I can’t hear what’s going on. I can’t see very well either. Through my wavering vision, I will my eyes to focus. Mr. Hastings is spitting something awful to Emery, ready to kill him. I need to do something, as my instinct tells me, but I find it hard to even form words. Mentally, I think about every single thing that’s happened with Emery. Motivated, I know I can’t lose him to some filthy, cruel man.
It takes me a moment of calming myself down, but finally I find my voice. I make eye contact with Emery, praying that he understands that he needs to act when I give him the chance. His expression gives me know clues as to how he will react, but I distract Mr. Hastings anyways.
“Get him!” I scream at the top of my lungs, looking towards the back barn doors. We never use them, but it’s obvious that they are a form of entry. All I need is a second, and Emery can run to survive.
Mr. Hastings snaps around as quickly as he can, removing the gun’s path from Emery’s body. I look to Emery to run away, but instead he does the exact opposite. He bounds towards his father at full speed, and before he notices, Emery’s hands are clasped around his throat.
He continues pushing until they reach the back closed doors of the barn. Emery smashes his father into the wood as hard as he can. The pistol topples to the ground, landing only two feet away. I watch, as Emery throws countless punches at his father, while he attempts to fight back.
“You killed her!” Screams Emery, attacking his father. “Mom deserved so much better than you!” He throws his father onto the ground and I wince as his bloody head smashes into the ground.
“If you were never born,” he spits out angrily. “She would still be alive.”
Rage spreads across Emery’s face as he lifts his father’s head up by his throat. Then, in only a second, he bangs it back down again. Mr. Hastings grunts, and I don’t want to watch the boy I love kill someone, but I don’t have a choice. The pistol is only a few feet away, and I have to make sure Emery survives.
Mr. Hastings is far from threatening without a gun. Instead, he’s no match for his son. I smile sadly to myself, knowing Emery is going to live. But as I slowly remove my hands from my stomach wound, I know I’m fading away. It looks like there’s more blood on me than there is inside, and I can’t take the agony anymore. As much as I know it’s wrong, I want to die.
Suddenly, everything becomes more unclear, as if I’m wearing a pair of glasses that aren’t meant for me. I try my hardest to squint through it, but it doesn’t get better. I hold onto my wound as tightly as I can, but it barely makes a difference.
With suffering comes selfishness, and I can’t stand to be alone anymore. “Emery,” I groan, trying to see. “Help me.” I want to get help, black out, or die, and I don’t care which one it is. I just want the suffering to stop. I don’t know what’s happening, but everything is suddenly black.
I feel warm hands on my shoulders, shaking me gently. “River,” Emery calls, but his voice feels distant. “Move your hands.” Without questioning, I move my hands off of my wound. I hear him gasp but he doesn’t waste any time. I feel him remove my sweater and I start to shiver. Another one is placed around my shoulders and it smells like Emery. “Here,” he murmurs gently, tying my sweater tightly around my stomach. “You’re going to be okay, I promise, River. I love you too much to let you go.”
I open my eyes, and realize that’s why I couldn’t see. I must have blacked out, but for less time than I wanted. Everything is still blurry as I feel Emery’s lips on my forehead when worry sets in. “What’s going on?” I moan quietly. “I can’t see.”
“My dad’s unconscious,” he tells me, and takes my bloody hand within his. “And I have the gun in my pocket.”
“I’m going to die,” I whisper, reciting the words Emery had said once before.I feel him squeeze my hand as he cries. I can’t see his face, but I can hear him quietly weep.
“Don’t you dare say that, River Snow,” he tells me sternly, but I know his thoughts of me surviving are wavering. You can only survive a bullet wound for so long without help. How much longer do I have left? “Where the fuck is Mary,” he snaps, probably looking towards the door. I close my eyes to refrain from straining them. I wonder what’s taking Mary so long too. If she went to get the police, that would be all the way in Redwood Valley. But couldn’t her parents just call from their own house?
I feel Emery’s hand removed from mine. “Emery,” I whisper. “Hold me.” I don’t want to die by myself, and as long as I’m touching Emery, I would die a happy girl. After a few moments of silence, I wonder what happened. “Emery?” My eyes fly open and everything is a bit clearer than before. I can’t see details, but I can see basic figures.
To my left, Emery is on the ground, being choked by his father. I scream, but neither of them pays attention. Either Mr. Hastings just woke up, or he wasn’t really unconscious at all. I know I need to help Emery; to stop his father. But I’m weak, broken, and bleeding. I feel helpless until I remember something that could be vital in this situation.
I’m leaning against one of the horse stalls. To be more specific, it’s the one with the shotgun in it. I know moving is just going to put me in more pain, make my wound worse, and make me bleed quicker, but I have no other option.
I bite my tongue to refrain from screaming as I turn my body. As quickly as I can, I start to move towards the open stall door. My fingertips grab onto the side of the wood, and I drag myself towards it. Instead of screaming, I tell myself that this is for Emery. When I’m halfway inside of the stall, I feel my stomach rip farther open. I grunt quietly, and tell myself that this is for Emery. The shotgun is in my sights as my fingertips drag my bleeding body towards it.
My mind keeps telling me that I’m taking too long, but this is as fast as I can go. When my hands clasp around the familiar, cold metal, a sense of hope washes over me. Putting my free hand on the ground, I slowly push myself up onto my feet. I wobble, and hold onto the wood of the stall for support. Every step feels like I’m going to collapse.
When I reach the entrance to the box, what I see surprises me. Emery is now on top of his father, choking him to death. I don’t know how it happened, but I can’t help but smile. Maybe all that practice he did choking me when I woke up him up paid off. Feeling myself grow weaker, I lean against the wood for support.
Somehow, Mr. Hastings manages to push his son off of them, and in an instant, they’re both on their feet. With disgust, Emery storms towards his father, and shoves him into the wood wall of the barn. Again, his hands clasp around his throat, even though there’s a gun in his pockets. I have a feeling that he wants him to suffer.
I’m about to turn my head away, not wanting to watch, when Mr. Hasting’s gaze matches mine as he struggles to breath. He follows it to the gun, and his trembling hands reach for it.
“Emery!” I yell, breaking his focus. “Don’t let him…” I trail off, finding it hard to speak. “The gun!”
His eyes grow wide as his dad’s left hand snatches it out of his pockets. Emery doesn’t remove his hands from his father, who’s suffocating. Through the suffering, his father smiles wickedly, before shoving the cool metal into Emery’s chest.
There’s a split second when everything flashes before my eyes, and then the bang brings me back to reality. Emery staggers back from his own father, clutching at the right side of his chest.
Emery’s eyes are full of shock and hurt, like I’ve never seen before. He removes his hands from the wound and looks at the blood on them. Just like I had to him, he looks to me. We lock eyes, as his legs begin to shiver. He falls onto his knees, clutching the point of entry of the bullet. In exactly a second, Emery is lying on the ground unconscious.