Page 84 of Camera Stays On

Asher

“WHERE IS HE?”

“Darius and Mick are with him. He tried to run, like Bea did.”

“I need to go help.” I rushed out the front door. “Gavin? Mick, Darius!” I called and ran toward the trees.

“Over here!” Darius called, and I followed his voice into the woods, only to stop dead in my tracks when I saw him. I took in the scene in abject horror. The three men stood, Mick and Darius holding Gavin up, a hand scythe buried deep in his chest. His white dress shirt was almost completely stained red, and his mouth hung open, dripping blood onto the wooden handle. Oh fuck.

My gaze swept the area. There wasn’t much disturbance elsewhere, making Gavin’s injury even more unsettling. No blood on the ground, no dirt or leaves disturbed. The trap had been hidden well, which led me to the question, how many others were in the trees?

My mouth opened and shut as I tried to find words. This had been set intentionally. The farmer’s tool was tied to a long rope attached to a tree. I swallowed the lump in my throat and tried to steady my nerves.

My brother was sick.

“Ash?” Gavin’s voice cracked. My attention turned back to him, my gaze dipping to his impalement only briefly, before looking away. “It hurts.”

“I know, buddy.” I stepped forward, unsure of what to do. “Cut the rope. Let’s get him inside,” I said, swallowing down my own terror.

“I can’t move,” Mick said, lifting his head from under Gavin’s arm.

Oh, right. The shock of the scene had momentarily stunned me. I pulled out my knife and leaned up, sawing at the rope. A full minute later, the rope snapped back, and the three of them let out a collective groan.

“Okay, let’s take him back and—”

“Set me by Bea?” Gavin moaned. Even in this state he was a dick. “She’s dying, bro!”

“She’s not dying, and you aren’t either,” I told him, though I didn’t entirely feel confident in my words. I blinked and breathed in, fighting the urge to tell him the odds weren’t good for him either. Mick and Darius lifted him off the ground and trudged him inside, setting him on the couch opposite Bea. His breathing was ragged as the curved blade lay firmly lodged between his rib cage, seeping blood. The handle was small—maybe a foot and a half—which I was grateful for as we fought to get him in the house. He fell back and closed his eyes.

“What’s going on? Oh.” Sawyer’s deadpan voice as he stepped into the room and saw his best friend struggling to breathe sent me into a rage. I turned and swung my fist straight into his jaw, then shoved him to the floor.

“You bastard!” I shouted as I straddled his stomach and shoved my fist into his face.

“Get off him!” Juliet screeched as she lunged at me, clawing at my back. “What are you doing?”

Her distraction was just what my brother needed to hurl me off him. I flew back, and he stood, pulling the gun out of his belt. He cocked it and aimed it at my chest.

“Try again, Ash.”

The room went deathly silent, except for Bea’s soft snores and the ragged breaths from Gavin.

“Dinner’s almost done, and we have a scene to film. Get up.” He waved the gun, and everyone who could slowly began to stir and file out of the room.

“Gavin, get up,” he added.

I stopped and turned.

“You can’t be serious,” I said.

“Why? He was in the first scenes. Continuity and all. He needs to come to dinner.” He tucked the gun back into his waistband.

“What about the giant blade in his chest?” Darius snapped. “Won’t that hurt your continuity?”

Sawyer nodded. “You’re right. Gav, pull it out and plug it up. Then get to set.”

The room erupted in chaos.

“Plug it with what?” Mick shouted.