Page 105 of 72 Hours of You

00:19:12

He still has almost twenty minutes left. We just have to get Charles out of here. We have to—

Peter lunges at him. They fall to the ground yelling, punching, fists smacking into sides, rolling on top of each other, a blur of pink. Peter’s head knocks into the wood coffee table. There’s a scream. Mine. And then I lunge too. I try to pull Charles off him. I can’t. He yanks away and his crisp button-down slips through my fingers and I fall backward. Peter yells something and knees him in the gut.

There’s a crack. Peter’s thin, gold-rimmed glasses. For a second he looks at me, our eyes meeting through the tiny, jagged fissure in his lenses and then—

Arms. Legs. Yelling.

The gun hits the carpet with a too-soft thud. And then everything stops. A dust mote lingers in the light of the giant window. There’s only the sound of breathing, breathing, breathing.

They look at each other, then at me.

Wait.

Wait. Wait. Wait. Don’t.

They both grab for the gun. I can’t see what’s happening. I can’t—

An explosion.

A cry.

Blood on the ground.

“Goddamn it! Why did you do that?” Charles’s voice is distorted and far away.

It’s Peter.

His leg. Wait. I don’t … His leg? But if it’s just … Oh god.

There’s blood everywhere. All over the expensive rug. Red. Red and pink, everywhere.

I run to him, drop to my knees.

“Sydney.” He tries to sit up, but he can’t. I put my hand on his chest. His heart is beating so fast.

“Peter.”

Peter. Oh god, Peter.

“I couldn’t …” He coughs. “I couldn’t let him hurt you again.”

Charles drops the gun and pulls at his hair. “I wasn’t going to hurt her! I wasn’t going to hurt anyone!”

“You have a fucking gun!” I scream, tears pouring down my face.

“I only had one bullet!” Charles yells. “It was for me. Goddamn it. It was for me.”

For him. His words fall like snow, melting as soon as they touch the ground.

“This time it was going to be different! I was going to … I just wanted to say I was sorry before I … Fuck!” Charles yanks at his hair again, doubling over.

“Just get out,” I say. “Leave!”

Charles looks from me to Peter before grabbing the gun again and stumbling backward out of the room.

I turn to Peter. “I’m going to call 911.”