Page 94 of Priestly Sins

“Need you to lie back and let me look at this.”

“Love you, darling, but you don’t know a thing about this,” he starts laughing but that turns into a groan as he does what she asks.

“It’s shallow. Surprising since he caught you at that angle.”

“Surprising, she says,” he scoffs as he makes eye contact. “Clean up, lad, and go check on Clara. She was searching for Winkles when I left.”

“I’m not leaving, old man.”

“You hafta. You’re the least bloody.”

I take in the scene and realize how right he is, but I’m not leaving Sirona—who has just learned her mother’s death was needless and only to send a message to a dead man—with Staunchley’s still-bleeding corpse.

“Sorry, Killian, we’ll get you patched up and get you clean clothes. I need to handle things here.”

His protests fall quiet as I wander down the hall and into my master closet to grab him a shirt and jeans. Both will be too big. I just hope Clara doesn’t notice his change of wardrobe.

I grab alcohol and antibiotic ointment from the medicine cabinet and a few towels and washcloths as I make my way back to the kitchen, where I drop them on the table. Leaving again, I grab the sleeping bag out of the hall closet.

When I return, he’s sitting, but his jaw is clenched. The pungent smell of alcohol permeates the room. Sirona coos something while Killian looks away.

The whole sight would be comical if I didn’t know the backstory.

“He swears when I use the alcohol.”

“At least, whiskey can be drunk too.”

She pours again and this time he hisses and she lets out one with him.

“We’ll need to have that checked out.”

“Had worse,” Killian sighs.

“Clothes.” I thrust them to Killian as I unroll then unzip the sleeping bag. I lay it in the living room, no blood there except for footprints that have already dried, and return for Staunchley.

Untying the electrical cord, I flip him over my shoulder and feel the wet ooze down my back as he hangs lifeless. He definitely needed more hours on the treadmill and fewer cheesesteaks. Would have made this much easier.

I bark a laugh and drop him onto the open bag, hearing the hard crack of his skull against the floor for the second time today. I check his pockets, on the spur of the moment, and take his wallet, cell and keys.

The zipper teeth coming together hums a beautiful melody as Hal’s face disappears, this time for good.

“Killian?” I call over my shoulder.

“Yes, lad.”

“Need you to go check on Clara. Need some time here before she comes back. Can you give me that?”

“Of course.”

But I swear I hear something grumbled about “cupcakes for life” as he wanders away.

“Sirona?”

“Hmm?”

“Sirona, baby? Need you to look at me.”

She was busying herself around the kitchen, mostly wandering in circles, and holding her left hand around her middle, relying on her right.