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“We need to get out of here.” Hunter steals my hand and pulls.
I hear him, yet the words don’t sink in. They’re distant. Faded. Everything is a mile away while I stand here in solitude, bathed in sorrow and drowning in guilt.
“Sarah.” Hunter gets in my face and clutches my arms. “Look at me.”
He’s there, right there, and still, I can’t focus. All I can see is Brent. Dead. Because of me. Because of what I’ve done.
“I n-need to get in there.” I move to walk around him, only to have his hands grip tight.
“It’s too late.”
“No.” I push at his chest. “He might not be dead. He could be hurt. We have to call the police… An ambulance.”
He gives me a shake. “It’s too late.”
I waiver like a rag doll in his grip. I can see the truth in his black eyes. I can see the pain and brutal honesty of what has happened.
“No,” I whisper. Then louder with a thump against his chest. “No.”
His eyes widen and he spins me, hauling my body against his to drag me backward down the alley. I can’t protest, not in movements, only in words. “No. No. No.”
He claps a hand over my mouth, holding me tighter. I tremble, my limbs shaking violently as shock takes over.
“I’m sorry,” he whispers. “But we can’t stay here.”
Why not? My life no longer has value. All I do is hurt people. And although I may not have been responsible for Dan’s death, Brent’s blood is on my hands.
“Why?” I plead. “Why would they do this?”
“It doesn’t matter right now.” He speaks softly in my ear, in full control even though destruction follows our every step.
He takes me from the alley, where I finally find my feet, then holds my hand as I jog beside him. I’m not thinking. I can’t. Otherwise, I’d be moving in the opposite direction. Toward Brent. Toward help. We go around a corner, onto the street I used to walk down to get my groceries, and he stops beside a car I’ve never seen before.
“Tell me you won’t run back to the bar.”
I meet his eyes, those deep, penetrating eyes that now hold a wealth of sympathy.
I shake my head. “I shouldn’t leave him.”
“He’s already gone. You know that as well as I do.” He implores me with a look filled with so much conviction I want to fall to my knees and sob. But I won’t. I don’t cry anymore. I haven’t in ten years.
“Let me get you in the car.” He slides a hand around my waist, as if I might fall, and leans to the side to open the passenger door. “Quick. The cops will be here any minute.”
He guides me forward, into the seat, and fastens my belt in place. “Promise me you won’t take off as soon as I leave your side.”
I stare at nothingness while he hovers, unmoving.
“Where would I go?” I murmur. “I have nowhere left to run.”
And no will to do it either.