Liquid Smoke

FIFTY

She was on the bed and, in the dark, appeared to be sleeping. I moved closer and felt my gun slip out of my hand and fall to the floor.

Her eyes were open and her arms outstretched, like she’d been reaching for something. A deep, red circle on her chest half a foot in diameter had stained the T-shirt she was wearing and bled into the sheet.

I sat down on the edge of the bed and touched her hand. It was still warm, and I laced my fingers with hers, squeezing hard, as though I could transfer my life to hers.

But I knew that I couldn’t.

I heard sirens in the distance and shouts downstairs, but they seemed further away.

I reached out and covered her eyes, gently pushing her lids down.

The tears fell off my face onto hers, and in the murky, rainy moonlight, it looked like it was Liz who was crying rather than me.