Page 99 of The Dearly Departed

She looked at her father's motionless form, lying behind me beneath the dirty sheet. She swallowed, her eyes flooding again with tears, but then, even if a little reluctantly, she nodded.

"Can you girls sit here for two minutes while I talk to my friend?" I asked.

They both looked up at Dean, then back at me, and bobbed their heads with jittery nods.

But before I could stand, Cora asked, "Are … are you gonna hurt us?"

I shook my head. "No. Nobody is going to hurt you."

She dropped her gaze, then whispered, “Daddy wanted to hurt us. He … he said … after he hurt M-Mommy …” Her little voice trailed off.

I narrowed my eyes with the realization that we had kicked the door in on a murder-suicide mission. Marco had killed his wife, administering enough drugs into her veins to force an overdose, and then he was going to kill his daughters before killing himself. He had known we were coming, and he had hoped to greet us with a massacre.

“Nobody is going to hurt you,” I stressed. “I promise.”

Then I stood, my leg stinging as hot, wet blood pulsed from the open wound. I gritted my teeth and grabbed Dean by the arm, pulling him a few feet away from the girls.

"You shouldn't have promised anything," he said with a disapproving scowl, keeping his voice low.

Taken aback, I replied, “What the fuck do you mean?”

"Gerald's going to want them dead. You do understand that, right?”

I cocked my head. "Do you really think I give a fuck what Gerald wants?"

"Sir, with all due respect," he whispered, a hint of condescension in his tone, "they witnessed the murder of their father, and you pulled the trigger."

"Self-defense," I told him without hesitation. "The guy jumped on my back and tried to choke me. Then, when I pulled him off, he cut the shit out of my leg. He attacked first."

His features hardened, the look in his eyes cold and heartless. "Even still, you know Gerald isn't going to want to deal with them. They're a liability. You have to eliminate them to finish the job.”

A shock of horror forced me to take a single step backward at the thought of murdering a couple of little kids who’d happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time. I could find some justification in murder when killing meant ridding the world of one less problem, but these girls were practically babies.

They were innocent.

I reclaimed the step and grabbed Dean by the collar of his shirt.

"Fuck you,” I hissed.

The villainous mask he wore slipped a bit as he frowned and said, “I’m sorry, sir. But—”

“Look at them,” I demanded. “Look at them right now and tell me you’re okay with ending their lives.”

He ran his palm over his mouth and chin, glancing in their direction. A flicker of sadness crossed his face, and his upper lip twitched, as if he was struggling not to smile.

I turned to see what he was looking at, and to my surprise, despite their circumstances, those little girls were giggling in the midst of their chattering whispers.

They were playing with each other. Keeping each other distracted.

They reminded me of Isaac and me, finding shreds of light in the grim darkness. Little sparks, as Leonard had once put it.

I looked back at Dean to find him shaking his head. The hardened look in his eyes had left entirely, and once again, he sighed.

“I won’t do it,” I warned, keeping my voice low. “If you insist on them dying, that’s on you.”

"Fuck," he muttered.

He wouldn’t take his eyes off them, and I knew there was something on his mind, something he wasn’t saying. I let go of his collar and crossed my arms over my chest, then waited for him to say what I sensed was inevitably coming.