I leaned around Tim a little further and looked at Chris.
“Hey, Chris,” I said.
“Hey, Miz Tanner,” he nodded and turned his head to look at me. “You okay?”
“Yes, thanks. I think I’m good. How about you?”
John was patting down Chris’s pockets.
“Glad you’re okay, ma’am,” Chris said, clanking the handcuffs at his back. “I’m okay. I thought you might need some help.”
“Appreciate it, Chris, and thank you. I was in trouble.”
John took his elbow and put Chris in another kitchen chair. Then he knelt by the guy on the floor.
I glanced down and quickly looked away.
Bill’s sliding around had smeared blood all over the floor in shades of pink, crimson and a thick, oily bright red. What I glimpsed of his shirt was dark, almost black at the shoulders, both shoulders wet and glistening.
Tim shifted in front of me, and blocked my view of Bill.
“What happened?” His eyes dark with concern
“Me? Are you talking to me?”
“Yeah, babe, I meant you,” he answered. “Can you tell me what happened? What’s he doing here?” He tipped his head at the man on the floor.
“Bleeding,” I said. “On everything. Grab a towel or something.”
Then the sirens screamed in, drowning the scene in noise.