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I need to protect him.
“Auntie Caspie?” He slides off the couch, holding on to the cushions, but not quite ready to move toward me, which is good. I don’t want him anywhere near Joel. “You hurt?”
I’m not hurt.
Am I?
I try to lift my arms to check for injuries, but they won’t move. I look down, and that’s when I see all the blood seeping into Cole’s shirt.
But I can’t feel it.
That’s strange.
I can’t feel anything.
My legs give out from under me as I get lightheaded.
I can’t catch my breath.
My arms won’t move. My fingers won’t even close into a fist.
Why can’t I move?
I can’t do anything.
“Auntie Caspie?” Laurence moves forward, but I hear Joel scream in outrage.
“Get away from her.” He waves the gun at the child standing next to me, and I have to do something. “She’s mine.” Joel is roaring at the little boy, who stops like he’s never been yelled at before.
I have to do something.
I have to get his attention away from Laurence.
“Joel,” I gasp. “Joel.”
Survive, Casper. Protect Laurence.
His eyes dart to me, but the gun is still pointed at Laurence. I have no idea what to say or do since I can’t actually move anymore. I am starting to see spots, and everything is growing dim around the edges. Except Laurence is counting on me and somehow I have to push through. I have to keep him safe.
“Joel,” I say weakly. “I’m dying.”
That gets his attention.
“No. You’re not.” He points the gun in the air, snarling at me as though it is my fault. “Don’t be stupid, Cassie. You’re fine. We just had to get rid of that parasite sucking the life out of you.”
I nod, or at least I think I do. “Yeah. You killed me.” With how much I am bleeding, I am dying; it is the truth. “Leave him. He’s a baby,” I gasp. “Leave him. You have me.”
Joel’s eyes widen in fear, or whatever the psychopath version of fear is, as he begins to understand what exactly is happening.
“You’re not dying.” He cocks the trigger, with the gun now pointed at Laurence.
“Don’t do it. Please, Joel. Don’t hurt him.” My pleas are useless, though. Joel is beyond hearing anything I say to him.
I still can’t feel my stomach, the bullet that has gone into my body, or any of the blood currently leaking out and onto the ground around me. But I know my body is in traumatic shock. Otherwise, I’d be feeling something. Feeling nothing, not knowing the pain or the burn of the bullet, I’m currently experiencing the most dangerous part of a gunshot wound.
Rule number one of gunshot wounds.
Dad’s voice fills my head, repeating the training he’d given us as kids.
