Page 49 of Death Kiss

‘Thanks,’ I say. All that for nothing. No text. No call. I pull up the map and see her dot in our flat. Which is only mildly reassuring, because I know we often leave our phones there when we are on the hunt.

I send another text. Another plea to get in touch.

The reply dots don’t reappear.

Tipping back against the pillow, I let my mind roll over the past few weeks. The killing shouldn’t be hitting me as hard as it does. I’ve done it plenty of times before. So it’s not the killing that’s causing me to freak out. Is it who I’m killing? Seeing the faces I’d left in my nightmares again in the flesh. Their added wrinkles speak of the years they’ve continued to hurt people. I escaped, for a while, but plenty of others never do. Like Sam. If my dad hadn’t died, maybe I would have.

And now I have more money than I ever dreamt I could. But at what cost? I have no future without Kat. She’s it for me. I can’t live without her. Even the thought of doing so makes my heart ache.

I imagine how she felt seeing me dumped in the alley, especially with all the other fears and worries piling up. If I’d seen her like that, I’d have gone berserk.

I did that to her.

Not Ashworth.

Not her parents.

Me.

Fuck. Panic rises, and I try to call her again, listening desperately for her voice. Ring after ring plays out until I hang up.

A moment later, my phone vibrates, and Kat’s name graces my screen. Hope surges as I click through.

KAT: Not ready to talk to you yet.

At least I know she’s okay. Mad but safe, I can deal with.

Another text comes before I can reply.

KAT: Can’t let what you did hold us up. Not with Ashworth on the case and Freddie sniffing around. They’ve linked the incidents on the news. We need to finish this. Seeing as you’ve taken yourself out of the game, I’m on my own for this one.

The fact that she’s even texting this, when we’ve been so careful, hits me hard. She’s not thinking straight.

I press the call button.

Voicemail.

LIAM: Kat, stop. Just wait for me.

Not delivered.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

Locking my phone, I toss it on the bed, determined to get to my feet. My ribs scream in my side as I force myself upwards, my breath catching. Ripping my cannula out leaves a streak of blood dripping down my hand. There’s a god damned catheter tube riding up into my robe, and the thought of tugging that out makes me hesitate.

Until I picture Kat. Alone. With one of them.

I don’t get the chance. When I move, my head spins, and a fresh wave of vomit hits the bed and the floor. There’s pain everywhere. Shaking, I try to push on, get one down, and force myself to stand.

That’s when Kim and a handful of other nurses fly into the room, one skidding on vomit and ending up doing a half split on the floor.

‘William, get back in bed,’ Kim demands.

‘Can’t,’ I say through a brilliant burst of pain behind my eyes. ‘Kat.’

‘She needs you to get better. Sit down.’

I shove her aside as I take a lurching step toward the door, a stand behind me crashing to the floor.