Deep Water by Mark Ayre (best big ereader TXT) 📕

believed if she got the jump on Blondie, Tony would not need to get involved. But she had got the jump on Blondie. Having smashed his face against the rock (removing a couple of his teeth and crushing his nose in the process), Abbie could never have expected him to get up and come again so soon after.

Could she have smashed his face harder?

No. Abbie had given it all her strength. Some people just kept going, even when it made no sense. There was no use blaming herself for that.

Letting Baldie beat her was worse. To let him pin her, so everything came down to whether she could catch his hands as he tried to stab her eye, was unacceptable. It was rare for anyone to get the better of Abbie. She didn’t like it.

If she had handled Baldie, he would have been unconscious before Blondie reentered the cave. Injured as the blonde idiot was, Abbie would have dealt with him no problem. Tony would never have pulled the trigger and wouldn't now—

Stop it. Stop it. This wasn't helping anyone. Abbie couldn't focus on how she might have helped Tony in the past. She needed to focus on what she could do now. Because a derailed Tony could cause the kind of problems that would lead to Alice's demise.

Yes, Abbie would tell herself she was doing it for the mission. Not for Tony.

Phone still in hand, Abbie opened her eyes. Earlier, she had ignored the notifications indicating Bobby had texted. In the top corner of the messaging app on her screen, the little number "2" reminded her of them.

Now was not the time to let him burrow into her head. That smile. That stupid smile. She couldn't make it go away. Needed to. Right now, it was all about the mission and making sure Tony held it together.

Forcing herself to lock the phone, she chucked it on the bed. Taking the drawstring bag off her shoulder, she placed it on the floor. From the en-suite, she could not yet hear the shower, nor any movement. It did not take that long to get undressed. By now, Tony should be scrubbing himself under hot water.

Stepping towards the door, Abbie knocked on wood.

"Tone, you alright in there?

Her heart drummed against her chest when there was no response. First-time murders handled the situation in different ways. It was not unheard of for a tidal wave of guilt to drive the killer to do something stupid. Something permanent.

Abbie couldn't believe there was a knife in the bathroom. Definitely not a toaster. Besides, the bath was not running.

What about pills?

Abbie raised her hand to knock again before deciding she couldn't risk it. Turning the handle, she was relieved to find the door unlocked. She stepped inside.

On the cold floor, fully dressed, Tony stood staring towards the sink. More importantly, towards the mirror above the sink. The bin bag was still in his hands which were at his waist. The black plastic trailed to the floor.

Tony didn't register Abbie's arrival but flinched when she blocked his reflection from view. Placing her hands over his, she gave what she hoped was a comforting smile. She hadn't had much practice.

Slipping her fingers under his, Abbie released the bin bag and towel. She placed the bin bag by the wall opposite the mirror, the towel over the bath. Returning to Tony, she took his hand and turned him away from the reflective glass.

"We can talk about this," said Abbie. "Or not. Whatever works for you, but first, we get rid of our clothes and wash."

Tony didn't respond, only stared. He was wearing dark chinos, white trainers and a light blue shirt. Raising her hands, Abbie touched his shirt's top button.

"Can I…?"

She let the question trail. After a few seconds, during which Abbie's fingers remained on the top button, Tony only continued to stare. Then he looked down at her hands then back to her eyes.

"I don't think I'm coping," he said.

"No," Abbie agreed. "But that's okay. It'll be hard, but a little better after a hot shower. Can I?" She nodded at his shirt again. He looked at her hands and, this time, gave a quick nod. "Thank you."

Abbie began to unbutton his shirt. Tony watched her, and Abbie tried not to be unnerved. He was struggling; that was okay. He was allowed to struggle.

"I didn't mean to kill him."

"I know," said Abbie, which wasn't entirely true. She meant she had expected Tony to say those words. Almost every first-time killer busted out the I didn't mean to line sooner or later. "He was coming for you. He was going to cut you up, then start on me. You defended yourself. There's nothing wrong with that."

"Isn't there?"

"No.” Abbie finished unbuttoning his shirt. "Do you consider those who fought and killed during World War One and Two to be monsters? If a man tries to hold down and cut open a woman and that woman kills him to save her life, would you demand she was imprisoned?"

Tony considered. Shook his head. "No."

"No," Abbie agreed. She came close, pulled the shirt over Tony’s shoulders, pulled it off. "You did what you had to do. You saved my life and your own. Does that mean you shouldn't feel crap about it? No. It should mean you can find a way to accepting your actions. You will process, you will deal, and you will move on. I promise."

Moving away from Tony, Abbie opened the bag and put his shirt inside. Returning to him, she pointed at the button of his chinos.

"You happy to continue?"

He stared at his trousers as though he didn't quite understand. When he came back to Abbie, his eyes swam with questions. Abbie was sure they would not involve how he was supposed to get undressed.

"You called someone," he said.

"Yes."

"Who?"

"I told you that I save lives," said Abbie. "Unfortunately, that means I do get in situations like these, where people try to kill me, and I have to kill them first. The man I