I murmured, “You’re dying, Jeffrey. The drug is used to paralyse. It’s part of what surgeons use in local anaesthesia. Administered like this with no breathing apparatus or doctors nearby, it’s fatal.” I sighed, reliving the utter despair I’d felt one night. The inability to sleep. The failure of losing Olive. The destitution at paying blackmail. I’d walked the streets, seeking help.
I didn’t know what I wanted. I wasn’t weak enough to kill myself, but I was weak enough to dabble with the idea of forgetting for a night.
The drug dealer I’d spoken to had a range of pharmaceuticals. His sister was a nurse. Underpaid and overworked, she helped stock his street store with things otherwise impossible to get hold of.
He’d described the deadly drug with a strange kind of fondness. Said he’d watched a Forensic Files from America and how it’d been used in a killing where the murderer got away as the drug left no trace behind.
He’d told me the method of death.
How the nervous system shut down, followed by respiratory failure, and every other pump and flow that kept us humans alive. The victim suffocated to death, all while their body lay paralysed. Unable to scream. Unable to move. Locked inside a form that no longer belonged to them.
I didn’t know why I’d bought it.
I used up money I didn’t have.
But I was angry.
I was broken-hearted for the girls who’d lived such similar fates, tied to trees and hidden under bushes, bound by ropes and silenced by gags.
Jeffrey deserved to feel a fraction of what they went through.
And even though I’d researched it—read studies on other killings involving the drug that said science and forensics had gotten too advanced to no longer be the invisible killer—I didn’t care.
I would go to prison for murder.
But so what?
I’d been avoiding jail my entire life.
I’d managed to stay out of the system even though my childhood was primed for me to become a pickpocket and delinquent. I’d managed to raise a daughter on my own after a teacher molested me and threatened to have me thrown in jail for rape.
Jail for me was always a shadow, stalking me, waiting for me, playing roulette with which crime I’d be imprisoned for.
At least this one was justified.
Patting Jeffrey’s cheek, I said, “Thank you for teaching me the most important lesson of all, uncle. Thank you for showing me that trust isn’t something I can afford. I’ll make sure to teach my daughter, so she’s never as gullible as me.”
His lips didn’t move even though his eyes begged for breath. His stare was full of panic and pleas, desperate to live. He didn’t even have the luxury of gasping for air or thrashing around for help.
He was silent.
Still.
A corpse already.
He’d taught me how to use my painting talent. He’d also taught me that I’d come from a lineage of bastards.
I was the last one left.
And who knew, maybe I’d die with him tonight.
The adrenaline keeping me awake finally gave way under an icy cloak of shock. The blood that’d steadily been pumping down my legs was no longer warm but chilly.
I was cold.
And very, very tired.
My eyes met O’s as she hugged herself, dabbled in painted olives, crowned in silver-leafed twigs, she was so beautiful she could pass as the angel that would guide me to heaven.
But I didn’t deserve heaven.
I knew where I was heading, and I clung to my daughter one last time.
“I’m sorry, Olive Oyl. So, so sorry.” Her hair smelled wrong. No scent of strawberry or home. She felt bigger than last year. Her arms stronger and hair longer. I’d missed her growing. I’d failed her for far too long.
She wriggled closer as my head swam and I no longer had the strength to fight.
Olive was free.
O was safe.
That was all that mattered.
I fell to the floor and blacked out.
Chapter Eight
______________________________
Olin
THE AWNING HAD become a tomb.
My hands were soaked in Gil’s blood from trying to stem his bleeding. Olive had helped me grab kitchen scissors and cut up one of Jeffrey’s shirts to wrap around his wounded waist.
We’d both tried to revive him, yelling, touching, even throwing a glass of cold water on his face.
I couldn’t carry him out of here on my own and I had no idea where we were.
My skin had turned to frost from the bitter night and Olive couldn’t stop whimpering beside her unconscious father. My gaze kept crawling to Jeffrey, open-eyed and slack mouthed, dead and silent on the floor.
Forcing myself to stay focused and not give in to shock, I patted Gil’s pockets, searching for a phone. I cringed against the tackiness caused by his cooling blood, refusing to look at the red pool beneath him.
I couldn’t carry him to help. Therefore, help would have to come to him.
I cried out in relief as I found his mobile.
Olive huddled close to me as I swiped it on. No password, which was good. A black screen with a red dot and a dark forest glowed. The GPS had worked.
Gil had chased us.
He hadn’t given up.
I won’t give up on him either.
Typing in the emergency number, I pressed connect, only for the device to leap in my hands with an incoming call, interrupting the outbound attempt.
I recognised the name.
I answered with a shockwave of relief.
“Justin.” My voice cracked. Heat flashed up my spine.
I sticky-taped my emotions together for Olive and Gil’s sake.
“O? Oh, my God. Is that you?” Justin’s panic filled the awning, cutting through Olive’s fresh sobs. Poor girl had witnessed her dad being shot and had his blood all over her innocent hands. And now she shared space with a cadaver. What sort of psychological issues would she battle?
“Yes, it’s me, but I’ll have to talk to you later. I need to call the police.”
His voice lowered with authority. “I already did. I called them forty minutes ago when Gil sent his second message. What the fuck is going on, O? Where’s Gil? Are you okay?”
I looked down at the taupes, silvers, and blacks decorating my mostly naked body. I couldn’t make out what foliage pattern he’d covered me with, but I had no injuries of my own—just Gil’s blood painting me in a morbid hue.
“He...he said he has a daughter. Is she...with you?” Justin’s tone held disbelief. “Tell me what the hell is happening.”
I looked at Olive. She curled beside Gil, nuzzling into his side, crying softly for him to wake up. Inching closer, I stroked her back, doing my best to offer comfort when I had none to give.
“Yes, she’s with me. We’re fine. But Gil’s been shot. He needs medical attention urgently.”
Something rustled outside. Twigs snapped. Leaves crunched. My skin pebbled with fear as I stood and braced for yet more predators.
Jeffrey had been a predator and had been put down for his violent tendencies. What new evil had found us?
“The police shouldn’t be too far away. They’ll be able—”
“Police! Don’t move.” A bright spotlight suddenly shone from the deep darkness beyond the awning. I raised one arm, keeping the phone by my ear with the other. “They’re already here.” My eyes squinted against the brightness, shivering in the cold.