However Long the Night

Chapter Twenty-Three

Time hung in the air like a weighted pendulum.

The house was quiet.

Will blinked slowly.

Stunned by what he'd seen.

And.

And.

And.

The shaking. He couldn't stop.

The fuzzy sound of white noise rushed in his ears.

His extremities tingled like they were asleep.

Until...

The sound of Bridget's voice moaning her daughter's name cracked through his wall of shock. Her leg was a mangled, bloody mess.

Breathe, Will. Breathe.

"Bridget," he spoke softly, not sure what to say. "I'm ... I'm going to go check on Skye and get us all some help." Oh God. "Rest here while I do that, alright?"

Like she can even move, idiot.

He hoped he sounded convincing.

"Please," she whispered through gritted teeth. "Make sure my baby's okay. Please, Will."

He tried breathing slow so he didn't freak out. His ears were ringing, so shrill, and he took a long, deep breath before responding.

"Skye's gonna be just fine, Bridget. I promise."

He prayed he wasn't lying to her, then rushed back to the family room, grabbed a blanket from the couch and draped it over her shaking body to keep her warm.

His teeth were chattering as he moved toward the staircase. He was too petrified to look down, but he was out of options, so he sucked in a quick burst of air and forced his eyes to travel downstairs. The tipped lamp in the living room below shot a splinter of light that broke through the shadows to reveal more than he wanted to see.

Tom's body lay face-up on the hard steps. Will glanced at him, trying not to see the blood and brains draining from the perfect hole in his pale temple. Gagging, Will bit his lip and grabbed the rail to steady himself before carrying on. His eyes followed the staircase down further and finally rested on Skye, lying still near the bottom steps. Her neck was bent at an odd angle, and dark hair covered her face. He heard a strangled whimper, but it wasn't coming from Skye. No, the strange sound was coming from his own throat.

His feet moved down the hard steps, but his body felt disconnected from his mind, like he was a puppet steered by an otherworldly hand. Reaching Tom, he sidestepped his corpse and looked away as tentacles of fear unfurled in the pit of his stomach. Continuing his descent, he held his breath and forced himself to go on.

Please be okay. Please be okay. Please be okay. Please be okay.

The words echoed in his head like a mantra until he reached her.

Bending down, Will brushed soft hair from her face as tenderly as he could. Flashbacks of his hand pushing a tendril behind her ear at Luke's stung his brain. Skye's eyes stared past him and gazed blankly up at the ceiling. Her left pupil was dilated, huge and dark as night. Will searched its vast black center, but her 1 was gone.

Closing his eyes, hot tears seeped down the sides of his face. Lungs burning, he gasped for air and swallowed a scream so Bridget wouldn't hear from where she lay struggling upstairs. Forcing his eyes open again, he looked down at Skye. So beautiful, so still. Reaching out, he traced her cool cheek with his fingertips. Searching her face, he tried to remember every freckle, curve, and feature. Finally, he allowed himself to look at her numberless pupil again.