For just a second, she thought she saw something in him. Maybe just a tiny glimmer of empathy.
"Someone is calling the ambulance," he said. "You should put pressure on the wound. He's losing a lot of blood. It's a waste." The blood, he meant. Not Shane.
"Help me," Claire said. Oliver shook his head. "Help me!"
"You'll find that vampires aren't particularly good with the wounded," he said. "I'm doing you a favor by staying away. And don't try to order me, little girl. That gold bracelet of yours means almost nothing to me except that I shouldn't leave witnesses behind."
Shane coughed, wet and hard, and blood trickled out of his mouth. He looked as pale as Michael. Vampire-pale.
Claire cradled him in her arms. Oliver glanced at Eve, frowned, and went away. People were coming closer, murmuring, asking questions, but Claire couldn't make any sense out of it. She pressed down on the wet bloody mess of Shane's shirt, felt him tense and try to squirm away, and didn't let him. Pressure on the wound. It seemed to take forever until she heard the distant sound of sirens approaching.
Shane was still breathing when they loaded him inside the ambulance, but he wasn't moving, and he wasn't talking.
Claire went to Eve, got her on her feet, and put an arm around her shoulders. "Come on," she said. "We should ride with Shane."
Oliver was staring at the wet, dark smears of blood on the concrete, and as Claire helped Eve up into the back of the ambulance, he looked at one of his coffee shop employees and nodded toward the mess.
"Clean it up," he said. "Use bleach. I don't want to smell it all night."
Chapter Eleven
Shane survived the trip, and they rushed him right into surgery. Eve sat silent in her black velvet dress, looking more Goth than ever, and wildly out of place in the soothing neutral waiting room. Claire kept getting up and washing her hands, because she kept finding more of Shane's blood on her clothes and skin.
Eve was crying quietly, almost hopelessly. For some reason Claire didn't cry at all. Not at all. She wasn't even sure she could. Did that make her sick? Screwed up? She wasn't sure who she could ask. She couldn't seem to feel anything right now except a vague sense of dread.
Richard Morrell came to take their statements. It was simple enough, and Claire had no hesitation in turning in Jason for the shooting. "And he confessed," Claire added. "To killing those girls."
"Confessed how?" Richard asked. He sat down in the chair across from her in the lounge area, and Claire thought he looked tired. Older, too. She guessed it wasn't easy being the semi-sane one in the family. "What exactly did he tell you?"
"That he left one for us," she said, and glanced at Eve, who hadn't said a word. Hadn't, as far as Claire could tell, actually blinked. "He called them presents."
"Did he mention any of them by name?"
"No," she whispered. She felt very, very tired all of a sudden, as if she could sleep for a week. Cold, too. She was shivering. Richard noticed, got up, and came back with a big gray fleece blanket that he tucked around her. He'd brought a second one for Eve, who was still wrapped Shane's black coat.
"Is it possible that Jason just said that because he knew about the bodies being found near your house?" Richard asked. "Did he talk about anything more specific that wasn't in the papers?"
Claire almost said yes to that, but she stopped in time. The police didn't know about the girl being found in their basement. They thought she'd been taken to the church by her killer.
She had no choice. She just shook her head.
"It's possible Jason's all talk, then," Richard said. "We've been watching him. We haven't seen anything to prove that he's got any involvement with these dead girls." He hesitated, then said, very gently, "Look. I don't want to make this about Shane, but he did have a bat, right?"
Eve raised her head, very slowly. "What?"
"Shane had a bat."
"He took it from another guy," Claire said, nearly tripping over the words in her hurry to get them out. "A guy from Monica's party. Shane got jumped, he was just defending himself! And he was trying to get Jason to back off -- "
"We have witnesses who say that Shane swung the bat at Jason after Jason had put away his knife."
Claire couldn't find the words. She just sat there, lips parted, staring into Richard's weary, hard eyes.
"So that's it," Eve said. Her voice started out soft, but hardened quickly. "It's all going to be Shane's fault, because he's Shane. Never mind that some frat ass tried to knock his head off, or that Jason shot him. It's still Shane's fault!" She stood up, stripped away the blanket, and threw it at him. Richard grabbed it before it hit his face, but just barely. "Here, you'll need it for your cover-up!" She stalked away, slender and pale as a lily in all that black.
"Eve -- " Richard sighed. "Dammit. Look, Claire, I have to have the facts, okay? And the facts are that during the confrontation, Jason put his knife away, Shane had a bat, and Shane threatened him. Then Jason fired the gun. Is that right?"
She didn't answer. She sat for a few seconds, just staring at him, and then stood up, stripped off the blanket, and handed it to him.
"You're going to need a bigger cover-up," she said. "See if there's a circus in town. Maybe you can borrow a tent."
She walked down the hall to see if Shane was out of surgery.
He wasn't.
Eve was pacing the hallway, stiff with rage, hands clenched into fists barely visible as knots in the too-long sleeves of the coat. "Those sons of bitches," she said. "Those bastards! They're going to put Shane down, I can feel it."