Family Tradition, Part 2

It’s been eight months, maybe a bit more since Reece last saw John. He came back once. A second time would be beyond reasonable hope. He got a second chance to make amends, and fucked that one up too. Sam was pretending it was fine. She was moving on, investing herself fully into her work. He stuck around, working as an IT consultant when he wasn’t doing part-time work in the field with her. And he hadn’t thought of the Kaleidoscope. Less than before, at least. He wasn’t sure how he felt about John’s death, other than regretting some of their last interactions. Regardless, he took it in stride, quashing that guilt. It wasn’t his fault John wanted to play hero.
 
His attention was drawn from the dish he had been absently scrubbing, lost in thought, as the door to the small studio apartment flung open. His rather battered looking twin stood in the doorway, cradling an arm as she leaned against the frame. “Reece, get- Get the gauze, or something.”
 
“What the fuck, Sam?” He felt his pulse spike at the sight of blood. He rinsed his hands and fished under the sink for the first aid kit he kept there, not bothering to dry his hands. “What happened?”
 
“Gunshot.”
 
“Gunshot? What the hell were you doing?”
 
“Following a lead for getting shot, apparently,” Sam spat back, slumping onto a couch. Reece hastily unpacked gauze, tape, and sterile wipes, patting his hands dry on his chest before he began fussing with the bandage.
 
“Why do you stay with this job? And get me pulled into this shit? Why not go to the hospital?” Reece mumbled, clumsily unwrapping a blood-soaked bandage around her arm. This was no way to spend a Friday evening, and he had no fucking clue what he was doing.
 
“What am I supposed to say? ‘Hey, I’m here to get this bullet hole treated. No, it wasn’t a mugging or anything, just a talk with a vampire gone wrong. No, please don’t report that to the police, I promise I’m not blaming vampires for a drug deal gone wrong.’” Her tone was dry and bitter, gesticulating as she spoke, much to Reece’s dismay.
 
“Why would a vampire use a gun? Couldn’t they just… I dunno, hex you?” His voice was just as shaky as his hands, he observed, as he rinsed them with alcohol. He ignored the sting in his cuticles as it spilled from his hands and onto the small apartment’s couch and the floor.
 
Samantha trembled slightly. “I don’t know. I guess a gunshot wound would be harder to explain and stay out of trouble with the police than, say, a bite or a gnarly gash? It doesn’t matter. You were closest, .” She pinched her temples, wincing as he tightened the new bandage over the wound. Blood was clotting well enough, though Reece was unsure if the makeshift tourniquet was still needed or not. She needed to see a doctor. He fixed computers, not people.
 
Reece stood up, rushing to the kitchen of his small apartment to wash his hands once more. “Look, we should really get you to a hospital…” Sam nodded and shuddered, the adrenaline rapidly wearing off. “Yes. I know. I just… This was closer… Jus-” Her words abruptly halted as shock settled in, leaning back in the tattered couch.
 
Sam grimaced through a laugh, clutching her arm. “This is why John died. I didn’t stop him, just like I’m not stopping myself, or you.” Reece eyed her, unsettled by the change in demeanor. Her face flushed with anger, vociferating curses and laments. Reece shook his head, settling back onto the couch beside her. “No, it’s not. And stop moving, you’re gonna make it worse.” His tone, cold and bitter, surprised him. “You’re working to help others. You’re not doing it for yourself. He wanted to play hero, and got himself killed. You’re just-” He couldn’t really think of much else to say. All he was certain of was that John died by his own hand, well before his reported death. His shoulder ached as he thought of the Kaleidoscope once more.
 
He shook his head, coming to his senses. Samantha had gone quiet, her head lolling to the side. “Fuck! Com’on, let’s go, Sam.” He snatched his keys from the counter and hurried over, helping her up from the couch. He could feel the anxiety racing in his veins. Should he lock the door before he leave? How should he support her while she stands? Why was he always thinking about spiders? His shoulder ached under the mostly unsupported weight of his twin, as they shuffled out the door. He didn’t lock the door. Fuck. He glanced back up the stairs, hesitating briefly before continuing to the car. He fumbled with his phone, calling one Jamie Hutchins.
 
They were hunter’s now, or she was, at least. It was a family tradition he was really starting to hate.