About an hour later, I heard suspicious rustling from upstairs, and then a creak and a bang.
I went to the kitchen drawer and took out my handgun. My father had given it to me when I was ten, after an agent had killed my mother. He told me that I had to be ready to use it on anyone who wasn't from Innsmouth.
I knew the noises were from Clara, and I suspected that she had gotten the old window open and was now out on the ledge. Not the most creative escape attempt— but she was desperate, I was sure.
I made sure the handgun was loaded, then went out the front door. Stepping back a few yards, I could see where she was standing on the porch roof, hands gripping the window ledge.
"Get back inside," I called up to her. "You won't get away that easy. You think I didn't think about the window when I put you in the guest room?"
"I'm not going back in there," Clara hissed down at me. "Shoot me now. I'd rather die than be wrapped up in this."
I cocked the handgun and pointed it at her.
"Gladly."
Aiming carefully, I steadied myself and shot.
Clara went down, blood flowing from her ankle. My ears rang from the shot. I think Clara screamed— but I couldn't hear it. I casually lowered the gun and went back inside and up to the guest bedroom.
I opened the window a little wider so that I could get out onto the roof. Clara was lying on it, still half-trying to crawl away. I grabbed her arm and hauled her back inside, then shut the window.
She collapsed to the floor, hands grasping at her bleeding foot.
"I'll get you bandages," I said. I still couldn't hear my own words for the ringing in my ears.
Clara looked up at me. The hatred in her eyes was intense.
"Fuck you," she mouthed.
I gave her a slight shrug. I did what I had to do. My family needed Clara. I needed my family. So here we all were.
I went down to the kitchen and put away the gun, then returned to her room with bandages. I wrapped her ankle, ignoring her cries of pain, then gave her a couple Advil and a NyQuil.
"Just sleep," I said. My hearing was starting to come back. "Don't let yourself worry about tomorrow."
She gave me a look full of contempt, but took the pills and the glass of water. I watched her as she lay back on the guest bed, bleeding through the bandage and onto my clean sheets.
"It's easier this way," I said softly.
"Maybe for you," she replied. "How can you even live with yourself?"
"It helps when the people you work for killed my mother," I said dryly. "It helps when you demonize me."
Then I turned and left the room. Tomorrow would come too soon for Clara. Too soon for me, too.
Because despite what I had said, there were some things that you wouldn't wish upon your worst enemy. And one of those things was the Esoteric Order of Dagon.
Published by arrangement with the Delta Green Partnership. The intellectual property known as Delta Green is a trademark and copyright owned by the Delta Green Partnership, who has licensed its use here. The contents of this document are © Augustine Stuart, excepting those elements that are components of the Delta Green intellectual property.
