Echo(95)

Their screams bounce off the cement of the small vault, piercing my ears. I’m horrified as my eyes flick back and forth between the two of them while my mind tries to grasp what’s in front of me.

A man I don’t recognize is crumpled on the floor, his face utterly pale as he begins choking on his breath. His pants are down, and his lap is covered in blood, and when I look over to see Elizabeth, I turn sick. She stands there naked with only a cut up shirt and bra hanging off her arms. Her mouth is covered in blood, and when I jerk my head back to the guy, I realize that the blood on her is from that bastard’s dick.

Cries slice through her screams as her whole body shakes while she steps towards the man with her arm outstretched, holding a pistol.

“Elizabeth, no!” I shout when she rams the muzzle of the gun into his forehead and keeps it there.

She doesn’t respond to me in any way as she stares down at the man.

“Don’t pull the trigger!” I order, my words coming out fast while I have my own gun aimed at the man.

Her screams are replaced by staggering breaths hissing through her teeth, and I know that any second, she’s going to murder him.

“Elizabeth, look at me,” I urge. “Don’t kill him.”

“Why?” she seethes.

“Because you already know it’s not going to make you feel better.”

“You MOTHERFUCKER!” she screams hysterically at him like a crazed animal.

I take a couple steps closer to her, but she snaps, “Stay away from me!”

“Please,” I beg. “No more killing.”

“If not for me, then I’ll do it for you,” she says cryptically. “Consider this a gift.”

“What are you talking about?”

She cocks the hammer back before finally looking over at me, and says, “He’s the one that killed your mother.”

Looking over to him, I pull back the slide on my gun to chamber a round; the metallic click is all I hear in this moment. I can feel the beast inside, digging his claws into the most wounded parts of me. It takes control of me, and without hesitation or question, I squeeze the trigger and put a bullet in his head.

I can’t look away from him as blood sprays and chunks of his head fling across the room. His body tips over, still as death takes him instantly, dark blood draining from his mouth.

Elizabeth continues to aim her gun at him, trembling in shock with wide eyes, and I move cautiously over to her. Not taking a moment to process what I just did, my concern goes straight to the distraught girl in front of me.

When I reach out, she snaps, “Don’t touch me!” and I immediately recant.

“Let me have the gun.”

“No.”

“He’s dead,” I tell her, but she doesn’t respond as she keeps her gun pointed at him. “Look at me.”

“No.”

Her body is battered beyond belief as I scan over her. Added to her self-inflicted bruises is a nasty wound on her cheek covered in crusted blood, swollen contusions on her face, and a black eye. She’s not only covered in her own blood, but also the blood from the man who lies dead at her feet.

Her breathing is rigid as I watch her, and eventually, she drops her arms and allows me to take the gun from her hand before falling to her knees. I release the hammer and set the gun down along with my own. As I start unbuttoning my shirt, I kneel down next to her and drape it over her back to cover her up. She keeps her chin tucked down, and I noticed her slashed wrists covered in blood when I take her hand in mine.

“It’s going to be okay.”

She remains silent as I sit with her. I want to do so much, but all I can manage is to simply observe. Her once-beautiful red hair is dirty, matted in blood. She’s a fraction of herself, and I find it painful to look at, but I look anyway. And as sick as it sounds, I’ve never felt more bonded to her than I do now. Both of us exposed for the evil we are. Killers with mangled souls. No longer can I blame her for my sins because I just murdered of my own free will without her persuasion or seduction. She may have birthed this malignity inside of me, but I’m the one who now embraces it.

“He killed your mom,” she says again, and I can barely hear her faint voice when she adds, “He’s the reason my dad is dead too.”

“Who is he?” I ask in utter confusion to this situation.

“Richard Brooks. He was Bennett’s business partner,” she answers and then goes on to explain how our fathers worked for him and the hit he put out on her dad. I sit and listen to everything she tells me, the whole time keeping her eyes downcast, almost cowering as if she’s afraid of me. But it’s when she says, “Cal is in jail,” that her eyes finally lift to mine.