I walk slowly down the narrow hall to Alexander’s apartment. It’s probably around 10:00 right now, I don’t actually know the exact time. Nothing matters anymore, the time, the weather, the necklace I forgot to get from the house.
The once wet blood that was on my face is now dried across my cheek and lower lip. My eyes are stained with the death of Irene. I can still see her lifeless body lying on the hardwood floor. The blood decorating the once brown floor boards, her hair covered over her faces shielding her eyes away from me.
I shake my head, trying to get the image out of my head. I come to Alexander’s apartment door; my shaky, bloody hand unlocks the door. Inside I see that it’s pitch black, the only light that is shown is from the buildings in downtown San Francisco. Quickly, but quietly, I walk into the apartment. He’s probably knocked out, I thought he would be up waiting for me. Thank god he isn’t, if he says the state, I’m in right now it’ll freak him out.
I go above the kitchen sink and turn on the light. On the refrigerator theirs an oval shaped mirror. I accidently caught my reflection, the horror set in. My whole appearance was horrible looking. My soft curly hair was tangled, and hints of blood hanged on the curls. The dried blood is still on my face, and my shirt is all disoriented. I’m glad someone didn’t see me come in, they probably would have called the cops. Or even the FBI, I look like I’ve been in a crime scene.
A slow, soft cry leaves my lips. My body starts to shake erratically, my shoulders heaving up and down. This was a cry that I’ve been holding in during the drive back here. Before I was in shock, scared to cry because then I’ll have to face what actually happened, what really happened.
Tear's seep into the sleeve of my shirt, soaking it. The only question that hits my mind is, what am I going to tell grandpa? How am I going to tell grandpa, that the woman that has made him feel something since my grandma died is now dead. Her heart ripped out, exposed for the world to see.
From the room I can hear someone walking towards me. He comes around the corner, his eyes adjusting to the light, his hair is wrapped crazy around his head. His muscles and chest are on full display.
“Quinneth why are you back so late? It doesn’t take that long to get s-”. His voice cuts off mid-sentence once he takes in my appearance. Those beautiful eyes scan over my distressed body. “Baby, what happened to you?” He doesn’t come close to me, not sure of how to react physically.
“I- it all happened so fast. There was nothing I could do. I tried to stop him- he didn’t listen.” My voice trails off and on. I couldn’t look at him, I just looked at my hands. The bloody hands, the hands that could have saved Irene, but didn’t.
“Are you hurt?” He finally comes up to me, his hands roam over my body trying to see if I have any open wounds or scars. Nothing. He finds nothing. “Whose blood is this, Quinn?”
No answer.
“Quinn honey, who blood is this?”
No answer.
He lets out a frustrating sigh and sits me on the white chair at the island in the middle of the kitchen. He lifts my head up, making me for the first time look at him directly. “Baby, you’ve got to talk to me. I can’t help you if you don’t talk.
I muster up a sentence, “He killed her.”
“Who killed who?”
“Yount. He killed Irene, ripped her heart out like a. . .barbaric savage.” A look of shock comes on his face. He does the only thing anyone would do in a situation like this. . .be pulls me into a hug. Holding me tight against his chest, his other hand pats my head. He holds me like someone was going to charge through the door and take me away.
I close my eyes, trying to take in his calmness. Relax my body for what will come tomorrow.
“Just lay down ok. I’ll handle everything, you focus on resting.” After putting me in the shower washing off all the blood from my body, I’m now wearing comfy pajamas. My hair is airdrying, drips of water collide with my cotton t-shirt. He helps me lay down, tucking me under the thick grey comforter.
As I get comfortable in the bed, my eyes start to feel heavy. From the view of the kitchen, I can see Alexander talking on the phone, probably to his father. From his tone I could tell he was confused, but also some guilt surrounded in it.
I remember what Yount said, before he killed Irene. He said that The Golden Summit Pack killed some guards at his pack. That was the reason he killed Irene, but what I’m wondering was how did he find out? How did he know I met with Piper, the conversation we had? They would have never acted if they didn’t know what I was going to do.
The thoughts leave my mind as I slip into a deep slumber.
Darkness fills me.
“Are you sure you don’t want to come? He would like to hear it from you.” Alexander says. He pulls his eye out of the ignition, as he waits for me to answer his question. I didn’t want to go inside to tell my grandpa that he woman he was falling in love is dead. Her heart ripped out of her body by a King.
It would break his heart; it’s would be like seeing him find out my grandma died all over again. Even though I was young I remember the day like the back of my hand. We were coming back to the hospital; she had been sick for quite a while. As we walked in the doctor walked up to us, me being 9 years old I knew something was wrong.
When he told us that she died the world stopped, not just for me but also for my grandpa. I remember seeing a still look on his face, like what the doctor said he really didn’t say. Someone was lying to him, playing him like a fool. After that day, things were different.
“I’m positive. I can’t deal with telling him bad news.” He pats my hand. He’s been so good to me since the incident. Making sure I ate, and talked out everything and I mean anything.
“Fine, be back in a minute.” He jogs across the street, and comes up to the front door and knock on it. When I left the house, I left Irene’s body where it was. The pack must have come by and cleaned everything up. I’m sure Alexander told them to keep it away from my grandpa. Some who knows him should tell him what happened.
The door opens up, I can see him give Alexander a smile. That smile won’t hold for much longer until he finds out what happened. Alexander’s hand fiddles together, he’s nervous. He starts to tell my grandpa what happened. The smile that was once one on his face is now a sad look. I can see a look of shock on his face, not believing that it could be. His eyes look towards Alexander’s car, looks at me in particular. He tries to walk past Alexander to come to me, but he stops him at the doorstep. Shaking his head not to come to me, probably telling him I need my space.
Even more in the car I can hear him let out a wailing sound, the sound that triggers me. I just shut my eyes, scared to open them up.
Scared to move.
Scared to feel.