Page 110 of Bound By Blood and Lies

If I move, then she’ll not be in my arms anymore. If I hold on just a little longer, it will be okay. I canfeelit. Her weight is still there, pressed against me. It feels heavier now, wrong in a way I don’t understand. My hands are locked around her because I am terrified that if I loosen my grip even slightly, she will slip through my grasp and disappear completely.

“I’ve got you,” I whisper, though I don’t know if the words leave my mouth properly. “It’s okay, I’ve got you… hold on.”

My fingers press harder against her, clinging to something that isn’t changing anymore. The blood stopped a while ago andI take that as proof that I have done a good job. Whatever I am doing isworking. When it first seeped through my hands, it was warm and runny but now it has gone cold and tacky where it clings to my skin.

“You’re okay,” I mumble, “I’m right here… I’m not going anywhere.”

It’s not just her blood that is cold, but her body is starting to become cold too. I grit my teeth and shake my head as I try to dispel that thought. No. No, that is not possible. I’m doing a good job; I am helping to stop the blood. I know I am. My body curls around her. Body temperature warms people up, right? Yes. That’s what she needs. It’s cold in this church. My stomach twists violently.

It is so cold in this church.

“Tink…” a voice says. “You need to let go.”

Let go?

That doesn’t make sense.

I shake my head slowly as my arms tighten around her and I pull her closer to me, ignoring the confusion flickering through the haze.

“No,” I murmur. “No, I’ve got her.”

“She’s—”

“No,” I repeat, firmer this time, even though my voice still sounds distant to my own ears. “She’s cold. She needs… I just need to…”

Distantly, I realise that her blood is everywhere. On my hands, my clothes, my arms, and it smells thick and metallic. Every breath I take fills my lungs with it, making it harder to think, harder to focus, harder to do what I need to do.

I swallow hard.

“I can stop it,” I whisper, even though my whole body is shaking. “I can stop it, I just?—”

Hands touch me. They are firm and warm and don’t belong in the water. I flinch at the movement, my body tensing whilst something grips my shoulder and tries to pull me back. They continue to try and move me away from her, and panic spikes instantly in my chest.

“No!” I gasp, tightening my hold and curling further over her. “Don’t—don’t touch her!”

“Tink, listen to me.”

I shake my head harder as my breathing breaks apart and the pressure continues to build in my chest.

“They’re going to help you,” the low voice says in a controlled way that doesn’t match what is happening. “You need to let go.”

Let go?

Why would I let go?

Why do they KEEP asking me to let go?

I will never let go. If I let go, she’ll…

“No,” I say, more desperately this time. “No, she can’t… she can’t be on her own, she doesn’t—” My voice cracks apart. “She doesn’t like being alone in the church. She told me… she’ll… she’ll be scared. Don’t let her get scared, please?—”

“She’s not—” the voice breaks, and they stop speaking again.

The silence feels peaceful until the broken voice speaks once more.

“Tinkerbell… please.”

It sounds like the voice is crying, but why would the voice cry?