Anger.
All I see is anger.
I recognize it, because for a long time that was all I felt, too. It's the look I saw every time I encountered my reflection in the mirror.
"You've been in my house," I say. "Looking for me, I suppose."
He shakes his head. "I didn't go in there. Didn't have to. Your car was gone. Knew you'd be back eventually."
He's lying, I think.
He has to be.
Somebody's been in there.
It wasn't me.
"I'm surprised you're here," I say calmly, trying to buy myself a moment to think. "I thought it would be Kelvin, maybe one of the others. Getting your hands dirty isn't really your thing."
"Yeah, well, a man does a job himself when he's got a personal claim to it."
"So it's personal."
"You know it is."
His hand is steady. It doesn't shake.
He's going to shoot me.
I know it.
And he's not going to miss his target.
This isn't an idle threat or meant to send some message. He's a man on a mission and his mission is murder. The end always comes at the hand of a friend. I should expect no less than the man who was like a father to me.
"Go on," I say, my voice steady. I feel no fear. I probably should. Maybe it's the monster in me that isn't afraid of death. Living terrifies me more. Living is fucking hard. I've already died once. "Do it if you're going to do it. Put a bullet in my head. Make your daughter proud."
His anger flares. "She was too good for you."
"She was," I agree, "but she loved me, nonetheless."
Ray's finger presses against the trigger, close to squeezing it, as I continue to stare him in the eyes. There's something wrong with me, I think. I should be pleading for my life. I should be praying I live. My heart should race. I should break a sweat. Something. Anything.
But I feel nothing.
Again, there's nothing.
Nothing until I hear my name.
It's hesitant, spoken behind me in the house, a faint whisper in that familiar voice I never thought I'd hear again. Naz. It's just my imagination, I tell myself. I didn't really hear it.
Except I did.
I heard it, and I hear it again. Naz.
This time Ray hears it, too.
It's real.
His gaze shifts past me, into the open doorway, his anger giving way to surprise. I turn quickly, catching a pair of soft brown eyes, hesitant but devoid of fear. She can see me but she can't see him. She thinks I'm alone. She thinks I'm just standing here.
She isn't afraid of me.
Not anymore.
Karissa.
She isn't sure what to think of my silence as she takes a step toward me and speaks yet again. "Ignazio?"
My heart skips a beat before hammering hard in my chest, my thoughts suddenly racing. There's the feeling. There's the fear. There's the adrenaline. It washes through me all at once until I'm drowning in it, but it's not for me. No, not in the least. It's for her.
No.
No.
Fuck, no.
She's not supposed to be here.
Karissa steps toward me.
So does Ray.
My gaze bounces between them, frantic.
It's only seconds, those brief seconds where the world stops turning, when you stare down the barrel of a gun that you know is going to take everything from you. Your life, maybe, but certainly your reason to live. But it only lasts seconds before the gun shifts.
Ray aims over my shoulder, into the doorway. His finger squeezes the trigger as I scream, lunging at him. The gunshot goes off, loud in my ear, a small explosion that rocks the air around me. I hit him a second too late, knocking him to the ground, familiar rage consuming me. We struggle as I fight him, getting my hands on the gun, beating him with it to get him to loosen his grip before turning it around on him. I don't hesitate. I don't even think about it.
I grip the gun.
I pull the trigger.
A second after the gunshot goes off, I hear the sharp inhale, the sucking in of air from lungs desperate to breathe. My eyes are on Ray, as he lays on his back in the grass, immobile. He's not breathing.
It didn't come from him.
No.
God, no.
My eyes dart to the doorway of the house when the sound hits me again. I don't see Karissa. She's not standing there anymore. But I can hear her.
I hear her when she gasps.
When she tries to breathe.
Pushing away from Ray, getting to my feet, I drop the gun in the grass and rush inside, nearly collapsing as soon as I step in the foyer. Blood streaks the white linoleum surrounding Karissa. She lays flat on her back, clutching a wound on her chest, trying to keep the blood in but it's seeping out too fast. Dropping to my knees, I pull her into my arms, forcing her weak hands away from the wound. I tear her shirt open, getting it out of the way. The wound is near her rib cage and it's sucking air every time she inhales.
Shit.
I put her hands tightly against it again, looking down at her. "Hold right there, okay? I'm going to get something to stop the air."