Clove hung up the burner, letting her hand fall limp, spilling the cell phone onto the floor.
She sniveled back tears, cursing her weakness. She wiped her eyes with the back of her hands and then pressed hard at her temples.
The Glock sat on the bed next to her, where she had left it, close to hand. It looked so familiar to her, comforting almost. She picked it up and turned it in her hands. She pointed it at herself again and looked down into the barrel, her thumb awkwardly cradling the trigger.
Looks like she had made the right decision, calling on Norwood and bringing in the Friendlies. It was almost done, her one last thing. But had, she, made the decision?
He had agreed, no questions, no doubts. He had agreed. She wanted him to argue, to give her an out, but he hadn't. He knew it had to happen. To make things right it had to happen. She had been like that once, but lately something had changed. She sobbed again and dropped the gun back down, lightly on the bed. She was so tired. Her head fell back onto the mattress and she let her eyes close. Just for a minute she thought.
The sound jarred her awake and for a moment she thought she was dreaming. Then the thumping reverberated through her head again. She scrambled to get up, instinctively searching for the gun in the semi-darkness.
The motel door flung open, cracking at the seam, a figure spilling into the room after it.
Clove abandoned the frantic search for the gun. She didn't recognise the silhouette, but she knew exactly who it was.
Andrea.
"Clove", the figure said. "Clove. You have to come with me."
She sniveled back tears, cursing her weakness. She wiped her eyes with the back of her hands and then pressed hard at her temples.
The Glock sat on the bed next to her, where she had left it, close to hand. It looked so familiar to her, comforting almost. She picked it up and turned it in her hands. She pointed it at herself again and looked down into the barrel, her thumb awkwardly cradling the trigger.
Looks like she had made the right decision, calling on Norwood and bringing in the Friendlies. It was almost done, her one last thing. But had, she, made the decision?
He had agreed, no questions, no doubts. He had agreed. She wanted him to argue, to give her an out, but he hadn't. He knew it had to happen. To make things right it had to happen. She had been like that once, but lately something had changed. She sobbed again and dropped the gun back down, lightly on the bed. She was so tired. Her head fell back onto the mattress and she let her eyes close. Just for a minute she thought.
The sound jarred her awake and for a moment she thought she was dreaming. Then the thumping reverberated through her head again. She scrambled to get up, instinctively searching for the gun in the semi-darkness.
The motel door flung open, cracking at the seam, a figure spilling into the room after it.
Clove abandoned the frantic search for the gun. She didn't recognise the silhouette, but she knew exactly who it was.
Andrea.
"Clove", the figure said. "Clove. You have to come with me."
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