Page 43 of Fear No Hell

Sam

The sun is blazing overhead when I stagger into the house.

It was a long night, followed by a longer morning.

Based on the quietness of the house, Lila has already gone to bed.

Despite the fact that I texted to tell her I would be late and not to wait up, a small part of me hoped she might still be awake when I got home.

I hate not seeing her before I go to bed.

My brain latches onto the word "bed," chanting it at me over and over like a hyped-up toddler.

Fuck, I’m tired.

I scrape a hand through my hair and cast a longing look upstairs before heading to the basement. Arthur is in remarkably good shape with cuts—deep enough to bleed, shallow enough not to require stitches—that look self-inflicted. He’s still.

Remarkably still.

Frowning, wondering if she finally killed him, I watch his chest for the tell-tale rise and fall of breaths.

I would rather not touch him to take his pulse if I can help it.

Seconds pass, and then his chest inflates and deflates.

Satisfied he’s not going to die today without Lila’s say-so, I do a quick pass over his open wounds with an antibiotic ointment, ignoring the pained breaths overhead.

Once I’m done, I give him enough fluids and formula to stabilize him, clean everything up, and dump the used materials in the trash.

Finally—fucking finally—I crawl up the basement stairs, stopping in the kitchen long enough to swipe a sleeve of crackers that I wolf down as I stumble to the guest bedroom.

The bed sits empty under the arched ceiling.

I grumble at the room, the disgruntled noise sounding drunk.

I'm not drunk, though. Just tired. So fucking tired.

I stumble toward the bed with a frown creasing my face. Although I know we don’t sleep together every night, that it’s luck of the draw if I fall asleep with Lila in my arms, I’m still disappointed to not find her here.

That’s the last coherent thought I have.

Without stopping, I rip off my clothes, dump the now-crumpled cracker sleeve on the floor, and drop into bed. A small voice in the back of my head tells me I need to take off my prosthesis, or I’m going to regret it when I wake up. It passes quickly, vanishing as I start to lie down.

I’m asleep before my head lands on the pillow.