Page 12 of Saint’s Revenge

We stare at each other across ten feet of empty air. Brothers. Used to be inseparable. Used to be everything to each other.

Now we're this.

"Do you even remember who you were before?" I ask. "Before the violence? Before you had to be Demon?"

"That kid's dead, Lucas. He died a long time ago. You should know, you helped kill him when you left."

The accusation stings. Maybe because part of it's true. Maybe if I'd stayed, found a way to reach him, things would have been different.

Or maybe I'd just be dead too.

"I'm sorry I left," I say. "I'm sorry I didn't say goodbye. I'm sorry I wasn't strong enough to pull you back before you fell too far."

Daniel's jaw tightens.

"But I'm not sorry for what I'm about to do."

I pull the trigger.

The gunshot is deafening in the enclosed space. The bullet catches him center mass, exactly where I aimed. His body jerks backward. Blood spreads across his chest, dark red, arterial. Fatal.

He looks down at the wound and then back up at me. His eyes are wide. Surprised.

Like he really didn't think I'd do it.

"Lucas," he says. His voice is wet. Blood in his lungs already.

I lower the gun. Don't shoot again. Don't need to. The placement was perfect. He's got maybe thirty seconds. He drops to his knees. Sways. One hand presses against the wound like he can stop the bleeding. Can't. It's pouring between his fingers.

I walk toward him. Stop a few feet away. Watch my brother slowly die and feel nothing but tired.

"You were supposed to protect me," Daniel whispers. Blood on his lips now. "You were supposed to stay."

"I know," I say.

"I needed you."

"I know."

He coughs. More blood. His eyes are starting to lose focus. "I'm scared, Lucas."

And just like that, he's not Demon anymore. He's Daniel. My brother. The kid who used to check under my bed for monsters and promise they couldn't hurt me as long as he was there.

I drop to my knees in front of him. Grab his shoulders before he can fall.

"I've got you," I tell him. "I'm right here."

His hand finds mine. Grips it weakly. "Don't let me die alone."

"I won't."

"Promise."

"I promise."

His breathing is shallow now. Rattling. His eyes find mine: brown eyes that look like mine, like our mother's before she drank herself to death.

"I'm sorry," he whispers. "For Riley. For everything. I'm sorry, Lucas."