RUIN

CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

Beelzebub smiles.

Then, he levels the gun and shoots Truman Flynn, twice in the chest, once in the head. The sound is very loud.

From the steps of the church, I watch Truman fall and it’s like watching through glass. I can only stand with my hands pressed to my mouth, thinking I am not seeing this, this is not how it’s supposed to end. Truman was mine. He was finally free. We were supposed to be happy.

He’s on his back, head tilted limply like he’s staring up at the sky, and in the next moment, I’m on my knees beside him, touching him frantically, trying to find a heartbeat. In a movie, any movie, he would say something with his last breath, declare his love, his absolute devotion.

There is no breath. His ribcage is still, his mouth slightly open, and all I’m left with is a body.

I stare up at Beelzebub, waving my hands above the wreck of Truman’s chest. “What did you do to him?” My palms are covered in blood.

Beelzebub looks down at me, smiling the kindest, saddest smile. “I sent him home.”

“What?” My voice is so small.

“Home. He’s gone to a better place.”

“No . . . no, he can’t.” But even as I say it, I know that he’s gone, has gotten out. He’s gone someplace I can never go.

There’s a feeling inside me like things are coming apart and it turns into a noise and the noise is coming out of my throat, breaking all the glass. My hands and face are sticky. On the pavement, spreading from underneath Truman, is a dark pool that grows and grows. When I look down into it, I see my own reflection.

A raw wail spills out my mouth like pieces of sharp metal. From far away, a car alarm goes off, then another, until the street is full of their steady throbbing. There’s the dull popping noise of a street light exploding. The noise travels down the block, fainter and fainter, mixing with the shimmering sound of glass on the sidewalk.

Beelzebub takes me by the arm and pulls me to my feet. Truman’s body goes sprawling out of my lap onto the pavement, and with it, there’s a huge splash of blood.

“Get a hold of yourself.” He gives me a shake and I don’t do anything. Even as he holds me, my knees start to buckle.

“Daphne, listen to me. This is the best thing for him. It was the only way for him to receive grace, the only way to give him what he needed. ”

I can feel the blood on my skin, trickling down my arms, dripping from my fingers. This can’t be me shrieking. This is not me.