Page 7 of No Merciful Corruption

“No. Promise.” She smacks my hand away but I continue applying pressure on the wound. My scarf is already soaked through with blood.

Her head lulls to the side and I reposition her so she’s resting against my shoulder. I jolt her awake. “Keep your eyes open, okay? Listen to the sound of my voice. You’re going to be fine. Lyss called an ambulance. Everyone is going to be all right.”

She looks up at me with half hooded eyes. “You sound…so calm…”

“I am calm. You came out of a burning building alive. You’ll survive this.”

“You carried me out of a burning building.”

“And I’ll carry you all the way to the hospital too.” I move my shoulder to keep her head in place. “Stay awake. Don’t fall asleep.”

“You didn’t promise.”

“I promise. Nothing is going to happen to you but I promise anyway.”

She closes her eyes. “Don’t be angry with me.”

Voices, so many voices…Damiano, Lyss, maybe Rian too. The guards we brought with us and the distant wailing of police sirens. All the sounds mix together inside my head and conjure up memories I’ve spent a lifetime trying to suppress but they all bubble up to the surface anyway.

The street fair with Abuelo.

The day my father died.

The night Dahlia got trapped by the fire.

“I’m not angry with you, why would I be angry with you?” Gently, I nudge her head again. “Mi amor, despierta. Stay awake.”

“I love you, don’t be angry with me. I love you…”

This time when her eyes close, they do not open again.

* * *

If I never step foot in another hospital again, it’ll be too soon.

“Dahlia will never forgive you for this.” Lyss says. “She hates him.”

It takes every last ounce of self-control not to pounce on her. “What other choice do I have?”

“Lie!” She bolts to her feet. Eyes drowning in tears, her sorrow makes her nonetheless ferocious when fighting in defense of her friend. “Tell the doctors you’re her husband. Come up with something, anything, but don’t call him. You can’t.”

There’s a water fountain nearby. It’s leaking water.

Drip. Drip. Drip.

Damiano bursts through the waiting room doors and says, “Rian just got out of surgery.”

Lyss cries out in relief and covers her mouth with both hands.

“He nicked an artery but he’s fine. The doctors stitched him up and gave him a blood transfusion.” He turns to me, still out of breath. “Well? How’s Dahlia?”

The doors swing open again. A white man in a long black coat lifts a police badge and says, “Detective Wilson. We’re here for the Central Park shoot-out victims.”

Sasha Antonov materializes from those same hospital doors, likely having just come from seeing his brother. Despite the animosity between them, he was the first family member to show up when we called. He extends his hand to the detective and says, “Rian O’Neil is my brother. I’m the one who can answer all your questions.”

I hadn’t noticed it before but there’s an old clock above those doors. It’s an hour behind and makes the most incessant ticking sound.

Tick. Tick. Tick.