at me, her eyes filled with terror.
“Go find help,” I ordered sternly.
I needed to get her away from the scene, away from the blood soaking the ground.
I used my hand cradling Blythe’s head to feel for her neck and pulse.
There was nothing, not even a weak beating.
