Read Online Breaking Dawn by Donna Shelton - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Donna Shelton
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clutter, stopping at the hall that leads to Perry’s bedroom.
‘Perry?’ Brian calls out. ‘It’s Brian and Dawn.’
My stomach begins twisting withunbearable pain when there is no answer. What
was
that sound? Why doesn’t Perry answer?
Slowly, we step down the hall, looking into the side rooms as we pass. All empty. When we get to Perry’s door, Brian stops to look at me, squeezing my hand. Then he pushes the door. The door creaks open, revealing a messy room and something lying on the bed. Not something; someone.
Perry is lying on his bed, eyes open, staring at the ceiling. Blood is spattered on the wall behind him, all over the
Pretty In Pink
poster. One arm is dangling off the bed and within inches of his fingertips, on the floor, is something black and shiny. A handgun.
I pull my hand free of Brian’s grip and step forward, my eyes fixed on the shocking scene before me. I am vaguely aware that I am panting, that my heart is pounding hard in my chest. Nausea and rising vomit leave a bitter taste in my mouth. I can make out the blank look on Perry’s face. The slackjaw and the blood on his teeth. The hole in his skull and the puddle of blood, skull and brain matter soaking his bed. I feel like I’m going to faint. Like a zombie I step over to the foot of the bed, fall to my knees and then I do throw up, all over a pile of dirty clothes. When I think my stomach should be empty, I heave again and again, until I’m sure that my guts will come out through my mouth.
From behind me, Brian pulls back my hair and hands me a dry shirt from the floor. I wipe my mouth and push myself up. Turning away from the bed, Brian puts his arms around me and walks me out of the room.
‘I’ve called for help,’ he says.
Brian must have made the call when I let go of his hand to go stand by the bed. I shouldn’t have done that. Now that image of Perry’s defiled body will be burned forever in my mind.
In the living room we sit on the couch. I hold on to Brian like he is the only solid thing in this world. He is shaking. I canfeel it, even through my own shaking. All I can think of is where the hell is that ambulance?
Pretty soon I can hear the sirens. They are getting louder, coming closer. Then I hear a noise outside, and the front door flies open. A man in uniform steps in, followed by another, both carrying bags of equipment. Brian points to the hall.
‘The last bedroom,’ is all that he can say.
I can tell it is taking every ounce of his strength to remain calm. I think that it should be easier for him; Perry was not
his
friend.
He
did not get a close look at Perry lying back there.
He
didn’t see the dead eyes, the bloody teeth, the hole, the brains, the skull fragments.
He
didn’t see those things, and for that I envy him. And curse myself.
We are still sitting on the couch when the police arrive soon after the paramedics. Brian does most of the talking. I can’t do more than nod or shake my head. I temporarily forget how to form words. Theparamedics look me over; they tell me that I’m in shock. I can understand what the paramedics tell me. Everything else seems more like just blah, blah, blah, blah, blah, like in the Charlie Brown cartoons, where only the kids can speak real words and all of the adults speak an incomprehensible language.
After the police are done talking with Brian, they let us go. We walk back to the car, where Brian opens the door for me and helps me inside, like I’m some invalid. I sit, looking at the house. I’m watching the paramedics leave and more police cars arrive. I watch the scene for as long as I can while Brian fires up the engine and pulls away slowly down the street.
Back home, Brian opens the car door for me. I’m on autopilot. I get out of the car, and stick my hand in my pocket to retrieve my house key as I walk up to the door. I put the key into the lock and, with a twist of my wrist, I turn the knob and the door opens. Autopilot.
Inside, I slip out of my parka
‘Perry?’ Brian calls out. ‘It’s Brian and Dawn.’
My stomach begins twisting withunbearable pain when there is no answer. What
was
that sound? Why doesn’t Perry answer?
Slowly, we step down the hall, looking into the side rooms as we pass. All empty. When we get to Perry’s door, Brian stops to look at me, squeezing my hand. Then he pushes the door. The door creaks open, revealing a messy room and something lying on the bed. Not something; someone.
Perry is lying on his bed, eyes open, staring at the ceiling. Blood is spattered on the wall behind him, all over the
Pretty In Pink
poster. One arm is dangling off the bed and within inches of his fingertips, on the floor, is something black and shiny. A handgun.
I pull my hand free of Brian’s grip and step forward, my eyes fixed on the shocking scene before me. I am vaguely aware that I am panting, that my heart is pounding hard in my chest. Nausea and rising vomit leave a bitter taste in my mouth. I can make out the blank look on Perry’s face. The slackjaw and the blood on his teeth. The hole in his skull and the puddle of blood, skull and brain matter soaking his bed. I feel like I’m going to faint. Like a zombie I step over to the foot of the bed, fall to my knees and then I do throw up, all over a pile of dirty clothes. When I think my stomach should be empty, I heave again and again, until I’m sure that my guts will come out through my mouth.
From behind me, Brian pulls back my hair and hands me a dry shirt from the floor. I wipe my mouth and push myself up. Turning away from the bed, Brian puts his arms around me and walks me out of the room.
‘I’ve called for help,’ he says.
Brian must have made the call when I let go of his hand to go stand by the bed. I shouldn’t have done that. Now that image of Perry’s defiled body will be burned forever in my mind.
In the living room we sit on the couch. I hold on to Brian like he is the only solid thing in this world. He is shaking. I canfeel it, even through my own shaking. All I can think of is where the hell is that ambulance?
Pretty soon I can hear the sirens. They are getting louder, coming closer. Then I hear a noise outside, and the front door flies open. A man in uniform steps in, followed by another, both carrying bags of equipment. Brian points to the hall.
‘The last bedroom,’ is all that he can say.
I can tell it is taking every ounce of his strength to remain calm. I think that it should be easier for him; Perry was not
his
friend.
He
did not get a close look at Perry lying back there.
He
didn’t see the dead eyes, the bloody teeth, the hole, the brains, the skull fragments.
He
didn’t see those things, and for that I envy him. And curse myself.
We are still sitting on the couch when the police arrive soon after the paramedics. Brian does most of the talking. I can’t do more than nod or shake my head. I temporarily forget how to form words. Theparamedics look me over; they tell me that I’m in shock. I can understand what the paramedics tell me. Everything else seems more like just blah, blah, blah, blah, blah, like in the Charlie Brown cartoons, where only the kids can speak real words and all of the adults speak an incomprehensible language.
After the police are done talking with Brian, they let us go. We walk back to the car, where Brian opens the door for me and helps me inside, like I’m some invalid. I sit, looking at the house. I’m watching the paramedics leave and more police cars arrive. I watch the scene for as long as I can while Brian fires up the engine and pulls away slowly down the street.
Back home, Brian opens the car door for me. I’m on autopilot. I get out of the car, and stick my hand in my pocket to retrieve my house key as I walk up to the door. I put the key into the lock and, with a twist of my wrist, I turn the knob and the door opens. Autopilot.
Inside, I slip out of my parka
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