C142 Failed Again

Annabelle’s mind felt like it was floating in a murky haze.

A sharp, insistent shaking pulled her back from the dark recesses of unconsciousness.

Her head lolled to the side as she cracked her eyes open, her vision blurred and her throat dry.

“Annabelle, wake up,” a voice urged, and a jolt of recognition snapped her eyes wide open.

That voice.

Patrick Shaw.

Her head spun, and a sickly sweet taste coated her tongue, making her stomach churn.

She tried to sit up, but her limbs felt weighted, sluggish.

Turning her head, she froze as she saw Cathy crumpled like a discarded doll on the floor a few feet away.

“Cathy!” Annabelle gasped, her voice rasping.

She crawled to her sister on trembling arms, panic clawing at her throat.

Her shaking hands pressed against Cathy’s neck, searching desperately for a pulse.

Relief flooded her when she felt a faint, steady rhythm beneath her fingertips.

“She’s alive,” Patrick said, his voice low but urgent. “They used laudanum. That’s why she’s still out cold.”

Annabelle’s mind struggled to piece together what was happening. “Laudanum?” she echoed, the word foreign and unwelcome.

“They drugged both of you,” Patrick said hurriedly. “It’ll wear off, but we don’t have time to wait. We need to leave now.”

Annabelle’s head whipped around to glare at him, fury momentarily overriding the weakness in her body. “You did this,” she hissed. “How could you let this happen to Cathy? How could you...”

“I didn’t know!” Patrick cut her off, his voice rising but tinged with desperation. “I only saw them bring the two of you in, Annabelle. I swear. I came to get you both out!”

Annabelle’s stomach churned, the bitter taste in her mouth a grim reminder of her vulnerability. “Why should I believe you?” she spat, staggering to her feet as her legs threatened to give out beneath her.

“Because you don’t have a choice,” Patrick snapped, his face etched with frustration. “I already sent a message to Dante. He knows...”

Her breath caught. “Dante?” Her voice was laced with disbelief. “You’ve been in contact with Dante? Since when? And how the hell did you get his number?”

Patrick didn’t answer, his focus shifting to Cathy.

He bent down and scooped her up with surprising ease. “We don’t have time for this, Annabelle. Follow me.”

Her body screamed at her to stop, to demand answers, but the sight of Cathy limp in his arms forced her to move. Wobbling slightly, she followed him out of the room.

The hallway they entered was dimly lit and smelt of damp wood and neglect.

The sound of Patrick’s footsteps echoed eerily in the silence.

As they approached a doorway, Annabelle’s heart skipped a beat when she saw a man slumped unconscious by the exit.

Patrick didn’t pause, his jaw set as he pushed the door open and led them into the night.

The cool air hit Annabelle like a slap, momentarily jolting her senses.

The building they exited was a dilapidated bar, its sign hanging precariously by one hinge.

Broken windows gaped like jagged mouths, and the faint smell of stale beer lingered in the air.

Patrick moved toward the side of the bar, but before they could reach the shadows, two men entered from the opposite side.

“Hey!” one of them barked, his voice rough and sharp. “What the fuck’s going on here?”

Patrick froze, his arms tightening around Cathy.

“Who’s this?” the other man sneered, his eyes narrowing as he took in the scene. “And why’s the bartender playing babysitter?”

Annabelle’s stomach dropped.

Bartender?

Patrick didn’t respond.

Instead, he shoved Cathy into Annabelle’s arms and stepped forward. “Get behind me,” he muttered, his voice low and tight.

“Dad, no,” Annabelle whispered, her grip tightening on Cathy.

One of the men took a step closer, his expression darkening.

Patrick’s hand moved to his pocket, and Annabelle’s heart sank as she realised what he was reaching for.

“No!” she shouted, her voice piercing the tension.

The man didn’t hesitate.

A deafening shot rang out, and Patrick jerked violently as the bullet struck him square in the chest.

“Dad!” Annabelle screamed, dropping to her knees beside him as his body hit the ground with a sickening thud.

Blood poured from his wound, staining his shirt and pooling beneath him.

His eyes fluttered open, glazed with pain.

“I’m sorry,” Patrick rasped, blood bubbling at the corners of his mouth. “I failed you... again.”

Tears blurred Annabelle’s vision as his head lolled to the side, the light fading from his eyes.

“You bastards,” she whispered, her voice trembling with fury as she turned to face the men.

They grinned, their smiles sharp and cruel.

“Any stupid move like that,” one of them drawled, gesturing to Patrick’s lifeless body, “and your sister’s next.”

“She’s not part of the deal,” the other man added, his tone almost conversational. “But accidents happen. You know how it is.”

Annabelle’s chest heaved with suppressed rage, her hands shaking as she clutched Cathy tighter.

“Smart girl,” one of them sneered when she didn’t respond.

The sound of approaching footsteps made her stiffen.

Her heart plummeted as Rio emerged from the shadows, his face twisted into a smug smile.

“Annabelle,” he said mockingly. “Always trying to make things difficult, huh?”

Her jaw clenched, but before she could muster a retort, Rio’s body jolted violently.

His eyes widened in shock, and he staggered forward before collapsing to the ground.

Annabelle’s breath caught as two more shots rang out in rapid succession, and the other men dropped before they could even raise their weapons.

The shadows shifted, and Annabelle’s pulse thundered in her ears as a figure emerged.

Dante.

His dark silhouette loomed against the faint glow of a distant streetlight, his gun still raised and his face carved with fury.

For a moment, Annabelle thought she was hallucinating, but the cold, deadly fire in his eyes told her otherwise.