“Laura!” he shouted. “Get off my wife.”
Another loud crack shook the air around them.
CHAPTER FIFTY SIMON
Simon ignored the blast of the gun. He trained his focus on Joyce, who had climbed out from under Laura.
He reached out and put his hands on Joyce’s shoulders, shaking her with as much force as he dared. “Get out! For God’s sake, Joyce, get out!”
“No. Stop it!” Joyce’s voice pummeled his ears. She shifted back to move his hands off and away from her.
Simon surveyed the scene in front of him. A young woman lay on the floor by the couch. Blood soaked her clothes and a blanket someone had used to staunch the bleeding. She was very, very pale. Her lips almost blue in color.
Laura remained crouched on the floor next to Joyce. Susan stood close to the kitchenette. She pointed the gun in the air, and Simon saw the corresponding hole in the roof of the trailer.
Joyce wasn’t injured. Laura seemed okay. The first bullet had missed. He didn’t know what to do about Susan, or why she’d fired up into the ceiling this time.
But the young woman bleeding on the ground. He could help her. He could make up for what he’d done to Tom.
This was why everything had happened. Why Trina was dead, and Dermot too. Or, at least, part of the reason. Simon didn’t pretend to believe these horrible things happened because the universe wanted to give him a chance at redemption. A small part of him was simply relieved that he might be able to correct in some small way the many mistakes he’d made in his life.
Sound swirled around him.
He was sober. His hands were trained and knew what to do.
He’d save this woman, and in that he’d save himself.
His self-congratulation was broken by a primal cry from Susan.
The sound leaked from her mouth in a howl, something broken cracking the air around them. “Stop it!” she cried. “Stop helping her!”
“Why?” The word lifted from his lips like a prayer.
“Don’t listen to her.” Laura pointed a finger at Susan. Blood was buried underneath her nails. “She shot her. She shot Addy. She wants us all dead.”
“What do you mean?” Simon held his hand over the woman, losing precious seconds in helping her. He felt his chance slipping away. Anger seethed underneath his impatience.
“She killed Dermot.” Laura almost choked on his name.
“No, that’s not true!” Susan’s fury surged across the room, and the gun wavered in her hand. Simon wondered how many bullets were left.
The woman below him—Addy—let out a gasp and her eyes fluttered. Simon sprang into action, forcing the distraction from his mind.
“Get off her, I said.” Susan’s eyes bored into his. “You need to listen to me this time.”
Simon turned his chin upwards and fought the urge to stand and smack his forehead into Susan’s. He wasn’t a violent man, but he could learn.
“I need to help her.”
From the corner of Simon’s eye he noticed Joyce’s body tense.
“How do you know her name?” Susan asked.
“She’s my wife,” he replied distractedly.
“No, not her. I mean Laura. When you came in, you said her name. How do you know who she is?”
“What do you mean? Why does it matter?” Simon returned his focus to his patient, working swiftly. He still kept a pocketknife in his coat—for his sins—and tore strips from his shirt to staunch the bleeding.
Joyce pulled her hands up in surrender. “I’d like to know as well.”
“We met once, at Dermot’s,” Laura offered. Her cheeks were bright red, two red blooms against her pale skin.
“At Dermot’s?” Joyce’s voice sounded incredulous, and if Simon was being honest, he’d also say a bit impressed.
“He was my lover.” Simon didn’t look at his wife as he said it.
“I know,” Joyce replied, quietly. But Simon didn’t have time to take in her full expression. He was doing important work. None of these other pieces of his life mattered right now. He ran his hands over the woman’s shoulder, feeling for pressure. She gave a yelp of pain as he touched her side, and Simon knew he was being tested.
“How many of you were sleeping with my brother?” Susan’s voice had lost its edge, although Simon couldn’t guess what about this piece of information regarding Dermot’s sexuality—given everything else going on—was the trigger. He needed to remove the bullet and stop the bleeding. Otherwise she’d rupture and bleed out in a hemorrhage. Simon directed his words to Susan. “She’s going to die if I don’t do something.”
“Good,” she said, but her voice was less steady than before.
“Don’t do it,” Joyce pleaded with Simon. “Don’t make this same mistake again.”
The gun was still pointed at them. Simon couldn’t take the time to see if her hand was shaking. He only observed the dark hulk of it from his periphery.
“Everyone but you, it seems,” Joyce said, answering Susan’s earlier question. “Dermot was sleeping with both me and Simon. Separately,” she clarified. “And Laura. And I believe Addy, as well.” Joyce nodded towards the woman under Simon’s working hands. “He loved sex,” Joyce explained.
