Chapter XII
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"Can't stop my world from falling, from falling, from falling, from falling apart."
- Falling, Alice in Videoland
/
Jo was screaming. There was the familiar sound of a gunshot and then the shattering of glass. Dean immediately broke away from me and within seconds he was running out of the bathroom, dripping wet and nude as the day he was born. I quickly followed, leaving the shower on as I grabbed a towel and threw it around my waist. When I entered the loft's main room I could hardly process what I was seeing.
The first thing I registered was Dean and Meg grappling on the couch. I would have found it funny, considering Dean was in his birthday suit and Meg was still dressed in her Midnight outfit, if it weren't for the gravity of the situation. Meg was screaming bloody murder as she tried to shove Dean off of her, and I saw that she held his gun in her hand, which he was trying to regain possession of.
Then I heard a cry over the music and Meg's shouts, and my eyes instinctively left the pair and drifted to the far side of the room. A part of the window had been shattered and Jo was sitting against the bare metal framing. Tears were pouring down her cheeks, her whole body shaking with sobs, and her hand was smothered in red where it clutched at her abdomen.
"I'm sorry," I thought I saw her lips mouth, repeated over and over again. "I'm so sorry." I began to walk forward, barely noticing Dean pistol whipping Meg across the face as I walked passed the couch. As soon as I dropped to my knees next to Jo I felt the urge to pull her close, to stop her tears like I had before, but I forced myself to assess the damage instead. It looked like she had been shot once. I didn't know how serious it was, but I knew she was losing blood fast by the puddle of red that was beginning to spread outwards from her small, damaged frame.
"I didn't mean to," she told me, her eyes wide and puffy as she stared up at me. "I didn't know she untied herself. I would have never brought the gun in the room if-" She coughed and a stream of blood ran down her chin. "I'm so sorry, Sam. She was saying such horrible things. I couldn't stand it. I just wanted to-"
I shushed her gently, placing a hand on her shoulder. "It's okay, Jo. Don't speak anymore. I'm going to get you some help. We need to get you to a hospital."
"You can't-" She coughed again, spilling more blood. "You can't bring paramedics here. They'll ask you questions."
"Who the fuck cares?" I snapped, suddenly angry at the dying girl. The music stopped and the room became deathly quiet, only the sound of Jo's shuddering breaths audible. "Dean," I called out, not looking behind me. "Call 911."
"Already on it," I heard him answer.
I took the towel from my waist and pressed it against her wound, the white material immediately turning a bright red. Jo let out a small, shaky laugh. "You're making me blush, Sam."
"That's funny, because your face looks as pale as a ghost," I shot back. "I thought I told you not to talk."
She leaned her head back against the window pane and closed her eyes, perhaps in an attempt to collect herself. A draft entered the room and played with the strands of her hair. Her tears seemed to have ebbed slightly, but I still wondered how much pain she was in. I wanted to take it all away from her. I wished I had never brought her here.
"Do you love him?" she asked suddenly, and for a moment I didn't understand who she was referring to. Then I realized she meant Dean, and I was struck by the absurdity of the question considering the situation.
"Save your energy," I told her, my hands now red with her blood. The towel had grown warm in the few minutes it had been pressed to her abdomen, and I clutched it tighter, trying to stanch the bullet wound. I glanced behind me and saw that Dean had put on a pair of jogging pants and was dragging an unconscious Meg to the front door.
"If Dean was a girl I'd probably be more jealous," Jo admitted, and I turned my head again to look at her, a thousand thoughts competing for my attention but Jo's words anchoring me to reality. She still had her eyes closed, thin blue veins visible through her lids. "I mean, I can't even compete now."
Her voice was becoming weaker, her words beginning to slur. I shushed her again, but she didn't seem to want to obey. "But I guess I can accept it," she said, almost sighing. "Anyway, that's pretty hot, two guys like you." Her eyelids opened slightly as she said, "Still, it's quite a loss for womankind. Not just you, but Dean too? So selfish." She smiled faintly and I felt the lump in my throat grow. Here she was, one hundred pounds with a bullet hole torn through her, and she was making jokes. How could she still smile?
"Why don't you ever listen to me?" I asked, my voice cracking. My vision was becoming blurry but somehow I held back the tears. I didn't want Jo to see them, not when she was trying to be so strong.
Her smile vanished as her eyebrows knitted together. "I was really going to stop, you know," she whispered. "I meant what I said. I was supposed to have a job interview a few days ago, but I... I couldn't make it. I was really going to stop."
I didn't like the way she was referring to everything in the past, like she wasn't still going to get the chance to find a decent job. Like she wasn't going to see tomorrow. A strand of blonde hair had fallen in front of her eye and I wanted to reach a hand out to tuck it back behind her ear, but I was afraid I'd smear it with blood.
"You still have to find your Prince Charming, Jo," I whispered, because I could barely speak now. I knew she would have scoffed if she hadn't been hit by another cough. I bit my bottom lip as I met her unfocused gaze. I knew she was running out of time, but just then I perceived the distant sound of sirens. I allowed hope to fill me as I heard Dean return to the loft.
"That's the ambulance, Jo," I said quietly. "They're coming to fix you. You're going to be alright."
Dean's footsteps stopped behind me. If the window had not been shattered I would have been able to see him in the reflection, but instead there was only inky blackness, penetrated by the few streetlamps lining the road and the distant lights of New York City's busier areas.
"Sammy, we've got to get out of here," I heard him say.
"What?" I asked, incredulous, as I whipped my head over my shoulder to glare at him.
"He's right," I heard Jo mumble, and my gaze softened as it returned to her. "You can't stay here."
"Meg's in the car. The ambulance will be here in minutes," Dean explained. "We stay here and we'll both be detained for questioning. We've got to go
now."
I shook my head, watching as Jo's eyelids slid closed once more. "We can't just leave her here."
"Sam!" Dean raised his voice. "She's going to get help."
"What if John's people know about her?" I felt panic rise within me, constricting my throat even further. "Who's going to protect her?"
The sirens were louder now, almost at the front of the building. I clenched my teeth as I watched Jo's head slump to the side, trying to hold back the scream of frustration I wanted to release. I knew Dean was right, that we had to run away, but I couldn't get up and leave Jo here by herself. Not with a bullet wound and a puddle of blood surrounding her. She was so pale. So thin and small. So fragile. I remembered the night I had kissed her, how soft her lips had been. I couldn't smell cherries anymore, only the metallic tang of blood, and suddenly I wanted to kill Meg more than I wanted to take the life of my stepfather.
A hand gripped me roughly at the neck and shoved me away from Jo. I fell back, barely catching myself, and then my backpack was being thrown at me.
"Get dressed," Dean commanded as he took Jo's limp hand and placed it on the red towel, holding the material in place. I hesitated, looking at him in bewilderment, but then he pinned me with a glare and I found, for the first time, I was actually afraid of him. "Get. Dressed. Now," he repeated, his voice like the growl of a vicious animal.
I numbly did as I was told, throwing on a hoodie and a pair of jeans, and then I was following Dean out of the loft and into the unfinished hallway. I knew I'd always remember the image I left behind, of Jo's small body slumped against the broken window, all the red around her seeming even brighter against the paleness of her skin and hair. I knew it would haunt me for the rest of my life.
We left the door open, the light a signal for the paramedics whom I prayed were already on their way up. Then we were hurtling down the back stairs and into the dark parking lot. We swiftly entered Dean's car and avoided the flashing lights of the ambulance as we drove away. On the road, I glanced into the back seat but Meg was not there. "She's in the trunk," Dean explained, answering the question I had been about to ask. I settled into the seat and then did something bizarre. I reached up for my seatbelt. It was something I always did when I entered a car, but right now that simple, familiar motion seemed so out of place. It was too normal, too innocent. It didn't belong in this nightmare.
I let my hand drop back into my lap, but then I saw the blood that stained my fingers a deep red. My hands shook uncontrollably as I held them up, palms facing me. I slowly clenched them into fists. Out of the corner of my eye I saw Dean glance at me. "We're gonna do this your way now," he announced. "Meg obviously isn't playing around, and neither are we. You were right. We've got to show her we're serious."
I didn't look at him but only stared straight ahead, watching as the road disappeared beneath the hood of the car. In this dark part of the city there were only warehouses and factories and no one around but squatters and drifters in the dead of night. But I barely registered this. My thoughts were somewhere else, in a part of my mind I had only recently begun to explore; where there was no sympathy or compassion, only the obsessive thought of revenge. That part of my mind had scared me once, but tonight I revelled in it.
After some time I felt the car slow down and realized we were turning into some sort of construction site. There were no lights, only the natural glow of the moon and the headlights of the car guiding us. Large pieces of machinery stood around us, their true forms cast into shadow and obscured by the darkness. Their bulky outlines reminded me of the monsters I had once believed in as a child, when I still thought evil had lurked beneath my bed. Now I knew what real monsters looked like. We had one locked up in the trunk.
When Dean cut the engine I heard Meg's muffled voice. She was screaming again, loud thuds reverberating throughout the car's metal frame as she banged around, unsuccessfully trying to escape. She was probably hoping someone would hear her and come to her rescue, but there would be no help arriving. There was no one here but us to hear her screams. I wanted to tell her she was wasting her breath, but I was silent as I reached for my door handle.
When Dean and I exited the car I walked to the front as Dean made his way to the back. I listened as he lifted the trunk lid and grabbed hold of the struggling Meg. They reappeared at the corner of the car, Dean dragging the kicking and screaming woman to where I was standing. He threw her roughly to the ground and she immediately scurried to her feet, trying to run away. A gunshot rang through the air and she fell in the dirt, now yelling in pain. Dean had blown a hole right through her ankle, and she clutched it as she stared up at us.
Her makeup had long ago been ruined and she almost looked comical now in the harsh glare of the headlights. Her red lipstick was smeared about her lips like a clown, and her mascara had smudged all around her eyes, resembling those of a raccoon. I briefly wondered what my stepfather would say if he was here now; if he would still feel the urge to screw her.
"You fucking asshole!" she screeched between gritted teeth, her crazed eyes focused on Dean. "I'm going to fucking kill you!"
Dean seemed to find her threat amusing, because he let out a laugh as he pointed the gun at her head. Her face went slack as she stared down the barrel. She shuffled back in the dirt, as if the distance could protect her from a speeding bullet. Her black dress dragged in the filth but she didn't seem to notice, her focus solely on the mouth of the gun. "You're not going to shoot me. You don't have the guts," she said, but the fear in her eyes clearly stated that she knew otherwise.
"Tell us where John is," I said, my voice surprisingly calm. I would even say it sounded cold.
"I-I don't know," she stammered. She screamed and fell back as her shoulder was torn open by a second bullet. I looked at Dean. He stood calmly, reloading the smoking gun like he was at a firing range. He didn't raise it again, though, because he didn't have to. Meg was crying on the ground, black tears streaking across her face. "He's at the Realton's port," she sobbed. "Tonight. Midnight. There's supposed to be a big deal going down. That's all I know, I swear!"
"It's already ten to twelve," Dean announced. "If we didn't make it on time that would be pretty convenient for you. We wouldn't know if you were lying."
"I'm not!" Meg screamed, her voice full of pain.
I knew she was telling the truth this time. We had to finish this up quick, but I still had more questions. "Why did he do it?" I asked her. "Why did he have my mother killed?" Meg didn't answer, seeming to be too absorbed in her agony. The sobbing was getting annoying. I think I had preferred the shouting. Before Dean could stop me, I snatched the gun from his hand and dropped to one knee next to Meg. I grabbed a handful of her greasy blonde hair and pulled her head up, aiming the barrel of the gun beneath her chin. "Why the fuck did he do it?" I roared.
Meg was speechless for a moment, her voice catching in her throat, but then she calmed herself enough to say, "She knew things she wasn't supposed to."
"What things?"
"Stuff about his drug business. Stuff no one was supposed to know."
I heard the shuffle of feet and then Dean's hand was on my own, gently prying it away from Meg and slipping the gun from my fingers. I didn't resist, but for a moment I continued to stare at the woman, searching her eyes as if they could reveal the truth. Then I released her and stood up, taking a few steps back.
"Did you know?" Dean asked, standing above Meg with the gun hanging by his side. She didn't seem to understand the question, so he clarified. "Did you know the information that got Mary killed?
"Of course I did," Meg stated, clutching her bleeding shoulder. "John told me everything."
Dean nodded. He seemed to be contemplating something. "How did Mary find out?"
She hesitated, perhaps for only a fraction of a second, but it was enough to raise Dean's suspicions. "How the fuck am I supposed to know?" she demanded. "She was his wife. There's a number of ways she could have-"
"You're lying," Dean stated, levelling the gun at her head again.
Meg choked on the sentence she had been about to finish. "Because I wanted her dead, okay?" she suddenly sobbed, her tongue loosened by the sight of her own death. "I wanted John and she stood in my way, so I leaked her information she wasn't supposed to know. Information no one was supposed to know. Not even me." She sucked in a shaky breath and I stood there, dumfounded. "Please," she begged. "Please, call an ambulance. I told you everything. I'm going to bleed to death."
I shook my head slowly, unable to comprehend that this woman was the one who had caused my mom's murder. I was about to ask Dean for the gun, but before I got the chance I saw him drop the weapon to his side once more.
"Who killed her?" he asked. "Who was the one who actually carried out the assassination?"
Of course. Meg may have been the one who instigated it, and John was the one who had commanded it, but both were innocent of the actual deed. Neither seemed like the type to get their own hands dirty when they didn't have to. I knew then and there that I would find the one responsible and bring them to justice as well.
"You should know that better than I," she answered between gritted teeth. She was trying to get in control of her actions again, perhaps to save the last shred of dignity she still had.
Dean's brow furrowed. "Why would you say that?"
Meg actually smiled. Her teeth were smeared with red, and combined with the lipstick it seemed as if there was a huge gash stretching across her face. "I know why you went to see Vince," she said. "But don't worry, Dean. It's our little secret." Then she was laughing.
"Rot in hell, bitch," Dean stated calmly, and before I knew what was happening, he was aiming the gun between the woman's eyes.
"You're going to have to remember someda-" He pulled the trigger. As Meg's body jerked in the dirt, the back of her head blown out, I only felt one emotion. Satisfaction. I may not have pulled the trigger, but Meg had paid for her sins. Meg was dead, just as my mother was. In that one instant, justice felt damn good.
But the feeling only lasted for a moment, and then I was turning around and spilling my stomach's contents by my feet. I felt Dean's hand on my shoulder, and the warmth of his touch strangely comforted me as my body reacted naturally to the carnage I had just witnessed. It was like my body knew how to be humane while my mind was still catching up, trying to find the right emotions to go with the shaking of my body and the sick feeling in my stomach.
"It gets easier," I heard Dean say, and I wondered if he had gone through the same thing after he had shot Vince and his pal. I wondered what it must feel like to be the one who pulls the trigger instead of just the one who watches.
When my stomach finally had nothing left to offer, I straightened up and ran the back of my hand across my mouth. I felt like I'd just drunk two bottles of tequila and had then vomited it up. My head swam and I had trouble standing, but then Dean gripped my arms and steadied me as we walked back to the car. I sat in the back seat, mechanically reaching up for my seatbelt but stopping midway again. I let my hand drop back to my side as I looked out the window. Dean had gone back to Meg's corpse and was now dragging it to one of the holes that had been dug for the building's foundation. I watched as he kicked it in and then jumped down, disappearing from my sight. I figured he planned to lightly bury it, and in a couple of days it would vanish beneath a thick layer of cement, probably never to be found within our lifetimes. Especially since both our lifespans were not looking very lengthy at the moment.
Ten minutes later, Dean reappeared from the pit and walked back to the car, his clothes filthy with blood and dirt. When he slid into the driver's seat and shut the door, he remained still for a moment. I waited for him to say something, anything, but then he turned the key in the ignition and the car started up with a rumble. We left the construction site without a word, but we both knew where we were headed.
The next hour would see more death. I just hoped my stomach could handle it.
To Be Continued.
