Half his face was melted off. The skin beneath, if it could be called skin, was a bright pink and horrifying. I realized the smell was coming from him, and he should’ve been in the hospital. He shifted and looked up at me, blinking awake as I stood there, and for a moment we regarded each other. He didn’t move, but he didn’t seem surprised.
“Hello, Jarvis,” I said. “You don’t look so good.”
He managed a horrible smile and grimaced. “I don’t feel great, if I’m being honest with you.”
Cora stayed near the kitchen, her face a mask of horror. I thought she might be sick, but she stayed standing, not moving, barely breathing.
I knelt down next to Jarvis. “Hedeon said you’ve been around town.”
“I made the rounds.”
“From the looks of you, that wasn’t easy.”
“I wanted to make sure you burned—just like me.” He gave a little chuckle then groaned in agony.
“Why aren’t you in a hospital?”
He made a face like I’d kicked him in the gut. “What the fuck could a hospital do for me? Keep me alive?” He pushed his blanket off and struggled to sit up. The right half of his body was covered in bandages, some of them yellowed and sick-looking. He coughed a wet, deep, hacking cough that sounded like glass deep in his chest. I watched him settle into a seated position and his eyes focused on me again.
“They could’ve done something for you at least.”
“I’d never look the same. I’d be a fucking monster. And for what?”
I stood up. “You made this choice, you know.”
“I never chose for you to burn me alive.” His tone was harsh and there was a real layer of emotion behind his words. “I never wanted that.”
“If you want me to feel sorry for you, it won’t work. You tried to murder me in the street over a bag of drugs. You came for me, Jarvis. You begged for this.”
He laughed then groaned. “I thought you wouldn’t have the balls, not with your pretty little wife around.” His eyes flicked to her then back to me. “Interesting you decided to bring her along.”
“She’s keeping me in check.”
“Lucky me.”
I held the gun out and aimed it at his head. I didn’t know how I felt about this, whether I should pity the broken creature, or if I should be elated that it was finally over. With him dead, there’d be no more violence in the city, and we could move forward with our lives again.
“Reid.” Cora spoke up, pulled my attention away. A little smile sparked along Jarvis’s mouth but I ignored him and turned to her. “Don’t shoot him.”
I narrowed my eyes. “What?”
“It’ll be too loud.” She frowned and looked around. “We’re in the middle of the suburbs, right? They’ll find you.”
I cursed softly. She was right. Folks around here weren’t used to gunshots—they’d call the police right away, and I’d be caught out in the open. At least in the city we had safehouses scattered all over the place where we could lie low for a while.
“We’ve got no other choice.” I held the gun closer to him.
“Look at him, we can just, we can let him die, right?”
“No, we can’t.” I knew what she was doing, but I couldn’t let her talk me to of this. “I’m sorry, Cora. If you don’t want to watch, leave the room.”
“Reid—”
“This is necessary and you know it. You heard Hedeon. You know what happens if I don’t do it.”
“Listen to him,” Jarvis said, “put me out of my misery.”
Cora flinched. “I can’t watch.”
“Then go into the hall.”
She took a sharp breath then turned away. “I hate this. You know that?”
“I know,” I said. “But sometimes, violence is a mercy. Sometimes, it can’t be avoided.”
Jarvis’s smile sent a chill down my spine. Cora walked out into the hall, and once she was gone, I pulled the trigger.
No talking, no final words. One second alive, the next second dead. His blood splattered across the couch and the wall behind him.
I shoved my gun away and walked fast into the hall. I grabbed Cora by the arm and we hurried away. I didn’t hear any doors open, which was good. Maybe everyone thought it was a firework, or someone’s TV. We reached the stairwell, reached ground level, and made it out to the parking lot.
Once we were in the car and on the road back into the city, Cora turned to me, her eyes wet and glistening. “I know you had to do that. I just wish you didn’t have to.”
I gripped the wheel. “Sometimes I do too. But that’s not our life.”
She nodded, turned to the window, and went silent.
The drive back to the city was scenic—trees, nice houses, people walking through the little Glenside downtown. We didn’t speak. There was nothing to say. Jarvis was dead, and I could finally breathe.
18
Cora
The house felt strained after Reid killed Jarvis, but at least the police never came knocking, and at least I could stop feeling like someone might break into the house at any moment and cut my throat.
I dreamed of Jarvis, his melted face laughing, the sound of the gunshot, the blank expression in Reid’s eyes as he tucked the gun away and took my arm. I wanted to hate him for what he did, but even in my dreams I couldn’t manage to find the anger that used to fill me. It was like talking about Alex out loud had released something from my chest, something that had been blocking me up for so long, and now I could see that what Reid did was necessary—even if it was horrible.
We slept in separate beds that night. The joy, the unbridled passion of the last few days, it was all gone, sucked away. I wanted to get it back—I still felt it, deep inside—but we seemed to both know that we needed a night apart to sort through our feelings.
He went to work the next day and I lounged around the house trying not to think about the dream or about the sound of that gunshot. Jarvis was dead and that was a good thing. He wasn’t suffering anymore, and he couldn’t cause us problems—and the city wasn’t going to break down into anarchy and violence. Order had been restored.
But I still couldn’t seem to settle myself down, no matter how many times I tried to rationalize it in my head.
As I stared at the television, trying to distract myself with episodes of 90 Day Fiancé, I heard several car doors slam shut outside. I didn’t think much of it until a shadow fell across the front door’s small upper windows, and a loud, pounding knock resonated through the living room.
I sat up straight, heart racing, sweat beading under my arms. My panic reaction started instantly.
That wasn’t a friendly knock. That wasn’t the kind of knock from a delivery guy, or a friendly political canvasser, or someone looking to talk about Jesus—that was an angry pounding.
I knew I should run. I could’ve gotten up and run out the back, jumped the fence, and tried to get away on foot, and maybe I would’ve made it, but something drew me back toward that door. I got up and drift over to it as another pounding knock slammed into my skull—and someone called my name.