I side step a few inches closer to the window to get a better view of the room and to place where not only Gage is now standing but Lincoln as well. Melissa’s face drops into one of serious contemplation as the gun that I had on me teeters back and forth between Gage and I. Rotating on my heel just enough, I get a clear view of everybody. Lincoln is half way between me and Gage. Gage is taking up the doorframe of the kitchen, taking tiny baby steps toward Melissa. He looks at me for a moment, locking eyes, conveying with the depths of our connection that he loves me. I don’t doubt that for a minute.
Losing myself in the beauty of Gage’s eyes, an earsplitting gunshot is fired and I instinctively duck, covering my head with my hands, closing my eyes, my ears begin ringing, and then I feel it.
Oh dear God!
Glass starts to crash down from behind me as the window breaks, shards of glass cascading like a jagged waterfall to the ground. Pieces tearing at my flesh, my feet stabbed over and over with tiny fragments of falling sharp glass. I bite my lip to keep from screaming in agony as hot pain laden tears sting my eyes.
My body begins to tremble, and I open my eyes to see the freshness of my blood oozing from deep cuts in my feet. Warmth coats my back. A warmth I’ve known before. I’m cut. Blood is surging from a stinging fiery inferno lodged in my back.
My name is screamed. I register it though my painfully ringing ears. And I look up. In slow motion, Lincoln lunges for me and Gage dives at Melissa just as the gun unloads again and then again. Lincoln’s massive body hits me like a Mack truck, buckling my legs, and landing right on top of me. My head ricochets off the hardwood of my floor and by sheer force; his body knocks the wind out of me. The glass in my back is rooting itself deeper into my flesh, like a hot branding iron, melting butter.
Taking in a deep breath, I turn my head to the side, and no on in the room is standing. Everybody is down. Where is Gage?!
The large body on top of me doesn’t move. I shake Lincoln’s shoulder and he doesn’t budge. I can’t hear him even if I try.
“Lincoln.” I cry out. The pain overtaking my body is too much. But the need to see him and Gage is much greater. I need to get him off me. My legs are slowly losing their feeling. His weight becomes too much. Warmth is overcoming me. Am I dying?
“Lincoln.” I slowly force my way inch-by-inch out from under his unmoving body. Slithering my feet out the last tug I break free. Then I see it! Oh dear God! No! No!
Lincoln has been shot! The warmth I was bathing in wasn’t my body giving out. It was Lincoln’s. Eye’s staring fixatedly right at me, he gasps for air and I crawl closer. His legs. Oh God his legs! The blood! He’s dying!
Blood surges out of giant holes, turning my hardwood floor into a swimming pool of bright red blood.
“Lincoln! No!” I screech, and I immediately tear my shirt from my body, and lunge for his mangled leg. Not caring about my own pain, I have to help him! He can’t die!
Wrapping it like a tourniquet, I tie it tight and I hold onto him, my own body fading from blood loss and the sharp glass residing deep in the flesh grating on my insides.
Laying my head on his chest, I feel his shallow breathing as I cry, bawling for him. Lincoln is dying.
“Please, somebody help! Help!” I sob. My entire body cloaked in his still warm blood.
“I love you Gage, I love you Lincoln.” I mutter, one last moment, as my eyes flutter with heaviness and I fade in the oblivion passing out, clinging to my best friend’s chest.
Chapter Thirty-Three
6 weeks later
Lex
“You about ready to go visit Uncle Lincoln at Memorial Park, Emma?” I ask my pretty little girl, attempting to hold a smile and force myself to keep from breaking down. The past six weeks since Melissa came in and tried to take Emma away, has been unbelievably hard.
“Yes, can I bring him some posies?” she asks, her hand hovering over one of the forty different flower arrangements that have been delivered. We’ve had to strategically place them around the house to keep it from looking too cluttered. The townsfolk of Heartfair are such loving people.
“Yes, sure. You look very pretty today.” I admire her lovely yellow sundress, her dark hair is down her back today and she seems like she’s doing well. The counselor said she’s very resilient and handling the tragedy better than most adults.
She smiles in my direction, tugging a handful of daisies out of a red vase. Walking back over to me, she folds her tiny little hand into mine, we walk out the backdoor, lock up, and she slides into the back of VW Bug that’s parked in the driveway. Laying the daises on the seat, she fastens her own seatbelt like a big girl, as I get behind the wheel. I hate that she’s growing up so fast. Just three weeks ago, I was the one fastening her seatbelt.