Ice Cold (Van McCann AU)

Part 25

"What the hell were you thinking Lyla?" Paul's exasperated tone was drenched with anger, his face contorted with fury. "How could you? How could you think for one second that you could do this on your own?"

I was perched on the back steps of an ambulance whilst a paramedic tended to my injuries. I could barely bring myself to look at Paul, frightened to meet his eyes in case he saw me for what I really was. I could feel it. Something was changing inside me. All of the lies and deceit had built up, a grimy layer which couldn't be cleansed, and now here I was, a murderer. It couldn't get much worse... could it?

"It was Jason's idea." I fixed my eyes on the pavement as I spoke, looking up when a stretcher was wheeled past bearing his body. A blanket had been draped over him and I was grateful that I couldn't see him. I knew that if I was forced to look upon him again I'd still somehow see the accusation in his dead eyes.

"I don't care who came up with the idea!" Paul snapped. "This isn't the time to be keeping secrets, sneaking around and playing at being the hero. There's a bloody war on!"

I looked up at him then, the reflection of the blue and red lights from the emergency vehicles dancing across his face, highlighting the grief that was etched there.

"I thought it was the right thing to do. I didn't want to risk any more lives..."

"Jason is dead!" He cried, gesturing towards the coroner's van. "This isn't a petty criminal we're dealing with here, or did you forget? McCann has a kill list as long as your arm. He's a professional and he's dangerous! You can't take him on your own!"

"Here's the murder weapon," a female voice sounded out, distracting Paul, and we both looked up to see an agent holding an evidence bag containing my bloodied knife. The knife covered in my prints...

My heart stuttered as I remembered the feel of the blade sinking into Jason's neck with no more resistance than a knife through butter and the horror mixed with fierce satisfaction that I'd felt. But rather than dwelling on the grisly justice that I'd served, my mind started to piece together a story, a version of events that was plausible enough to be believed. My prints might have been on the knife, but Jason's also were... and Van's too.

"I think you need to come to the hospital for us to look at this arm wound," the paramedic said, trying to peel my coat down my arm, but I resisted, pulling away.

"It's nothing, it's only a graze!"

"You might have fragments of bullet in there," the paramedic insisted sternly. "At the very least you'll need stitches."

I went to open my mouth to protest, but Paul cut me off, glowering down at me. "For fuck's sake Lyla! Can you just do as you're told for once in your goddamn life!"