Unexpected | Simon Minter | Miniminter

Chapter Six

The hall was empty, not another person in sight.

With shaky hands, I dialed 999. I tried to explain the situation best I could to the woman on the line, but not mentioning my past or background led to more questions than I could answer.

At the end of the call, she offered some advice on how to prevent any more blood loss before the paramedics could arrive on the scene. It involved balling up strips of her torn, bloody jumper and using them as packing.

Though I'd seen blood hundreds of times, staring at Athena, with her life in my hands, my stomach churned. I felt my eyes brim with tears, but I couldn't let them fall. I couldn't be weak, not when Athena was counting on me.

I tried not to count the seconds until the paramedics showed up. I knew every second would feel like a lifetime if I did. So, I kept firm pressure on my best friend's wounds and prayed to any god that would listen.

When paramedics finally poured into the narrow hall, I stayed by her side. Even when they lifted her body onto a gourney. Even when they wheeled her out to the street, past nosy observers. Even when they pulled her into the ambulance.

"I'm sorry, miss, but we need you to make a statement." One of the female officers on scene approached me slowly, a notepad in hand. "While the details are fresh."

The officer and I went in circles for what felt like hours. Her most pressing questions I had no answers to, which only made her press harder. Eventually, she told me the station would be in touch and sent me on my way. I had a feeling the next meeting wouldn't be as pleasant.

Rubbing my shoulders to ward off the cold, I walked back into the building. Officers crowded my hall, directing confused residents around the blood pool being observed by lab techs behind crime scene tape.

I ducked past the growing group of people, wanting nothing more than to hide in my flat until the nightmare passed.

But when I came to the door, it was unlocked.

My entire flat was turned upside down. The sofa was on its back and the cushions were thrown across the room. The fridge had a dent in it, most likely from the smashed T.V. lying a few meters from it.

The bedroom was in worse condition, if possible.

Clothes everywhere, items spilling from my closet, glass shards and wood chips littering the floor. The picture frame that sat on my desk hours before was on the floor, shattered.

I sunk into the mess, fitting right in with my blood stained dress and smeared makeup. As I attempted to wrap my head around tonight, light footsteps hit my ears. Leaping from the floor to the bed, I lifted up the mattress and slipped my hand into a small slit in the side. My fingers closed around a single item, and my heart squeezed in relief.

With my father's lucky pistol in one hand, I pushed open the door with the other. I crept into the lounge, head on a swivel, until I locked eyes with a tall man smiling amidst the chaos.

"Hey, little sister."

I watched him lean against the overturned sofa and scratch his beard.

That's new.

"Josh." My finger slipped from the trigger, the gun clattering against the floorboards.

"That's Dad's, isn't it?" He kneeled down and ran his fingers against the barrel, where the initials D.K. were engraved. "Beautiful gun."

"You shouldn't be here."

His gaze returned to me. "I came to help."

I scoffed.