"Oh, good. You can make coherent sentences now," Cole nodded in relief, partly joking despite the situation. He was half-hoping Sam would snap out of it if he acted like this was no big deal. There was no fooling anyone, apparently. "No one knows. It can stay that way. It’s not like any of Shelby’s friends are going to approach the police anytime soon. We just have to get rid of the evidence."
"I know this is serious, Sam." His voice sounded gruff to him, almost dangerous. "But we can’t have you behind bars. I won’t allow that. Not if I had anything to do about it." Cole couldn’t help but wonder what Beck would’ve done had he still been around. He remembered his promise to Sam that he was going to find Beck. It had seemed to Cole that he had been constantly making promises to the younger boy to comfort him. But he wasn’t very aware of the fact that he reassured Sam to put himself at ease rather than his best friend.
"Do you think you can fix your wound on your own?" Cole asked as he hoisted his best friend up. The scarlet on his shirt was growing darker by the minute. "It’s okay if you can’t. I’ll fix it as soon as we get rid of— as soon as we get rid of Shelby." Having a history with the delinquents and once one himself, Cole knew how to fix wounds. They did not heal up as great as they did in hospitals but they’d heal all the same. He helped Sam into the shotgun before he took the driver’s seat, revved up and took off into the night again. He was probably never ever going to come back to this neighborhood again.
"It's almost as if I have a brain there, Cole." Sam was grateful for the small bit of humor to break up the gravity of the situation. He knew that it was only a momentary reprieve, but he eagerly snatched it up, knowing that he wouldn't be able to sleep anymore. Not after what he saw tonight. Shelby's body, drenched in blood, the knife still sunken into her chest and crusting over with dried crimson. Sam shuddered involuntarily, his entire body twitching for just a moment as he thought of what just happened, as if it was trying to literally shake off the bad feeling.
Cole sounded scary. Lethal, even. Sam blinked at Cole's words and licked his lips, nodding. He didn't know how they were going to get out of this one, but he knew that they would. Cole had the experience, being the ex-convict, and Sam had the pull, being the adopted son of one of the most well-respected lawyers in the entire DC area. Sam couldn't help but wonder what Beck would say if he could see them now. It would probably be something about how he needed to face the consequences of his actions and how what they were doing was a bad choice, but Sam didn't care anymore. Beck wasn't here, and that didn't seem to show signs of changing.
Sam nodded. "I've fixed you up after you've come home from benders, I know what to do." He looked down at his shirt, which now had a frighteningly large red stain across the lower left side. He knew that he wouldn't be able to tell if there was any damage to his organs, but Sam could feel that the wound was simply superficial. He could treat that himself. The last thing that Cole and Sam needed was to go the hospital with a knife wound-they would make them file a police report for sure. Sam climbed gingerly into the shotgun seat, opening the glove compartment to reveal the bottle of vodka that Beck always thought was hidden. Uncapping it with his teeth as Cole started driving, Sam ripped apart the bloodstained section of his shirt, revealing the stab wound. He gingerly tipped the bottle over it, making a hissing sound through his teeth as he felt the alcohol burn through the gash. He then put the bottle to his lips, taking a swig, before setting it down and pressing both hands against the wound.
"Keys." Cole repeated. "Dammit," he cussed as he saw the distant look in Sam’s eyes. He needed Sam to focus but that was apparently the one thing he couldn’t do. Now the more likely scenario would have been that Cole would’ve been the one responsible of the murder, not Sam. And if things went against planned he was going to admit of committing the crime instead of Sam. It’s not like his record was clean anyway. A life sentence, this was what murder was worth. He could get used to jail, there was nothing left for his future. But Sam had something in the future for him— he had Grace, he had college, he had a job.
"Sam, no one has to know. No one will know, okay?" That was the best he could do to reassure his best friend. He knew Sam was scared, and he hoped that he would snap out of it soon. The last thing he needed was take care of one disoriented person while dealing with a lifeless body. He grabbed Sam’s hand and applied pressure on his stab wound. "Hold it," Cole commanded as he slipped his other hand into Sam’s pocket to grab the keys of the Bronco. He was going to have to hide the body and deal with Sam at the state of shock at the same time.
He ran into the cold dead night, leaving Sam with Shelby’s dead body for moments just to get the car. He backed the car into the alley and loaded Shelby into the back of the truck. For a moment longer he stood in the silence of the evening before he stopped himself for wasting a second more. “Sam. we need to go,” he whispered as he crouched next to his best friend, placing a comforting hand on Sam’s arm.
Sam blinked, still disoriented, but he pressed harder down on his stomach all the same. He licked his lips, blinking again. Sam knew exactly what was going on around him, but he felt removed from the situation, as if he was watching what was going on around him from outside a glass wall. As if it was a picture on a screen. As if it wasn't real. Oh, what he would give for this not to be real. Damn his instincts and reflexes, damn the years spent with convicts and prison visits, damn his nerve. He never thought he would be able to kill someone. He never thought in a million years that he would plunge a knife into someone's chest.
Scoffing quietly at Cole's words, Sam tried to sit up a little more, groaning as he did so. "How are we supposed to keep this one secret, Cole? This is more than just some stupid shoplifting, Cole, this is serious." Sam pressed his dry lips together, the pain sending off a warning signal in the back of his head as Cole ran off towards the car. He tried his best to contain himself, but Sam was coming back to reality, and the stab wound hurt like a bitch. He let out a gasping breath, drawing in quick, deep breaths. "Goddammit, this hurts like a bitch."
He looked up at Cole, and nodded. "I know," he whispered, wrapping his hand around Cole's arm and hoisting himself off the ground with a groan. "Motherfucker, she got me more than I thought."
Text: Umm hey Sam. I hope that you're okay. I haven't heard from you in a while and that kinda worries me. So just leave me a message that you are. I.. yeah bye.
Text: Hey Grace. I'm fine, just been kind of sick lately. Cole's been hunting for Shelby too, and I've been helping him, so there's that.
It was the aggressive growl that he heard that alerted Cole that something was wrong, but it was Sam’s yell that sent his senses on haywire. He turned his heel and broke into a run, looking for Sam this time instead of Shelby. He had lost sight of Sam and he was beginning to panic.
Sam put a hand over the bleeding wound in his abdomen, not really pressing hard enough. His entire body seemed to be shaking, shutting down as he started to go into shock. More blood ran crimson through his fingers on the darkened street as he sank against the brick wall behind him, Shelby's lifeless eyes staring him down, as if to incriminate him. He closed his eyes, swallowing and trying to get a hold of himself.
At Cole's words he nodded. What else was he supposed to do? Sam kept trying to regain control of his breathing, but failed miserably. I just killed someone. Someone is no longer living because of me. Directly. What the hell am I supposed to do? He opened his eyes again, and at the sight of his bloodstained...well, everything, he gasped, making his abdomen hurt even more. "Fuck-fucking, fuck, Cole, I fucking stabbed Shelby. I fucking killed here, Cole, I..." Sam continued to mumble, slowly trailing off.
The guilt was already eating him alive. Sam didn't know how he would survive the rest of his life with this secret.
Cole wasn’t really one to know how to control his anger. It had been days since he last saw Shelby, and days he’d been wanting to beat her up to a pulp. It didn’t even matter to him at the moment that she was a girl— it was really quite easy to forget that considering Shelby treated anyone other than Sam like a proper person. It was obvious though how she was desperate for his attention. But Cole used to ignore that because well, he never thought it would reach a point where she would become an actual threat to the safety of their little family. She must have been infernally jealous of Grace when she heard that Sam had finally moved in. And he was dreading she would do something rash, and he wasn’t disappointed when she did.
It was only clear to Cole how much he totally misread the woman when he found out she had actually thrown a knife at Grace. His priority had been to fix Grace’s wounds rather than look for Shelby and gut the bitch like she deserved. Of course, he had originally thought all the bitch had done was startle the poor girl but it turned out she was completely out of her mind. Cole originally thought she was a redeemable case, after all Sam did gave least bit of trust to the wench. But then her attempt at harming Grace really did disturb him to the point that it was actually taxing on him, thinking far too much about Shelby. The fact that he still had to find Beck as he promised to Sam and himself wasn’t even bothering as much as it should’ve. And that’s not even mentioning Isabel.
Cole flexed his fingers into a closed fist as he closed the Bronco’s door behind him. This place was no stranger to him— there had been more times than he cared to admit that he visited this part of town. But he truly was trying to change. Sam, Grace, and Isabel didn’t need anything weighing them down even more with both Sam and Grace studying, Isabel working, and all of them worrying about Beck.
"Right," Cole nodded in agreement. He hastened his steps and walked ahead of Sam, his eyes darting left and right for a figure of Shelby anywhere, extra careful even with those who were not who he was looking for. They were wading in dangerous waters and he was careful not to splash too much.
Sam was feeling jumpy around Cole tonight. He could tell that Cole was really on edge, and when Cole was on edge, that scared Sam. He knew that Cole could never keep his anger reined in, and no matter how much even Sam tried, once Cole got on a rampage, he wouldn't be able to stop him. Sam knew that he had to be the one to find Shelby, not Cole-if he didn't, Cole would kill her for sure. And even though Sam hated Shelby from the bottom of his heart now, he didn't think that she deserved to die.
As Sam started to scan through the streets, walking the opposite way from Cole, he could almost smell her-Shelby was definitely here.
He was terrified, to say the least, of finding out what exactly Shelby was doing. It was clear that she was back on drugs, and with that thought, Sam stopped for a minute. Cole used to be a drug addict. Was he going to be okay here? What if someone offered crack to him-would he take it? Sam turned around to look back at Cole, and seeing him intensely searching for Shelby, the worries seemed to fade into the background as the hunt was back on. The hairs on the back of Sam's neck prickled and he felt as though all his senses had been heightened by the night. He blinked in the cold air, scanning all the alleyways for the shocking red hair and pale skin on a skinny body, three markers that it was Shelby.
When he found her, it was all at once.
She came at him with a knife-perhaps she was tweaking out, perhaps she really knew it was Sam, but all Sam knew was that he couldn't let her get him. He let out a yell as the blade sunk into his abdomen, but he pulled it out before it got too deep. With a flick of the wrist, Sam overpowered Shelby, sinking the knife into her chest.
As the adrenaline started to evaporate, and his heart rate returned to normal, Sam realized what he had done. Blood ran red over his hands, and he let go of the knife as Shelby dropped to the ground, her blank stare now lifeless.
"Oh my god..." Sam whispered, his hands shaking as he stared down at the skin that was now dyed a rusty red. "Oh god, oh god, oh god, what have I done? Oh my fucking-what have I done?"
Sam was worried by his knowledge of the crack houses that Shelby visited. Yes, he liked to keep tabs on her, especially back when he thought he could change her, but he should have shoved that information out of his brain when he realized that there was nothing that could be done to pull Shelby back from the edge where she had been teetering precariously for quite some time now. Her throwing the knife at Grace had been the last straw-he was tired of dealing with her antics and her bullshit. She had commandeered the house where he had grown up, the house that Beck and his wife had bought, where she had died in her sleep, where Ulrik had taught him Rilke....she took Sam's childhood and tarnished it, and Sam would never be able to forgive her for that.
He drove the Bronco slowly, carefully parking a few blocks away from where the stretch of abandoned warehouses that served as drug dens lined the street, just a precaution. If Shelby could see them coming in that thing, it would be too late-not to mention that some drug addicts were surprisingly good car thieves. Sam got out of the car and started stalking down the street, feeling his blood start to boil. She had ruined everything-and Sam wanted to make her pay. He didn't care if she was homeless, he just knew that he couldn't keep her in his home. She was a hurricane-she wreaked havoc wherever she went. Sam knew that this wasn't completely her fault: the lumpy scar tissue that made her abdomen look like ground meat was evidence enough.
As they got to the line of houses, Sam looked around carefully. "We might be able to cover more ground if we split up."
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