Witness

I collapsed onto Damien’s lifeless body then, unable to keep myself up any longer. I screamed into the breast of his jacket, the sound muffled by his already decaying skin. It would only be a matter of time that he would turn to dust; that he would turn to dust at my own hand. I screamed again, wailing into his stiff form, sobbing for all of us. For what none of us were able to control.

“I’m sorry!” I cried into his chest, banging my fists against it. “I’m so sorry!”

I couldn’t breathe, I was sobbing so hard. It felt like I was choking on my own tears, coughing and sputtering and failing all together. Everything was shutting down.

It felt like Damien had won, in the end. He had torn everything apart. I’d lost my entire life in New York – there was no way I could return to those streets again without being haunted by every memory I had there, he’d ruined those memories for me on August 21st. I’d lost my life in Holmes Chapel – how could I ever live there after I’d felt the fear crushing me in my own home for so long? I’d lost Amelia. I’d lost Harry. And now, worst of all, it felt like I’d lost myself.

Never in a million years would I have dreamed I would one day kill a man. That one day, I would look a man in the eyes and proceed to shoot him dead. I tried to tell myself that it wasn’t my fault, that I had only done it to protect myself. But we were lying in his blood, the liquid soaking my jeans through, the spray speckling my white shirt. I was wearing Damien in the very fabric on my being and it was my fault. He lay lifeless beneath me and it was my fault.

I thought about turning the gun on myself and just ending it right there.

And that was the moment I realized Damien had won. I was soaking in his blood wishing I were dead because I felt I had nothing else to live for. What was there for me to live for in this world? I had no family – I couldn’t face Arthur after this – I had no home, I had no one to call my own. I had nothing. And that was exactly what Damien wanted.

Or maybe I was just letting him win.

I pulled myself off his body and crawled across the dusty ground to Harry’s, the grey soot sticking to my wet clothes. Harry lay in a crumpled heap, his back to me in that plaid button up he loved so much, those ridiculous jeans and the boots he was so proud of. He too was soaked in blood, only it was his own, pouring from a wound I couldn’t see. He hadn’t moved since Damien shot him – hadn’t even cried out in pain. He lay motionless as I crawled towards him, still sobbing, desperately praying for a sign.

“Harry,” I mumbled through tears, crawling around to face him. His eyes were closed, mouth slackened, curls still matted from the blood. The bruise on his face continued to bloom through the madness, deeper and darker than ever. I choked out a gasp when I saw him, placing my hand on his and squeezing as hard as I could.

“Come on, Harry,” I tried again, dribbling out another sob. “Come on, wake up please. This isn’t real, Harry. None of this is real, okay? So please just wake up from this terrible nightmare and tell me it’s going to be okay. Please.”

He gave no response.

I heaved again. “Harry listen,” I cried. “Harry please. Don’t you understand? I need you. I love you so much and I need you here with me. You’re all I have left, don’t you see? You’re the only thing left for me and I need you. I need you to wake up, I need you to give me a sign that you’re okay.”

He gave no response.

Easy as falling asleep. Pools of blood.

“I was thinking,” Harry began again. “That maybe, when the new semester starts, you would maybe want to come to school here. I know people at UAL who would be more than happy to look at your portfolio. And with your experience at the Red Lion, I’m sure you’d be able to get a job here in no time. And you could maybe stay at my place until you got on your feet, I mean I’m gone so much anyway it would practically be your own…”

“We’re supposed to start over together, remember?” I pressed, curling up beside him, leaning my head in the curve of his torso. “You were going to take me to UAL, introduce me to all your mates, get me started on a new life. Don’t you remember Harry? We were going to make a life for ourselves again. I need you here so we can do that.”

He gave no response. I sobbed again.

“But Harry don’t you see I love you?” I begged. “Don’t you see that even though I tried my hardest to keep you safe there just was no keeping us apart? Because I love you so much, Harry. Because we’re supposed to be together. Because I want a life in London with you. I want the craziness, the kisses, the you and me, the beginnings and everything afterward. This can’t end now, Harry. I love you.”

And like someone finally listened, he shifted beneath me, the fabric of his shirt grazing my chin. I shot up in an instant, my eyes searching him for another sign. It seemed too good to be true – that movement seemed too good to be true.

“Harry!” I cried. “Harry please, just one more time baby. Please just one more time just to make it real.”

It seemed to happen in slow motion – he peeled his eyes open for me, slowly, revealing the shimmering emerald irises I loved so dearly. My heart was pounding so loudly in my ears I could hardly hear the words as they left his mouth.

“Get. Help.”

And just as he said them, the door on the balcony above us flew open at full force, the clattering of footsteps filling the room. The breath caught in my lungs as a task force dressed in all black flooded the area, some rushing down the stairs already, guns drawn. Officers, finally come to rescue us.

“Help!” I screamed. “We need an ambulance!”

In moments, people were pulling me off of Harry and into their arms, more working to burst through the bolted metal door, the sounds of sirens echoing outside. I could hear the chopping wings of a helicopter cutting through the snowy winter air from inside, nearly deafening me. Finally, the door broke free and they were able to reveal the scene outside – nearly fifteen more officers with riot shields, ready for a fight. Instead, they found me and a badly injured Harry, just meters away from the dead body of Damien Trask.

“Don’t worry Miss, we’ve got him,” an officer assured me as he held me tight to his body, trying his hardest to comfort me as I continued to cry. A stretcher seemed to materialize out of nowhere as a medical team rushed through the line of officers with riot shields to Harry, carefully lifting him onto the white bed, which immediately stained with his blood.

“No, wait!” I cried after them. “I need to be with him! You can’t take him away from me!” I struggled to break free of the arms of the officer but he held tight to me. I watched helplessly as they loaded Harry into the helicopter, ready to airlift him to the nearest hospital.

“They’re not going to leave without you,” the officer assured me. “They just need to assess him and you can’t be in there while they try and dress his wounds. You’re bleeding pretty badly yourself. Do you feel alright?”

I couldn’t even begin to explain him all the stages of wrong I felt.

Suddenly, the door above us clanged open, one more straggling officer bursting upon the scene. But this one was not at all what I was expecting. No, this one was a familiar face, lithe and beautiful, a long blonde ponytail swinging from the top of her head as she ran down the stairs to us.

“Mary?”

Mary from the Red Lion was on a British task force? Mary from the Red Lion was a special officer? My head spun from the concept, and suddenly I felt like I was going to collapse if it weren’t for the officer holding me up.

“Lilia!” She pressed a button near her ear as she ran to me, speaking to someone absent from the scene. “The poppy is safe, I repeat, the poppy is safe.”

In seconds, she’d collided with me, wrapping me up in her arms, smoothing her hands through my blood soaked hair. I was entirely beside myself, unable to believe it was her – that all the while, it was Mary who had been looking after me.

“How?” I gasped into her ear.

“You think you’re the only witness in Holmes Chapel?” she chuckled weakly, pulling me tighter to her. “No, you were the only one cheeky enough to actually get yourself into trouble. God damn it, I’m so glad you’re okay.”

I was stunned into submission. It all made sense – how the O.E.O. knew I had a cell phone before I had even told them, how she took me to self-defense classes, how she always knew to take my shift right when something bad happened, before I even asked. Mary knew just as much about my life as I did – perhaps even more. And while normally that would have felt invasive, all I could feel then was relieved.

Agents were swarming over Damien’s dead body, taking pictures and samples and evidence from the scene. The yellow tape was rolled out, to block off all entrances and exits, proclaiming that no one was able to enter. I couldn’t help but think that this had to be the most exciting thing that happened in Woodstock since Winston Churchill himself was elected Prime Minister.

“I just… I don’t understand,” I mumbled, trying my hardest to articulate myself but failing miserably.

“You must have so many questions,” Mary hummed, pulling away from me to examine my face. “But after we get you to a hospital. Judging from all that blood, you probably have a concussion.”

And in moments, I was whisked away from the scene of the crime, the very torture chamber of my nightmares, and into the helicopter. Harry was already loaded into the back of the cabin, wires and tubes pouring from his body to the machines that lined the walls. A medical team tended to him as I was ushered into a jump seat and strapped in, still seeing stars about us.

All I could do was reach out and take Harry’s hand in mine, just so he would know I was there. And in a moment of divinity, he squeezed it.

We had made it out alive. Now I just needed him to stay that way.