Living With the Dead (Otherworld 9)

He resisted her push, but didn't shove back, staying on the edge of his seat, fear tempered with confusion, sensing danger, seeing only Adele.

Hope raised the gun, to her head. "Adele, put down - "

"Oh, please." She moved the syringe to Thom's arm. "Bold moves, Hope. You have to be willing to make - "

Hope fired.

* * *

ROBYN

Robyn saw Hope and Adele run from the tear gas fog, Adele escaping, Hope giving chase. She leapt up from her hiding place, thinking,"I have to tell Finn."

Then she'd seen the gun clutched in her hand and thought what the hell am I thinking?

Hope deserved someone who knew how to fire a gun, but at this moment, Robyn was the only person close enough to help. So after one last look around, hoping for a glimpse of Finn or Karl, Robyn gave chase.

Following Hope wasn't easy. They had a huge head start and Robyn would have lost them if Adele's goal hadn't been obvious - a building in the field. By the time Robyn reached it, Hope and Adele were inside. Robyn pulled another mystery show move, sliding along the wall toward the door, her nerves eased by thinking how Damon would get a laugh if he could see her and maybe, just maybe, he could.

Robyn cracked open the door and peered in. It was a tiny shed, empty, no place to hide. She slipped in. When her eyes adjusted, she noticed a bare spot in the hay and, beneath it, a trapdoor. She opened it, listened and descended.

There was a second door below. Closed, but not locked, it led into a darkened hall. She made her way carefully down it, gun at the ready. It led to another door. This one was closed and locked. Beyond it, she made out the murmur of voices. One was Hope's. The other, female, presumably Adele's. Robyn caught a word here and there, but not enough to decipher the conversation.

She pressed her ear against -

A blast from the room sent Robyn reeling back. She caught her balance, then replayed what she'd heard. A bang. A crash. Something falling. She told herself it was something falling not someone, but she'd heard those sounds too often in the last few days to mistake it for anything.

A gunshot and a body dropping.

She flew to the door, grabbing the knob.

"Hope! Hope!"

She screamed her name until she couldn't, until her throat was raw, and still she whaled on the door, yanking and yanking and yanking, her shoulder blazing.

When Damon died, everyone said, "I'm here for you, Rob. Just let me know what you need." Hope never said that. She was just there, making a meal or doing her laundry or working silently at her kitchen table while Robyn sobbed in the bedroom, thankful to be alone yet not alone. Hope hadn't asked whether Robyn wanted her to come out to L.A. She'd shown up. She didn't ask whether Robyn needed Portia's murder solved. She just did it.

And now, when Robyn could have helped her, she'd failed.

She kept banging and shouting and then, finally, between pounds, soft as a whisper. "Rob?"

Her hand jerked back from the door. The gun fell. She let it, and swayed there a moment, before pressing her hands to the cold metal and leaning in until her ear rested against it.

"Hope?"

It could be a trick, the voice was too low to say with any certainty that it was Hope's or that it was a voice at all and not just a sound she'd willfully misheard.

"Rob?"

"Hope! Yes, it's Robyn. Open the door."

Silence.

Robyn hammered the door. "Hope? Open the door, Hope!"

It was a trick. Had to be. Why else wouldn't she - ?

Robyn remembered what Hope had said about the boy, Rhys's son, that if she saw a vision of his death, that's all she'd see. She'd be lost in it. How much worse would it be to witness a death live?