The Pale Horse

Seventh

***

Lana lay in a fit of hysterical tears on her parent's laps, hyperventilating and screaming into her hand over the most painful mental anguish she had ever felt in her life. Arthur and Eliza had been sitting on the couch in the parlor when they were shot in the back of their heads from behind. Eliza had been sewing a small chemise for the neighbor's daughter while Arthur had been reading the Odyssey. The book, the needles, and cotton lay on the wooden floorboards just beyond where Lana sobbed violently for what felt like hours. Her head lay on Eliza's thigh, her left hand on her father's arm that lay limp at his side. Blood had long begun to trickle down the napes of their necks, painting the couch crimson. The house was a mess, with glass shards all over the floor from the busted windows, along with splints of wood from the wrecked furniture, and red sashes. When Lana arrived and saw what she saw, she immediately started yelling for Lydia but heard no reply. It made her collapse where she had been, in front of her parents, shaking their shoulders, begging them to wake up. Her eyes began to go dry as she hugged her mother's leg when she heard it.

"Lan." It was the softest she ever heard her boisterous sister speak. Lana bolted up towards the stairs, her shoes hitting the ground loudly. She pushed herself harder with each step to carry her with faster and faster velocity. Their bedroom door was open. The linen curtains remained drawn from earlier when the twins saw each other in the window.

"Lyd!" Lana exclaimed in a panic as she looked around their room. It was just as in shambles as the rest of the house downstairs. Their clothes and knick-knacks were strewn around the floor, broken into jagged pieces. Lydia's nightgown was in the center of the room, ripped and saturated with the same dark liquid from downstairs.

"Here," Lydia said breathlessly. The sound came from the bathroom. This door was open as well, nearly off of its hinges as Lana entered and looked at the floor. Lydia lay in a pool of blood, nude, bruised, cut up, and shivering. Her left eye was swollen shut and she had been beaten severely, but she smiled weakly at the sight of her sister like it was Christmas morning. Lana gasped and scurried to her side, sitting on her knees next to her. Lydia wasn't far from the shelves wear their mother would store towels. Lana reached over her sister to grab one quickly. She covered Lydia hurriedly.

"What, what in the world happened?" she asked Lydia. She knew what had happened but the reason was missing. She tried to answer Lana but couldn't find the strength to speak. "It's okay. Shh, we can make it out of here," Lana assured Lydia as she looked around, unsure of what to do next. Lydia shook her head as best as she could.

"The shed," she whispered, spitting up a copious amount of blood. Lana pushed herself up on her knees to peer out the window at the back of the yard. Through small flickers of lightning bugs, she could see the silhouettes of a few men in the darkness near the shed. "They're looking for you." The notion sent chills down her spine that felt like electricity.

Lana wanted to ask why but she knew there wasn't much time. She sat back on her knees, leaning over to put her arm under Lydia's head, in an attempt to pick her up. Her hair was matted and wet against Lana's forearm. Lydia shook her head, coughing and choking some before clearing her throat in overt frustration.

"I'm not leaving you here, Lyd." Lana's tone was desperate, voice cracking in places like a child.

"You have to. I'm dying, Lan."

Lana blinked back tears at that, trying to keep her mind clear for both of their survival. She knew her sister had been bleeding out for a while and there was nothing she could do but living without her and her parents wasn't something she could imagine or live with. In Lana's mind, Lydia was too stubborn to succumb to something like death.