Jessie Humphries - Killing Ruby Rose

I slouched my shoulders and heaved a huge sigh of defeat. Part of me meant it, and part of me faked it to lure the men to let down their guard. It worked—a smile formed through the dirty-nasty beard of the first man, and he relaxed just enough for me to make my move.

As I was about to spring, a small green dot appeared on his face. As though Tinker Bell herself had flown in to distract me, the light flickered before it steadied itself on his forehead. Before my brain registered what it was, the dot turned a burgundy-red and the man’s body flew backward. He’d been shot in the head, just like LeMarq.

I spun, expecting The Mullet to blow me away, but before he could even raise his gun, he had two rounds firmly lodged in his chest.

For a moment I froze, not comprehending what had happened. Then adrenaline and relief coursed through me like an injected drug. Until it occurred to me that whoever just shot these guys might go for me next.

I looked down at the pool of blood near my feet and saw Dad’s gun. As I reached for it, a strong arm wrapped itself around my body while a hand pressed a damp cloth over my nose and mouth. The harder I fought against the crushing strength, the faster I lost my own. The scent on the fabric stung my senses and made my eyes water.

My world quickly spun out from under me. Swirling. Darkness. Pain. The last thing I saw was Liam, still on the ground, soundlessly calling out my name.

Either my face was dangerously close to a shallow pool of water or I was drooling. Or both. Gross.

I finally opened my eyes, and wiped my face with my sleeve. Wasn’t heaven supposed to be all white and sparkly? I looked around for those pearly gates, some fat little cherubs, or some other heavenly clichés.

I sat up to make sure I wasn’t in hell. This habit of waking up confused and bruised was getting old.

It didn’t look like hell, though my back still hurt pretty hellishly. At least there was no fire, no brimstone. Not that I would even recognize brimstone if I saw it.

I was on top of an ocean cliff, lying in the middle of an isolated rugged bluff. The powerful surf crashed below me. The waters were angry, but that didn’t mean anything. Maybe this was some kind of symbolic in-between.

A foghorn from a boat in the distance bellowed a deep belching sound. But in the weak light of dawn, I couldn’t even see a vessel.

“Ruby!” a female voice called out. “Ruby, I’m over here.”

I spun around—Alana!

She was lying on the ground behind me, twenty feet away. Still bound. And Liam was next to her, unconscious again.

I scrambled to my unsure feet and made my way up the slight incline and over the jagged sandstone rock to my poor, traumatized, lucky-to-be-alive, unlucky-to-know-me friends.

“Alana, I’m coming,” I said, stumbling and falling on my already sore wrist. How did we get here? “I’m just a little dizzy…”

“It’s OK, take your time,” she said with a shaky voice. I could tell she’d been crying but was trying to be brave. “I don’t want you falling off the cliff and leaving me and Sleeping Beauty over here for the vultures to peck on.”

I finally made it to Alana and fell to her side. “I’m so sorry—this is all my fault.”

“Would you just shut up and get something to cut off these ties?” She blew some wet strands of hair out of her eyes.

“Of course, I’ll find something.” I scanned the cliff top for a rock shard, a seashell…“Holy mother of…” I whispered.

On a small ledge twenty feet away sat a pair of heavy-duty stainless steel cutters. But that’s not what stopped me short. It was the gun—my dad’s nickel-plated Glock—sitting next to them.

“What is it?” Alana propped up her head to look.

I hesitated for too long, wondering why someone would want me to keep the murder weapon.

“Ruby! What is it?” Alana yelled at me.

“Some scissors. There are just some scissors over there.”

“I’ve been lying here an hour, screaming at you and Liam to wake up, and there’s an effin’ pair of scissors over there?”

I ran over to the ledge and grabbed the shears. Making sure Alana was looking the other direction, I quickly tucked the gun into the back of my pants before I went to cut her free. As she rubbed at her raw skin, I crawled the few feet over to Liam to check his pulse before I cut his ties. His heart rate was scary slow, but he was alive.

“Liam, can you hear me?” I rolled him over so his head was in my lap. I brushed his shaggy hair off his eyes, willing them to open. “Please wake up.” His face was clean and fresh, no more bloodied lip. Like someone had dunked his head in the ocean, or carefully wiped away any evidence of the beating.

“Is he all right?” Alana asked, now standing on wobbly legs.

“I think so.”

“Who did this to us? Where are we? And where’s my damn phone?” She started patting herself down like if she concentrated hard enough, her cell might miraculously appear in one of her skimpy pockets.

“Sit down, Alana,” I ordered. “You’re going to fall and break something.”

“Did we get roofied? Is this some kind of sick practical joke?” she asked, refusing to obey. Her skinny little flamingo legs looked like they’d give out any second.

“No, this isn’t a joke. Just sit for a minute.”

“Why’d you say this is all your fault? What did you do to get us punked like this?” She began pacing, making me want to yank her to the ground for her own good. “If it’s the football players who did this, I am going to kill them—”

“I told you, nobody’s punking us.” I cut her off, not comfortable with her talking about killing anyone. “It’s not the football players.” I turned my attention back to Liam.

There was no way to explain to Alana what had happened. She’d obviously seen nothing and never woke up to witness the carnage. She thought we just got dumped on the cliff. She hadn’t even seen the blood on my shoes yet. I looked down, expecting to see my poor Hermes stained red with evidence of another crime scene, but instead it looked like I was wearing a brand-new pair of two-hundred-dollar designer sandals on my feet. And my hoodie, which no doubt once showed signs of blood spatter and gunshot residue, was clean. My brain couldn’t process the amount of detail this guy had taken care of—

“Man, my mom and dad are going to be pissed,” Alana said. Like her parents being angry was the biggest thing to fear at this point. She was so clueless. “How the crap are we getting home? I don’t even know where we are.”

Liam twitched in my arms. “Liam, wake up,” I said, willing him to come back to me. “C’mon, wake up.”

I thought of Dr. T’s Emerson quote—truth and repose. Liam couldn’t have both. None of us could. The truth was that a killer was holding him. And when he woke up, when his repose ended, that’s what he would see when he looked at me—the truth. I was a killer.

I did what I had to do to save my friends and survive, but one death had been hard enough to take. Now there were four more. As I held Liam, I couldn’t get my hands to stop shaking or my breathing to steady. I began rocking, trying to calm myself and dispel all the memories. Damn, I needed some Swiss chocolate right now.

Liam grimaced and his body tensed up. He was coming back.

“I’m right here,” I said, touching his face. Intense relief rose in me. A profound sense of gratitude as I held him, knowing he was OK. I never meant to let myself feel this strongly about him—about anyone.

He finally opened his eyes, and they found mine.

They were a bloodshot blue this time. Not much sparkle at the moment.

“Are we alive?” he asked with the rasp of a whiskey-drinking smoker.