Out of Time

Chapter 3

It was the incessant coughing that woke me up from a dead sleep. I assumed it was allergies or something since we were out in the woods. My little sisters, born as preemies, always had a cough, sniffle or fever of some sort.

When the vomiting started a couple hours later, I figured it was the food we stopped for on the way to the cabin. I ended up putting my pillow over my head so I couldn't hear the retching sounds coming from the bathroom. With a weak stomach, I knew I would be next in line for the toilet if I had to keep listening to them.

The moaning and groaning coming from outside my door made sense in my sleep deprived mind. They had been up all night, hugging the toilet. Obviously they would be miserable. I felt like joining in the chorus of strange noises when I rolled over for the hundredth time and a spring poked me in the back.

What finally pulled me completely from sleep, and will forever be seared in my mind, was the terrified scream of my baby brother. He wasn't always one for dramatics so I knew something had scared him.

I ran from the room I was in and raced to find Weston. His sobs carried down the hall from the kitchen. In my fluffy socks, I skidded to a stop in front of the island. There he sat, on the floor of the kitchen, blood in a puddle beneath him. I watched as he lifted his hands in front of his face and stare as the thick, red liquid dripped back to the floor.

"Weston, baby, what happened? Where are you hurt?"

Finally, my instincts kicked in and rushed over to where he was. The blood wasn't just under him though, it was covering the entire kitchen floor. Belatedly, I realized I hadn't slipped on the smooth surface of refinished wood. I had slid in someones blood.

"Mommy and, and Isla ..." he hiccuped on another sob, "they, um, this is theres." He showed me his hands again.

"What do you mean, pal?" I tried really hard to ignore what my mind was screaming at me.

"This mess, Mack, it's mommy and Isla's," the color drained from his face as he looked over my shoulder at something.

While I had been talking to Weston I had heard someone else from my family coming into the room. It never occurred to me to turn around to find out who. I was so focused on my brother and what he was talking about.

"Mack, don't let her get me!" Weston screamed and tried to squeeze into the cabinet under the sink.

A small hand latched onto my arm with a strength only my dad possessed. The size of the hand and the power of the squeeze confused my already muddled brain. Slowly, I peered over my shoulder to see what spooked Weston so badly. What I saw, no who I saw, will keep me awake at night for the rest of my life.

One of my sisters wobbled behind me. It was almost impossible to tell which one due to the amount of blood covering her entire upper half. I never had a problem telling the twins apart. Even as newborns I always knew which was Isla and which was Paisley. Now though, the only way I could tell is if they said which one they were.

She stood there, in her nightgown covered in blood and vomit. Her normally bright blue eyes had taken on a dull grey color. The blond hair that was always in a neat braid was dyed red, turning it a muddy brown. The noises she was making, could only be compared to a dying animal. It was a mix of groaning and growling. Nothing I would ever want to hear again, that was for damn sure.

And the power that she squeezed my arm with, in her small twelve year old didn't compute in my seriously messed up mind.

"Isla, baby, is that you?" the quietness of my voice surprised me.

The grip on my arm tightened and I wasn't sure whether that confirmed or denied which twin had the vice like hold on me.

"What's the matter, Isla? Are you hurt? Show me where it hurts and I'll help you."