With the glow from the hallway, I don't turn on the light, which makes it all the more jarring when with my next step, my foot skates through something wet, warm, and thick. Unable to regain my balance and stop my trajectory from going vertical to horizontal, I'm suddenly flat on the floor.
Ouch! Dammit, that hurt like a mother. What the hell?
A tinny, almost stale coppery stench wafts through the air as I scramble to get up. My hands slide through the slick, sticky substance and I can't figure out what the hell spilled on the floor.
I'm almost standing when I see the body, or more accurately, the head and shoulders. The counter blocks the rest of the body-the dead body. It's … Greg?
I catapult up with a scream and frantically race to flip on the light. It is Greg. He's on the floor, blood pooled around his head and spreading out from there, across the tiles. His skin is pallid, almost grey-tinged, lips slack and eyes open, eerily vacant.
There's a black hole in the center of his forehead with what looks to be burn marks-a bullet wound. His blood is everywhere.
I choke back my tears and my stomach rolls as I fumble for my phone. I can't seem to grab hold of it. My hands are covered in blood-Greg's blood. It's all over my bare legs and dress.
When I said I wanted all trace of him gone, I never wished him dead, and murdered no less. My lungs beg for air and the taste of fear sours in my mouth. What if whoever did this is still here?
Hastily backing out of the kitchen, I dial Evan, all the while alert, darting around the place to make sure I'm alone.
"Sweetness." His warm, deep voice blankets me, instantly warming me by degrees.
"Evan, oh my God, please come." My tone is frantic and breathless.
"What happened?" There's rustling and his breath quickens, and I can only guess that he's on the move, running.
"He's dead … " I start to say. My tears spill down my cheeks and my voice shakes.
I leave my apartment and there's a man standing by the elevator.
"Who's dead?" Evan's even breaths are heavier. He's coming to me.
The man is tall, broad, and looks vaguely familiar. Is he one of Franco's men? He starts to walk toward me.
"Evan, come quick! There's a man here-" I choke on my sobs, my breathing choppy and labored.
"Get out of the apartment," he orders. "Ghost should be in the hall."
I'm hearing what he's saying, but it's not making sense. The man briskly walks toward me as I violently tremble and drop the phone.
"CARYS!" Evan shouts through the phone, and I prepare to die.
"You okay?" the man asks me, as he kneels before me and picks up the phone. His hand hesitantly hovers over my shoulder, uncertain if he should touch me or not.
I scramble backward like a crab and hit the wall.
"Hello," he says into my phone. "Looking right at her, boss."
He now comes closer with the phone outstretched. "I'm with Van, I work for him. I'm Ghost. It's going to be okay." His voice is soft but strong. "Van wants to talk to you."
He places the phone to my ear. With a ragged breath, my stomach lurches but quickly steadies at the sound of Evan's voice
"Sweetness, I'm a couple minutes away. I'll be there soon. Talk to me. Tell me what happened." His tone is calm and soothing.
My thoughts are jumbled and disjointed as I tell him things out of sequence. My eyes are fixed on the stranger, who's still crouched beside me. He's alert, constantly checking the hallway, no longer attempting to touch me.
While I hurriedly and incoherently ramble, Evan is patient, reassuring me every step of the way. He explains that Ghost has been following me. He didn't listen to me when I said no. I should be mad, but right now, staring into the dark eyes of my guardian, I'm grateful he didn't.
Finally, the stairwell door bursts open and Evan steps through. He's at the other end of the hallway as I scramble to get up, to get to him. Before I'm fully standing, he's on me. His iron arms band around me. Immediately, the hammering of my heart slows somewhat and my breathing eases.
"It's okay, Sweetness, it's okay." He rubs my back and picks me up, carrying me to my apartment.
"Someone could still be in there." My outburst startles him as he steps back and looks down at me. "Ghost's gone in and is checking it out, but it's not likely. If they'd heard you come in, they'd have come out after you," he says solemnly, squeezing me tight. As the realization sinks in, I'm even more grateful for having been watched by one of Evan's men.
§
Evan
SHE'S SHAKING EVEN ENCASED in a blanket. While Ghost sweeps the place, I get her showered, changed, and now wrapped in my arms, waiting for reinforcements. She was a mess, and getting her into the shower wasn't easy.
She didn't want to be alone, and being in the bathroom with her wasn't enough. I ended up joining her, and it was my hands that washed away all the blood.