“Tell me you loaded this thing with more than one bullet!” Mama screamed at the gun like she thought it might answer.
Like she was living in a nightmare, Bethany’s arms and legs refused to move. She was trapped. Weightless. A stranger to her own body, floating outside herself. Helpless to do anything but watch as everything happened in the space of a few heartbeats.
Thump thump.
The red-haired cop yelled, “Show me your hands!” Instead of doing what he was told, the bad man lurched upright.
Thump thump.
A silver knife whizzed through the air. Mama’s body jerked, and her hands flew up to clutch her throat.
Thump thump.
Gunshots erupted, and the bad man stumbled back and spun, like he was doing a dance.
Thump thump.
He grabbed for Mama, but another loud bang rang out, and Doctor Rotten fell to the floor while blood sprayed the air.
Thump thump.
Mama’s knees slammed the floor near Bethany’s head before she tumbled sideways, striking the wood with a thump.
Thump thump.
The pretty cop yelled for someone to call an ambulance.
“Mama?”
Inch by inch, Katarina’s head rolled to face Bethany, and her lips trembled into the tiniest smile. Spell broken, tears streaked down Bethany’s cheeks, and she sobbed in relief.
Mama’s alive. She’s going to be okay.
But when Bethany scooted closer, her body went cold, so cold, and the world came crashing down all around her.
Blood. Blood gushed from her mama’s neck, spilling onto the floor and trickling along the wood like a tiny red stream.
“B-aby.”
Hoarse, more of a rasp than a word. Not like her mama at all. Tears burned Bethany’s eyes, but she blinked them away. She wouldn’t cry, not now.
Not when Mama needed her to be strong.
“Yes, Mama?”
Mama’s lips moved, but only a wet gurgle came out. The noise was wrong, all wrong. Once again, Bethany wished she were still a baby so she could close her eyes and pretend herself back into the little house by the mountains, with her mama teaching her how to survive the zombies and heating up hot chocolate.
But she wasn’t a baby. Not anymore.
Bethany slipped her hand into Mama’s waiting one. The skin was cool to the touch, but she pretended not to notice, smiling instead of crying even though her throat hurt and her eyes burned.
A hole opened up in her heart, like someone had taken a shovel and dug part of it out, but she let Mama guide her hand to the pretty policewoman’s, who knelt on the other side.
All three of their hands were joined together, resting on Mama’s belly.
The policewoman’s eyes were sad when they met Bethany’s over her mama’s body. Bethany hated that look. Sorrow. Pity. Anger flashed, and she wanted to scream.
Don’t you know anything? She’s not like those other ladies. She’s a superhero! Superheroes are always okay in the end.
Her throat was too clogged for the words to come out, though. To escape the policewoman’s sadness, she looked down at their hands. Smeared across all three of them was her mother’s blood.
Bethany stared at the red stain while the hole in her heart grew bigger. A choking pain spread through her chest.
“Mama,” the words almost couldn’t come out, “please don’t die.”
Over her bent head, the policewoman murmured two words very softly, “I promise.”
Mama’s fingers gave Bethany one final ghostlike squeeze before her hand went limp.
“No! Mama, please.”
Bethany jerked her head up in time to watch Mama release a soft sigh. Her chest rose and fell once more, but it didn’t rise again.
The hole in Bethany’s heart crumbled into a crater, then the rest of Bethany’s body crumbled too. She flung herself onto the woman who’d given her life, giant sobs shaking her body like earthquakes.
“Mama…I…I love you, Mama. You’ll…always be my…my…superhero.”
She sobbed until her head started to spin, and her vision turned fuzzy. Gentle hands stroked her back, but she barely noticed them as she clung to her mama, and the room gradually faded away.
35
The forensic team crinkled through the rooms of Kingsley’s childhood home on paper-booty wrapped feet, sifting through every last hair, fiber, and trace evidence with their usual brand of meticulous, by-the-book precision. Unlike Ellie, they seemed tireless in their smooth efficiency.
Cataloging the pictures on the wall. Brushing for prints to be entered into the database. Collecting blood samples and trailing string across the back bedroom and hall as they used the blood splatters and evidence to recreate the positioning of the attackers and the wounded.
They’d already taken Ellie and Clay’s guns like procedure dictated in officer involved shootings, and Ellie didn’t care if they never gave it back.
Ellie’s bones ached from an exhaustion so deep, she worried that no amount of sleep would ever banish the fatigue completely. This night was endless. Her watch claimed it was just after three o’clock in the morning, but she wouldn’t be surprised to discover this was Groundhog Day, and she’d been stuck in this same hellish night loop without sleep for three months straight.
She wanted nothing more than to go home, pop a Benadryl, and slip into a deep sleep. Forget the past twelve hours. Hell, forget the past week, month, maybe even year.
But that wasn’t an option. Kingsley might be dead, but Ellie’s job was to make sure that his legacy of horror and crime stopped too. The only way to do that was to collect all the evidence into custody and tie up every single loose knot, once and for all.
Besides, if she finished up here, guilt would dictate that she head straight for the hospital, to check in on her mom and keep her dad from driving the nursing staff bonkers. In typical Helen Kline style, Ellie’s mom was chafing at the overnight stay, if the flurry of texts Ellie had already received were anything to go by.
The texts alternated between insisting that she was fine and no one should be stuck in the hospital over a silly bump on the head, no matter how ugly, to when was Ellie coming to visit, to claiming that
