Courtney's Secrets (The Clandestine Series)

Admit Twenty-Two

My ears rang from the discharge of the gun and the back of my throat filled with bile at the sight of Davianté's bloody back a couple feet in front of me. He laid still, his cheek conformed to the floor, and he blinked as I crawled toward him.

Courtney advanced toward us with the barrel aimed at Davianté. I dropped on top of him, not entirely sure whether she would still shoot both of us or not. His warm blood soaked through my shirt. I squeezed my eyes shut, awaiting the pummel of her bullets, but they didn't come.

"Deja, move!" came Courtney's deranged bellowing.

I lifted my head. "Leave us alone."

"Why?" She waved the gun around, pointing it from him to me, and then to him again. "So you can ride off into the sunset with Davianté and leave me?" She said it like it was scandalous.

He gasped and spluttered, and I eased my body weight off of him. "If you love me you'll give yourself up," I said.

"Why would I do that? I have nothing left to live for. You despise me." She slackened her stiff stance as she spiraled into a meltdown. Lifting the gun to her temple.

"I don't hate you." Even after everything she had done, to me, to Davianté, to my birth mother—I would always acknowledge Courtney as my mom, even if she belonged in a mental institution or prison. "You need help."

Courtney lowered the gun and shuddered in tears. "Deja—you have to help me. I've messed up." The skin around her neck turned red and blotchy. "You have to help me finish him."

Davianté crushed his eyelids tight and groaned.

I continued to cover him like a blanket. I hoped I could coerce her to do the right thing. "No—Mom—we need to call an ambulance."

She covered her ears and shouted, "No! I'll be put away for this. Do you understand? I'll never be free again."

My desire to protect Davianté was the only thing that kept me going as my vision blurred again from my splitting headache. "You need to do this, Mom. Do it for me." She continued to cry while we were losing precious time.

"Give yourself up," I said, and then I heard the faint sound of someone's voice coming from Davianté's pants pocket. "Hello? Hello?" I reached into his pocket and pulled it out. The screen said 911. A wave of excitement sparked inside me when I realized Davianté had dialed them before running into our house, and they had heard everything.

Suddenly a man's voice boomed in our doorway. "HANDS UP WHERE I CAN SEE THEM!"

I angled my neck toward the door to see Sheriff Young entering the kitchen, gun drawn. Red and blue flashing lights reflected on the bay window.

I wasn't sure if Courtney would try to go out in a blaze of gunfire, but her eyes shifted to me, and she slowly lowered her arm, dropped the gun by her feet, kicked it away, and raised her hands high. Sheriff Young charged toward her. "ON THE FLOOR. HANDS BEHIND YOUR BACK," he shouted. She did as she was told, and he handcuffed her, then patted her down.

"Deja," Courtney craned her neck to see me, "don't answer anything without my lawyer present. And don't leave me. You know I love you. I'm your mom."

I didn't respond. I was embarrassed by her. I felt hopelessly angry with her. Angry because of what she had done, and hopeless because there was nothing I could do to change her, but I loved her deep down. I didn't want to speak to her in front of anyone because of how ashamed I was.

After that, a blur of deputies and paramedics swarmed our house. I sat up, and Courtney's eyes met mine as a deputy escorted her to a squad car.

I turned to  whose lips were purple around the edges. For a moment I thought he was slipping away. My heart kicked up in anguish. He held his ribs and flinched. A paramedic gently moved me away to examine him.