Now You See Me

Fifty-Five: Debts Paid

"Jesus Christ," Chris swore in a strained whisper. "Jesus Ch...."

He trailed off, made a few indistinguishable noises, and then fell silent.

My head was as light as it would be if someone had replaced my brain with cotton wool, and at this point in time, it was functioning just as effectively. I stared at the corpse, which had landed at my feet and was soaking the towel I sat on with crimson. If I stayed where I was, the blood would touch me.

I scrambled upright– a delayed reaction if ever there was one – letting go of Chris as I went, and tripped over myself several times before I collapsed by the toilet and began to dry heave into the bowl. The rippling surface of the water was nauseating; the seat felt too cold under my skin, too clinical. My hair stuck to my face and tickled my eyelids when I blinked.

The proximity of death was impossible to process. I had been seconds away from it, a hair's breadth. If Marilyn had been just one second later, the body on the floor would have been mine. I shuddered, and with a great lurch somewhere inside me, I was actually sick.

Behind me, noise had returned to room. I heard Chris's skin squeal against the plastic as he started to move again, and a heavy metallic thump as Marilyn dropped her gun. Just a moment later, I saw her collapse in my peripheral, a blur of black, white and crimson and the soft "woomph" of fabric. A light thud followed as her head hit the tiles.

I looked up. Her legs were grotesquely tangled with Rella's, and I had to look away as I threw up again, violently.

Chris was breathing like he'd run several miles as he carefully lifted himself out of the water and balanced precariously on the edge of the tub to dry. He met my eyes when his movement attracted my gaze, and for a long moment we just stared at each other in silent mutual shock. I couldn't think of anything to say.

"What now?" Chris whispered. His eyes kept drifting to the body below him on the floor. He was visibly shaking, even from where I was a couple of metres away. I didn't reply – couldn't. The silence I had enforced on myself was the only thing standing between me and a complete meltdown. The last twenty-four hours had been traumatic, exhausting, and painful. It had been nothing short of a miracle making it this far, but I realised then that I had probably come to my snapping point.

Neither of us had moved by the time someone came to see who had been shot. Thea ducked in extremely slowly, eyes wide and face sweaty. She kept looking behind her to make sure she wasn't being followed, but there was no point in her silence; she soon ruined it by shrieking at the sight ahead of her. I jumped and almost fell over, and couldn't help but send her an accusatory look. I couldn't take any more frights; I was going to throw something heavy at whoever gave me the next one.

"What. The hell. Happened," she whispered. "Are they all...." She stopped, pressed the back of her hand to her mouth, and then tried again. "Are they all dead?"

Something about her phrasing baffled me, and then I realised what it was. I'd been under the impression there were only two who had fallen, but beyond Thea in the bedroom, I could just make out Nell's body on the ground next to my wardrobe.

"She is," Chris whispered, when I still couldn't make myself talk. He pointed at Rella, and then at Marilyn. "She isn't. I don't know about Nell."

Thea turned and gave Nell a long look. She took one tentative step forward, and then three quick ones back, a loud gasp escaping her as she did so.

"She's not," Thea whispered, clenching her fists under her chin. "But she's not going anywhere fast, either. Oh God, this is awful." She reached up and buried both hands in her hair, turning back to face us. "And Vashde?"