I fall to my knees. I've lost too much blood. I'll crawl if I have to.
I look up just in time to see Jorie's face contorting with rage. She slashes the knife at Charlotte, and it meets its mark. The skin at Charlotte's forehead separates into a gash inches long. She wobbles and catches herself on a tree before slowly sliding down its bark to the ground.
Get up. Get up!
I silently will my twin to hear me, to summon all her strength and fight.
I can't leave Willow lying there.
I can't abandon my sister, either.
I don't have energy left to save them both.
"Enough of this," Jorie says.
She averts her attention to Willow. "Your turn."
She approaches Willow, and dread makes the hollow in my stomach heavy. She slaps Willow's face.
"Wake up! I want you to look at him as I kill you."
Willow stirs, moaning. I'm not prepared to watch what will happen if I don't get up.
Jorie smiles and turns to me. "I would have made this quick, you know. But now? I don't think so."
Willow is suffering because of me.
Slowly, I rise. Agony shoots through my stomach in waves of torment, but still I get to my feet. I surge forward, walls of blackness eating more of my vision, unconsciousness threatening me with each breath I take. I hear a noise in the distance, a rushing river or maybe a sea of pounding footsteps, but I don't stop to confirm what it could be. Jorie hears the noise, too. She looks wildly around.
I promised to help Willow, to not let her become the next victim, and I meant it.
I use Jorie's distraction to close the dozen yards between us. She doesn't see the discarded, fallen branch in my hand until I bring it down hard on her back, tearing a scream of agony from my lips and causing the cut to pump more of my blood onto the swamp floor.
Jorie screams, too, a wail so high I wonder if the entire bog can hear it. Her legs are lightning fast, kicking out at me. And then she's on me, tackling me to the ground. I wrestle her for the blade clutched in her hand. My movements are slow, wary, and unstable. Before she can drive the knife down on me, I grab for a small, sharp stick within reach of my other hand and stab upward.
Jorie gasps. Her eyes bulge and follow the line of pain down to the point where the stick is embedded just above her left hip. It's not high or disabling enough. My aim is as wobbly as the rest of me.
She reaches for the stick, giving me time to catch my breath, to blink away unconsciousness. I clutch my stomach. If I could just get to Willow and Charlotte, if I could just pull them both away from danger. I spare them a look. Willow groans on the ground. Charlotte blinks in a daze.
With a grunt and a quick pull, Jorie frees the stick from her side. I don't understand how she's still so fast. She favors her good side. Her blade nicks my shoulder. It would have met its mark had I not rolled out of the way just in time. I attempt to rise on shaky limbs, first to my knees, my palms flat against the dirt, and then to my feet. I sway like a leaf caught in the wind.
With every ounce left, I charge her. It's my final effort. It is the very deepest store of energy I own. I have nothing left but this. I meet her with an elbow to the face and a crunch of bone. Jorie screams as telltale silver flashes to my left so close to my ear that I hear the woosh the blade leaves behind, so close it nearly slashes my face in two. Jorie catches another elbow to her sternum. She groans, struggling to pull air into her lungs. I lunge forward and grab for the knife in her hand, and she uses my momentum against me, spinning out of the way and shoving me right where my flesh is already severed.
I fall with the weight of realization. I can't get back up. Bile rises to my throat, leaving a sick taste in my mouth. I have nothing, not even a drop of energy left to fight her. Jorie has won, and her cruel smile says she knows it. She stands over me, her eyes trailing my crumpled form. I only hope I've bought Charlotte and Willow enough time to get away.
My eyes find Charlotte, who has come out of her daze. She's near Willow, attempting to help her to her feet. Blood pours into her eyes, and she desperately wipes at it. Willow wobbles and allows Charlotte to lead her to the water's edge, where a boat waits.
If only they get away, it is worth it. I try to convey my love for my sister through the last look I give her. A sob shakes her shoulders.
"You're done, Beau Cadwell." Jorie mocks my weakness with words dipped in victory.
That's when I see it-something weaving in and out of the trees. If I concentrate hard enough, I can keep my eyes open. Until I can't. Until the blood loss weighs too heavily and my lids begin to close.
"Beau."
I hear my name on Willow's lips. I force my eyes to open long enough to see a thundering sea of officers and to hear their command to drop your weapon. I don't have a weapon, but Jorie does, and she has no intention of letting it go. Another warning from the police. Jorie raises the knife above me, ready to bring it down on me once more, just moments before an explosion rips the air in two. It's quick, much faster than Jorie. The blade pauses midair. The pop of a bullet rings in my ears.
And down, down, down Jorie falls.
Blood drips from her back, blossoming on the dirt. Her mouth opens in a grotesque silent scream. She wildly grabs at the dirt, only feet beside me.
But there's nothing to save her.
Police officers close in from all sides. One relieves Charlotte of Willow's weight and guides her to the base of a tree, directing her to sit while he temporarily bandages her head. Another frees Willow's arms from the restraints and checks the bruises forming around her throat. Two officers move toward me, as well.
Jorie blinks one, two, three more times before her eyes stare, glazed and fixed, open wide, at nothing.
For a moment, I gaze at a dead murderer and fight the urge to vomit. I begin to shake.
"Stay with us," an emergency worker says.
A storm of blackness eats more of my vision until all I see is a tiny light.
Then nothing at all.
41
Willow
I knock softly on Beau's front door to see if he's up for company. I've come every day for the last week-since he was released from the hospital-to check on him.
Charlotte answers. "He's in his room."
She opens the door farther for me. In the background, the television plays softly.
"Thanks." I step inside.
Charlotte wears the look of a girl who isn't quite as sure as she used to be. It's in the worry creasing her forehead, the pinch of her brows. I wonder how she's dealing with the loss of her grandpa and nearly losing Beau, too. My eyes go to the staples at her hairline, a wound put there by Jorie.
I flinch at the memory of her-the deceiving best friend I thought I knew.
"I just finished cooking," Charlotte says. "Beau hasn't had lunch yet."
She walks to the kitchen, retrieves a bowl, and scoops something from a pot on the stove into it. She pushes it toward me. It looks like shrimp and mixed vegetables and smells like heaven.
"It's pinakbet." She sticks a fork in it. "One of his favorites. Why don't you bring it to him?"
I'm tempted to take a bite myself, but I nod and carry it to his room.
Just as I'm about to knock on the door, Charlotte says, "I'll save a bowl for you, too."
It might be one of the nicest things she's ever said to me.
"Thank you," I reply.
"Willow?" Beau's voice comes from within the room.
I push the door open to find him pulling a shirt over his bandaged wound.
"I brought you food."
Beau grins, forgets the bowl, and kisses me full on the lips.
"Hello to you, too," I say through a smile.
"You brought me Filipino food?"
"Well, Charlotte made it," I amend.
He takes a bite. Then another. His face relaxes. Transforms into something purely happy.
"God, I love her cooking. Just like my mom used to make."
"Can I have a bite?" I ask.
He offers me a forkful. I know instantly that I've been missing out. Gran's Southern cooking is good beyond measure, of course, but Beau's family food is exciting where Gran's food is comfort. I take a second bite, relishing the different textures and tastes. Shrimp paste. Seasoned vegetables.
"Why have I never tried this?" I ask around a mouthful.
"We should make a meal together," Beau says. "I haven't cooked with anyone but Charlotte since my mom passed."
I realize that what he's offering me is something special. I nod, accepting. I would love to know that side of Beau better.
"I came to check on you," I say.
By the way he limps over to the side of his bed, it's clear that he's still in pain. I can't see his stomach under the bandage and shirt he wears, but I know from what Charlotte has said that he's on antibiotics to ward off infection and that his wound is still fresh.
"I'm fine." He grimaces when taking a seat on the mattress.
"You know, you used to be such a good liar," I tease.
He laughs. Pats the spot next to him.
"Okay, fine. Truth? It hurts like hell, and I don't regret it for a second."