Hellcat

Chapter 81

Everything came rushing at me. Matt was hurt. I was hurt. We were both half-dead. Karen was alive, but that was the only thing that made this night any better than a complete disaster. We had failed to stop the imposter. Father Lantom was dead. A few parishioners were hurt, if not dead as well. I could barely stand even if I wanted to. Matt was unconscious. And I was so lost to the pain and fear that I didn't hear the sirens until Karen's quivering hand gently gripped my shoulder.

"Allison," she whispered, voice shaking as she spoke. "Allison, we have to go," she pleaded. Giving a small nod, I lifted my forehead from Matt's. Sniffling, I brushed away my tears before bringing my hand to Matt's cheek. Thumb stroking gently over his bloodstained skin, I attempted to rouse him.

"Matt, come on. You gotta get up, Matty. We gotta get up," I called to him gently, shifting my hand down to his chest. His heartbeat picked up under my touch. "Please, wake up. Come on, Matt, wake up." He let out a small groan, lifting his head slowly. Then his body jerked as I assumed his senses came rushing back to him.

"Allison?" he ground out, head jerking in small increments as he tried to pinpoint where I was. "I'm here," came my broken response. "Karen. Is she...?" he began to ask. Karen shifted closer to us, gently touching his arm. "I'm okay," she sniffled. Turning my head slowly in an attempt to keep the black spots from returning to my vision, I saw her cheeks streaked with tears.

"Can you sit up?" she asked him tentatively. "Yeah," he responded sharply, grunting as he slowly pushed himself into a sitting position. Straightening my arm, I propped myself up. Pain shot through my wrist at all my weight on it, especially after being twisted like it had been, but I ignored it.

"We gotta go," I rasped, feeling the blood dry in my throat. My hand began to slip from Matt's chest, but his shot up, covering mine and keeping it pressed against his heart. He leaned his head towards me, and I knew exactly what he wanted. Because, in that moment, the two of us with our asses thoroughly kicked, I wanted it too.

Pressing my forehead to his, I wanted – no, needed – to take a breath. He was alive. I was alive. Both of us were worse for wears and worried like hell about each other, but we were alive. And yet, after all we had been through, we still both seemed to need that touch to truly believe that we were, more or less, okay.

My eyes drifted closed, fingers curling into the material of his black shirt. His thumb brushed over the skin on the back of my hand, occasionally fluttering over my busted knuckles. Breathing deep, I took in the scent of him. Blood, sweat, and something so undeniably Matt. We were alive. We were okay. We were together.

"Guys, we gotta go," Karen's shuttering whisper broke through the moment. I pulled my forehead from his, eyes fluttering open with great protest. "Where is he?" Matt whispered, his hand falling away from mine. "I don't know. I think he got away," she muttered as my hand fell from his chest, and I shifted so I was sitting on my knees.

Pain spiked up my legs, but again, I shoved it to the back of my mind for later. Warm blood was still seeping from the ragged puncture on my hip. More trickled down from cuts and splits in the skin above my eyebrow and on my cheek. I was in worse shape than I had been in a long time, and it took more of a toll on me than I could have imagined.

"No," Matt's pained whisper caught my attention. His attention was turned toward the pulpit where I knew the body of Father Lantom still laid. "I'm so sorry, Matt," I whispered shakily, dragging myself closer to him before gently wrapping my arms around his neck. "Jesus. Father..." Matt huffed before turning his face into my shoulder. "He killed him. Allison, he killed him." Matt's shoulders quivered under my arms, and I let him. I wanted to let him cry. I wanted to let him mourn. But now wasn't the time, and Karen reminded us both of that.