Sinner's Creed (Sinner's Creed #1)(89)

Saylor is sent home Saturday morning. When we arrive, the house is full of people waiting for us. Donnawayne, Jeffery, Shady, Rookie, and Carrie. Knowing that this might be the only good day she has this week, we take the time to do something she wants. And what she wants is to go bowling. So that’s what we do.

Saylor wears another one of her head scarves and even puts makeup on. Donnawayne assists her in drawing on fake eyebrows and even though she is superthin, she looks like herself. I try to encourage her not to overdo it, but she stops me by saying, “The bad days are gonna be bad regardless, so I’m gonna enjoy the good while I can.” So I just shut up and kiss her.

We bowl and eat, and I show Saylor how to shoot pool. I don’t let her win, because she asked me not to. And by the fifth game, I’m trying like hell to beat her. When she lines up a perfect combination shot and puts just the right amount of English on it to sink the eight ball, I know I’ve been hustled. “My teenage years were spent in a pool hall. It’s kinda my thing,” she tells me. Little shit.

It’s after midnight before we get home, and I’m more exhausted than Saylor is, although I don’t let her see it. We shower together, then lay down, and I rub Saylor’s back while she writes in her diary, trying to fight the heaviness of my eyelids.

“You want a back massage?” Saylor asks, and I’m reminded once again how unselfish she is.

“No, baby. But I’ll massage yours,” I offer, thinking that would wake me up and have me beating off in the bathroom.

“Turn over,” she says, jumping out of bed and disappearing into the bathroom. She comes back holding a bottle of lotion and makes a motion with her finger for me to turn over. “Please?” she begs, poking her lip out, and I can’t argue with that face.

I roll onto my stomach and Saylor climbs on top of me, her weight barely noticeable. When she digs her fingers deep into my shoulders, I can’t help my moan of appreciation.

“I know you’re exhausted. I know you’re tired and sore and I know the sacrifices you are making for me. And I don’t know if I’ve told you, but thank you.” Her thanks aren’t necessary, but it feels good to hear her say it.

“There is no place I’d rather be, and nothing else I’d rather do.” I wish I could look at her when I say this, but she knows the sincerity of my words. And as I drift, not only do I feel her hands on me, but she is singing and her voice is the perfect ending to this perfect day.

—

Sunday morning I wake up to the bed shaking. I picture Saylor jumping on it, trying to get my attention, and smile. But then, I feel something hit my back. And again. And I turn over to find Saylor seizing beside me with white foam running out the side of her mouth.

I’m screaming, panicking, rolling her to her side, and holding her down. I’m lost. I’m desperate and I’m still screaming, but this time it’s for help. I hear banging on the front door, but I can’t leave her to answer it so I scream at whoever is there to call 911. And I scream it over and over again until I hear sirens in the distance.

Saylor’s eyes are open, but they are lifeless. Her body is still jerking and she has wet herself. The movements are so violent that the only way for me to prevent her from hurting herself is to climb on top of her. My arms are holding down her arms. My legs pin her legs, and I’m fighting like hell to keep my weight off her tiny body. When I hear someone beat on the door, I order them to kick it down. When I’m not sure if they can, I wonder what the f*ck I’m gonna do. Then I hear gunshots, and I’m afraid that whoever is coming in might not be who I think it is.

“Dirk!” I hear Shady scream from the kitchen and I’m so relieved I let out a sob.

“Shady! Shady, help me!” I’m screaming and my vision is fuzzy. When I blink and I feel wetness run down my cheeks, I realize I’m crying. But I’m not just crying. I’m hysterically sobbing and begging for help. I’m begging for someone to save her. I’m screaming for Shady, and I don’t know why. “Help me!” I yell, and it’s so loud and guttural it hurts my own ears and burns the back of my throat.

“Dirk.” I look over to see Shady on his knees on the bed next to me, his hand on my shoulder. “Dirk, the paramedics are here. I need you to let Saylor go so they can take care of her.” I look around the room and see two men staring at me wide eyed. I look down at Saylor, whose convulsions have diminished to erratic shakes.

I move off of her and out of the way of the paramedics, who immediately begin examining her. Shady has my phone and he is talking to someone, and giving orders to the paramedics. And I’m just standing here, thinking I’m in a bad dream.

When I hear one of the men tell the other one to get her shirt off, something inside me snaps. I’m not thinking rationally. The reasonable part of my brain is telling me that they are helping her, but the other part is telling me to kill. But, before I can get to them, I feel the darkness taking over. Suddenly, the floor is coming up to my face, and it’s the last thing I see before it completely consumes me.

—

I wake up and rub my eyes, thinking how terrible this nightmare was compared to the ones I had growing up. When I reach over to feel for Saylor, my arm hits something hard and plastic. And then my senses kick in. I smell rubbing alcohol. I hear the steady beep of monitors, and when I open my eyes, I’m in a hospital room.