by Amos Gunner
CHAPTER 41: ADAM
Drifting above our house, I looked through the ceiling into our living room. Brenda aimed our Ladysmith at Zeke. She fired. Missed. Drilled a hole into the couch. Zeke ripped his weapon from his leather coat. Fired a round. Brenda fell.
I rewound. Tried a different outcome. Couldn’t. Tried again. And again. No matter how I manipulated the scene, it always ended with Zeke taking her down. And if the unimaginable happened and Brenda (who never fired a gun, never took a life, never hurt a fly) somehow got the upper hand, there was still the kid’s promise as he slammed down the phone.
“Damn. Have to smoke her, too.”
“Please don’t.”
A tiny mouse escapes the snake, only to be clutched by an owl.
“Ain’t no way she’ll turn me in.”
“But she didn’t do anything.”
“Neither did Darryl. Didn’t stop your buddy though.”
And then I actually defended Zeke. Barely, without giving a single good justification for his shot, but still. And the shame of it hurts. But Bobby wasn’t listening. He was lost, somewhere else. He stood facing the window but I don’t think he was looking at anything.
I leaned and sort of stood. I waddled toward Bobby. I lost my balance, slamming my shoulder against the table on my way down. I dissolved into tears.
“Please stop this. I love her so much. She’s my world,” and so on. Telling him because I couldn’t tell her.
Bobby stood over me.
I shut my eyes and kept pleading. He could hit me but I wasn’t going to stop.
“Okay.” He was close. I couldn’t open my eyes. I couldn’t stop begging. He grew louder. “Okay. Okay. Okay. Shhhh.”
My temperature cooled. I quieted to murmuring, then silenced. I opened my eyes. He was crouched beside me.
My arm was free. Why didn’t I choke him? I should’ve. When will the regrets stop? Soon. Very soon.
“Are you comfortable?”
“No.”
“So let’s get you back up.”
He touched my shoulder. I flinched. He shushed me. We worked together and got the chair upright. He dragged me back, then sat across from me.
“Okay. I’ll let her live.”
“Oh thank you so much.”
He folded his hands and nodded.
But still. The scene in our living room didn’t fade with his promise. Brenda still dropped to the floor, in slow motion, her dress fluttering around her, or sped up, quick and brutal. And her expression was anguished and confused no matter at what speed Zeke’s bullet entered her.
“Hungry?”
Bobby made popcorn.
The kernels exploded. Zeke fired. The pops grew more intense. Zeke fired a machine gun. The microwave buzzed. The end.
I declined the popcorn. Bobby sat across from me and munched from the bag.
“He’ll kill her. He’s a cop for God’s sake. He knows how to defend himself. She doesn’t.”
Bobby swallowed. “Haven’t we been over this?”
“And even if she does kill him, do you have any idea what that’ll do to her? Psychologically?”
Bobby smashed the bag on the table. Popcorn jumped out. “Yeah. A pretty good idea. It’s the hardest thing to do. It changes you.”
“So there you go. How can you do this to her?”
He scooped the popcorn on the table into a small pile and ate it. He looked at the ceiling and considered his mistake and how he could correct it. He had no idea.
“Call her and tell her to drop it.”
“Then who’ll kill Zeke?”
“I will.”
Bobby laughed. A wet morsel shot from his mouth and whizzed by my shoulder. “Sure. You promise?” He shook the bag and looked inside. “Has anyone in the history of the world ever been able to pop the entire bag? You’re telling me they can send a man to the moon but they can’t make a bag that pops all the way?”
I don’t blame him. I don’t. Maybe I would’ve acted the same in his shoes. It’s not his fault. Just a kid. Like his brother. All roads lead to Ravella.
He crumpled the bag into a ball. He bounced it up and down, then pitched the bag into the kitchen sink. “Two points. Hey, you wanna play cards?”
Wait. There’s more. A whole life. Something. But she’s safe. I worried for nothing. She’s safe. I believe him. I want to. I do. She saved herself. Always saved herself. I never saved her. I never saved anyone. I never. I wonder if