Re: [No. 3 to No. 24: Iris & Sam]
Sam paid no attention to the man that fell away from her sister to slump awkward and broken on the linoleum floor of the trailer. It was like he wasn't there, yeah? Her mind was refusing to see him, even if she was covered in blood that was warm and real and tasted like metal where she licked it away from her lips. The knife clattered to the ground, and Iris stumbled after her, and maybe Sam shoulda realized something about all this was fucked up, yeah? Because outside the mob stepped back, like they knew there was a real man dead as fucking doornails inside.
But, nah, man, nah, and she just held onto Iris and ran. It felt exhilarating, like running free in summer before she'd got locked up at twelve. The night air was cool on skin that was drying sticky with blood, and her hair matted red and clung to her cheeks, and she didn't ask Iris where they should go. Sam KNEW where she was going, yeah? Cris would head back to the police station, so that was where Sam was leading her sister. But they'd gotten away, yeah? And Sam stopped to spin her shoulders and laugh loud, the sound trumpeting triumphant on the night breeze.
Except, wait, feet loud on the sidewalk, and hadn't they just PASSED the laundry? But here it was again, and Sam yanked harder on Iris' hand, unaware of the way her sister was struggling for breath. Sam was running on adrenaline now, high from those swings of a knife, and she wasn't tired at all. But they'd JUST passed the laundry, and the post office, which Sam stopped in front of, was supposed to be like streets and streets over. No one was following them now, but this shit wasn't right. There was the antique store, but they'd never passed the police station. "I think we're lost," she finally said, confused and pushing gore hair from her face.