Free Sanctifying Grace (Resurrection) by Elizabeth Davies Page A

prominent. I had the hands of a woman three times my age.
    I tried not to cry for what I had lost. I needed to stay brave for my mother’s sake; her burden was heavy enough without me adding my despair to her grief.
    She helped me sit up and propped the pillows behind me, checking that the sides of the hospital bed were locked into position. She wasn’t going to risk me falling again.
    ‘Are you hungry? Can I get you anything to eat?’
    ‘More water,’ I slurred.
    I drank another glass and dispatched her off to the kitchen to heat some soup. I didn’t think my throat was up to eating solids. My neck was tender to the touch and I guessed I must have a ring of bruises where Wil had tried to throttle me.
    I wondered if Hilary had questioned those strangulation marks and hoped she didn’t think my mother had tried to kill me. Mum hadn’t said anything and I didn’t want to broach the subject , else she might ask some questions of her own. She must have assumed I had fallen and I was content to let her think that, so I shelved the thought and returned to what was really on my mind. Wil. He was dead and I had killed him. I was going to have to live with what I had done for the rest of my life. Then I barked out a painful laugh, because I wouldn’t have to live with the remorse for very long.
    I didn’t want to dwell on those last few moments of his life, but I knew I had to. Never one for running away, I needed to confront my guilt head on and deal with it.
    I ran through the sequence of events; I didn’t regret searching Wilfred’s room, my instincts had been correct: he did have something to hide. I briefly wondered if Roman had found the letters and what he had made of them.
    I could possibly have begun searching earlier in the day, or left it until the next afternoon, but not knowing whether I would be catapulted back to my own time in the very next second, I felt justified in not leaving my search until later. I had to live for the moment when I was in Roman’s world, because I never knew if it would be my last one for another handful of decades. I’d had to seize the chance and it was simply unfortunate Wil had returned when he did.
    I could have given him the letters as soon as he had asked for them, but I knew instinctively that doing so would have made no difference. He had been going to kill me anyway. He couldn’t have let me live.
    I recalled my panic as I fled down the stairs, the overwhelming terror an antelope must feel being chased by a lion, and I relived the moment when his hands closed around my throat. What I had done had been in self-defence. I hadn’t had any other option. But did I have to sit there on the floor, covered in blood, paralysed with indecision and fear, and watch his life-force leak out of him? I could have done something to save him; applied a tourniquet perhaps? Anything.
    But I didn’t. I had sat and watched him die.
    I thought it through as logically as I could. What if I had managed to staunch the bleeding? What then? And then it came to me why I hadn’t made any move to help him. Roman. He would have torn him limb from limb. He would not have shown Wil the slightest hint of mercy.
    After what Wil had done, Roman would have had no choice but to eliminate him. I had sat there and done nothing, so Roman wouldn’t have to deal with him. I had watched the light slowly fade from Wil’s eyes and it had seemed like a lifetime, when it was probably only a few minutes. I had let him slip away rather than have Roman end his life, savagely and with no pity or remorse. When it came to protecting himself, or someone he cared about, the vampire was merciless.
    I was trying to absolve myself of Wil’s death and although my conclusion was totally logical, it didn’t help with the guilt, remorse , and despair. However I tried to sugar-coat it, the fact remained that I had killed another living, breathing human being. I didn’t know how I was going to live with myself.
    I wondered what