However Long the Night

Chapter Twenty-Four

"Will?" Her voice was hoarse.

"It's okay, Skye. You're okay." He laughed as tears slipped simultaneously down his face.

"You saved me." Her face screwed up, and she started to cry. "Oh my God, you saved my life, Will."

"Don't cry, Skye, please don't cry." He kissed the salty tears from her cheeks. "Listen, I don't want to move you, in case anything's broken. We need to get you and your mom some help. Tom had my phone upstairs; I'm going to go find it so I can call 911."

Skye's eyes widened. "Mom! Oh my God, is she okay? And wait – what about Tom? The last thing I remember he pulled the trigger and ..." She groaned. "My head hurts."

"Shhh. Don't push yourself. Your mom's okay, but she needs help. Tom's gone, Skye. He's gone."

"Thank God." She covered her face with her hands and shuddered. Letting her fingertips drop from her face, she stared at him and her 1 practically glowed. "I don't know how you did what you did, but I'm grateful ..."

"To be honest, neither do I ... but it's the best thing I'll ever do." Kissing her forehead, he stood up. "Don't move; I'll be right back."

Rising to his feet, he started scaling the stairs. His shoulders clenched and he could feel his fingers shake as he approached Tom's body.

Oh God. Oh God. Oh God.

Holding his breath, he forced his eyes not to look down and focused on climbing.

One foot in front of the other. Pretend he's not there. Just go.

At the top of the landing, Bridget lay pale on the floor. At least the blood hadn't seeped through the blanket he'd placed on top of her. He hoped that meant the tourniquet was doing its job.

"Hold on a little longer, Bridget. Please. Skye's okay. I promise. I'm just going to get my phone and then we'll all be home-free." His voice wavered, but he didn't think she noticed.

"She's okay?" Bridget's voice was a thin line in the dark. "Thank God." A whimper escaped her lips as Will passed her to reach the family room.

Crossing the threshold, he gagged. The room reeked of booze and a vision of Tom's sneer rose behind his eyes like a spectre.

He's gone, Will. Focus. Just find the phone.

He scanned the room, but didn't see his cell. Frantically, he paced the perimeter, pulled pillows off couches, and scrambled onto the floor to look under the furniture.

"Shit." Sweat rolled down his face as a terrible idea bloomed inside his brain. Could the phone be in Tom's pocket? Had he stuffed it there while he pushed and prodded Will down the hall?

Please, God, no.

Panting, Will's eyes caught the corner of Tom's black duffel bag poking out from under a displaced cushion. Lunging at the bag, Will ripped it out from under the pillow. His hands trembled as he pulled at the zipper. Ripping open the duffel, he found a balled-up sweater, a family picture of Tom, Bridget and Skye smiling up at the camera, and his phone.

Relief pooled inside Will's stomach as grabbed his cell, tossed the bag and dialed.

"911. What's your emergency?"

"I'm at 32 Park Road in Reese. There's a man dead. He shot himself. He shot his wife. His daughter's hurt. Please come." Will's words tumbled past his dry lips. Speaking the horrors out loud made his breath hitch, so he sat on the floor. The room was spinning.