The Wrong Family

by Tarryn Fisher

  Winnie was balanced on her knees. A trickle of saliva hung from her chin, but she made no move to wipe it away. Her twin brother was lifting the gun. She couldn’t think clear thoughts; she was still trying to understand what had happened that had led up to this.

  “This isn’t you,” she said, before her throat closed in panic and she started to cough. “This isn’t my brother. Dakota, please—”

  32

  JUNO

  Juno leaned over Nigel, for once not feeling the cracking pain pinching into her back like talons, and focused on reaching her stiff fingers into the pockets of his running shorts. They were empty except for his headphones. He’d either dropped his phone outside or Dakota had taken it along with Winnie’s, which was as missing as Dakota’s mind. She heard shouting coming from the apartment, saw Nigel’s blood swimming around her feet. Her vision shook like Jell-O, and Juno thought she was going to keel over. The Crouch family portraits stared at her from the wall. She felt her survival instincts kick in.

  Slow but steady, she thought, taking a step toward the front door. Sam was safe—or safer than he would be in the house; he was the only person she cared about, anyway.

  Except Terry wouldn’t be here if it weren’t for her. You have to decide, Juno, are you the hero or do you creep back to your hidey-hole? She rubbed the spot behind her ear.

  She could walk out the door right now, save her own skin. She stepped over Nigel. She thought she could hear Terry Russel’s voice. This was none of her business. She heard a car drive by, the radio churning out rap music. Outside was so close; just a few steps and she’d fall right into the cool night. But what about Winnie...? She tried to kick the thought, think around it.

  She might hear the story on the news from the women’s shelter if she got there in time to get a cot, tomorrow, maybe, but no one would ever know she’d been here. The story wouldn’t be about her this time, and she wouldn’t be the one to go to prison. The thought of prison sent panic skittering through her limbs. She was dying, and she was not going to yield up her soul in some shit cinder-block prison cell while her roommate masturbated in the bunk above her. Her hand reached for the dead bolt.

  Then she heard another gunshot, her terror so blinding she moved on instinct. She was going to have to move quickly—and quickly cost her a great deal of pain. The keypad to the alarm system was in front of her. But in her haste, her shaking fingers hit the emergency button, and instantly a terrifying wailing began to scream through the house. She fumbled with the lock, risking a glance over her shoulder, and saw Dakota lumbering through the kitchen toward her. Her attention now focused on her hands, she managed to flip the dead bolt. Then the door was open and cool air was on her face and filling her open mouth. She made it to the edge of the concrete where the walk dipped into the grass and then the sidewalk. It was dark, the street outside deserted.

  Juno ran, despite her aching body, pumping her legs harder than she ever had since she’d run with her boys at the park all those years ago. But everything was wrong; she wasn’t getting anywhere. And then she felt a hand yanking her back, grabbing her before she could even reach the sidewalk. With the alarm wailing in her head, and her arms and legs flapping like those inflatable waving men that stores used to advertise, Dakota dragged her back inside the house.

  By the time Juno found her voice, way back in her belly where it was hiding, Dakota was closing the door behind them, disarming the alarm. Of course he would know the code—he’d stayed here more than once, after all. He tossed her away from him, and Juno’s shoulder blade struck the closet door. Even with the breath knocked out of her, she still hadn’t screamed. Dakota, seeing his mistake in shoving her away, reached for her again, but Nigel’s body was in the way and he tripped over it, sprawling. Juno had a split second to consider her options: the front door was out of the question; she wouldn’t get two feet before he grabbed her. That left the apartment beyond the kitchen, but that door had its own dead bolt, and beyond that was the gate with the latch and the alley. And who knew what she would find in that apartment. Two dead women?

  She was up the stairs before he was on his feet. She didn’t hear his footfalls behind her. That was good; she had time. As she cleared the stairs and ran for Samuel’s bedroom window, she heard him yelling something. Her lungs were almost in as much pain as her joints as she gasped for air. If he wasn’t coming up the stairs after her, maybe it meant that one of the women was alive, and she bet it was Winnie. She reached Sam’s window at the same time she noticed the house had fallen eerily silent.

  Her finger found the place behind her ear, but she pulled her hand back, shaking. He’d come up here next; he was probably already on his way up the stairs. She cast a glance over her shoulder, to the window Sam had climbed out of not twenty minutes ago. She’d probably break her neck falling from the roof.

  But at least Dakota won’t break your neck. Don’t you want to die on your own terms? But she’d been wrong about all of it. Samuel—Sam—he’d lost Nigel tonight, and maybe he didn’t even know it yet; could she die in peace knowing she was responsible for him losing his mother, as well? She didn’t look at the window again, the window that would no doubt save her life. She left it open and hid instead, returning to the spot under the en suite sink.

  Nigel had taken most of his toiletries to the downstairs bathroom and had yet to bring them back up. This had cleared out a space where she curled in a tight ball. Dakota stood nearby as Juno held her breath, her back curled against the space. Then she heard him close the window in a whoosh, and the snap of the lock. He did a quick tour of Sam’s room, the bathroom, the closet, and then his footsteps receded to the lower level. There was some commotion downstairs; she heard things slamming around. She braced herself to hear another gunshot, but none came. When Dakota’s clangs and bangs sounded far enough away, she pushed open the cabinet door and peered around nervously.

  She had to stop him from killing Winnie; she was the only mother Sam had, even if she wasn’t Sam’s biological mother. She’d made a mistake in getting involved; she’d done the wrong thing, and now she had to do the right thing. Juno unfolded herself with the grace of her former years and the pain of her latter. She didn’t hesitate. She headed for the stairs with a rough plan forming in her mind.

  Downstairs, Dakota was barricading the doors like he was preparing for some type of siege. When Juno reached the bottom of the stairs, she saw that he’d pushed the foyer chair in front of the door and had reactivated the alarm, the red light glaring like an eye.

  He didn’t want anyone else getting out. But where was he now?

  Juno ducked around the corner, grateful for the hundredth time that Sam wasn’t here, and headed for the kitchen. As her feet crept over the black-and-white-checkered floor, she heard Winnie’s guttural scream from the apartment. “What are you doing? You killed her! Dakota...!”

  She could hear them struggling as she reached the junk drawer, yanking it open and sticking her hand all the way to the back. She found what she was looking for. As her hand closed around it, and she tucked it into the back of her pants, she heard Dakota howling like a wounded animal, followed by an incredulous “You bit me!”

  Even in the midst of everything, Juno found that ludicrous. How dare you bite me after I shot and killed your husband! What she also found more than ludicrous was that none of the neighbors had called the cops. How was that possible? Where was Mr. Nevins? Something thumped heavily, and Juno ran toward the sound. He was going to shoot Winnie, she was certain of it. He didn’t just want to hurt the elusive Manda, who had wounded his pride by not taking him back, he wanted to show his family what would happen when they didn’t prioritize him. Juno realized something else as well: he was going to kill himself. She could see now that Dakota had planned this out; she’d seen his truck circling the house and had thought nothing of it. And for Dakota’s final act of power, he needed to hurt everyone who’d hurt him.

&n
bsp; She took a resigned peace in her final evaluation as a therapist—even one who had lost her license—as she moved toward her destination, the mantel. Winnie’s garish decorating provided five-pound weights; the busts and the statue of David Juno hated were expensively heavy. The orange one was dead center—the one that reminded her of Joe and his orange juice. She ran for it, darting past the open door of the den and grabbing it by the neck. Beyond the den, in the apartment, Dakota was pulling his twin to her feet. She had a brief glimpse of Winnie’s back, and then the fireplace was in front of her. Juno wasn’t sure if he’d seen her. The weight of orange David made her knees dip; as she straightened up, she moved out of sight, hiding behind the open door to Nigel’s den.

  Juno closed her eyes and said a silent prayer, her heart hammering so hard it hurt.

  Dakota stepped out with Winnie held against his front, walking slowly, the gun to her head. Her hands were bound and the gag was back in her mouth. But as soon as Dakota stepped across the threshold and into Juno’s sight line, it was already too late for him. Juno, concealed behind the open door, was already behind him. She stepped forward from behind the door and swung the base in an arc like she was holding a baseball bat. The orange David hit Dakota’s head with a dull thud, and she dropped it as pain exploded down her arm from the impact. Dakota let go of Winnie, who looked like she was barely conscious, and lurched forward. Winnie fell face-first onto the carpet and stayed there; Juno didn’t know if she’d passed out or was playing dead. Both were an excellent idea on her part. Juno stared at Dakota, who had fallen onto his knees, roaring in pain, an ugly grimace on his face. She didn’t wait to see what he’d do next. Juno ran again.

  She held her arm cradled to her chest, legs pumping with the last of her adrenaline. When she got to the front door, she saw again the heavy chair Dakota had pushed under the door handle. The time it would take her to move it... If she went back now and ran for the kitchen, she’d most likely run directly into him. She managed to unlock the deadbolt before she heard him in the hallway behind her, but she couldn’t open the door without moving the chair, and Nigel’s body was between it and the door. God, Dakota wasn’t as dumb as he looked. She ran for the closet instead, opening the door and closing it behind her; she hauled up the trapdoor with her good hand. She was so distracted by the thought of Dakota finding her at any minute that she didn’t move her face out of the way; the corner of the trapdoor whacked her above her left eye, slicing through her eyebrow. Juno felt the sting and then the warm flow of blood. She didn’t wait for her vision to clear—as the closet door opened, she slipped into her cave.

  Juno knew deep down that she should have left this house when she had the chance. Now here she was, going deeper into the shit rather than out of it. But wasn’t that the story of her life? Out on parole but in a different type of prison. But the crawl space is safe, she told herself. She knew it well, and Dakota had never been in it before, so she had the advantage, even if her body was screaming.

  She dropped onto her hands and knees and immediately began crawling. She didn’t need light to know where she was going, but Dakota would. She heard him swearing behind her and then the thud of his feet as he hit the floor. He was big, that would slow him down some, but he also had the gun. As her hands slid over dirt and gravel, she thought of Winnie, tied up and facedown on the floor, still oblivious to Juno’s existence, still confused about what was happening to her brother. That woman would be clueless until the day she died, and for Sam’s sake, Juno would do her best to make sure that day would be a long way away. She thought of Samuel—Sam—and their short interactions, which had meant so much to her. And she thought of Nigel; he was dead. As she crawled forward, a piece of broken glass sliced her palm, but she left it where it was, hoping it would have at Dakota, too. She didn’t remember breaking anything—had the glass been here all along?

  She couldn’t pause to wipe the blood that was running from the cut above her eyebrow, so she was completely blind in one eye and her hand was stinging.

  And then the pop came: a loud bang, and pressure on her shoulder. She fell flat on her face, breathing dirt up her nose and gasping for air. Something had hit her, but not a bullet, a rock maybe; the bullet had hit the ground and sent debris flying. He shot at me, Juno thought incredulously. That bumbling idiot shot at me. But the bumbling idiot was still coming after her; she could hear his grunts and his hands slapping at the ground. She crawled faster still, toward the dirt pile she rarely ventured past. The back end of the space still creeped her out. She felt something hit her in the back of the head, but she didn’t stop. And then a hand was on her ankle, yanking her backward. Her sweatshirt rode up as he pulled her along the uneven ground, and Juno felt something sharp stick into her breast. She yelled, she screamed and kicked, and, clawing on the ground, she wriggled away from him. She scooted a few feet ahead when she heard him curse. She scrambled over a ledge of dirt that rose so high to the ceiling of the crawl space she had to shimmy past it on her belly. He couldn’t follow her back here, could he? And then she was rolling down the incline, dirt coating the blood on her face like a mask. She didn’t have far to roll. She came to a stop at the bottom, lying on her stomach and spitting mud out of her mouth. She lay suddenly still, listening, deciding how far away Dakota’s grunts were. “You’re so fucking slow!” she called out. “No wonder your wife left you.”

  That did it. “Who are you, you fucking bitch?” But she could hear the wobble of fear in his voice. Men always called names when they were scared.

  “What were you going to do, Dakota? Kill your twin sister and then yourself?”

  There was a shocked silence, during which she could hear him hammering out breaths. He was moving faster now, and if she wanted to stay alive, at least for a little while longer, she’d have to move.

  She began scooting forward on her belly, using her elbows to pull herself along. She was almost there, to the little gravesite. She’d come back here only once, and that had been enough. She didn’t remember what she’d been doing back there, maybe boredom, but she’d found the remains, obviously of an animal. It was just a scattering of small bones, but it had creeped her out enough to never return. The earth dipped down and circled around the mound, but Dakota wouldn’t know that. He was almost to the rise now; he’d be able to look into the valley Juno had rolled into, but he wouldn’t be able to see her in the dark. He’ll probably still shoot, she thought. Once her feet were pulled to safety she reached into her pocket and pulled out what she’d taken from the kitchen drawer; then, she began moving quietly forward. Juno rounded the corner as Dakota pulled back from the rise. She knew she wasn’t where he thought she’d be. He’d need to turn around if he wanted to keep looking for her. She eyed the gun, which was in his right hand, pressed to the dirt as he grunted in surprise at not seeing her. He’d be able to turn around any second, and he’d see her there. If she didn’t act, she would die as Terry Russel had, at the hands of a sick, angry man. Juno didn’t like those terms.

  She didn’t wait: lunging forward, she fired the Taser she’d swiped from the kitchen drawer into his neck. The two-pronged barbs penetrated the skin near Dakota’s pulse, delivering a kick of voltage that made him convulse. In the small space Juno wasn’t able to move in time; Dakota’s left arm swung out and Juno saw stars for a second or two as it made contact with her head. She righted herself, her vision swimming. She felt frantically along the ground for the gun, her fingers scraping at dirt. Juno had used a Taser before, she knew what happened next. He was strong; he’d recover fast. She figured she had less than five seconds to find the gun and shoot Dakota if she didn’t want to die. He roared as he lunged for her, but Juno didn’t shrink back; her hands swept the dirt in frantic arcs. Then her fingertips touched the cool tip of the barrel, and relief briefly found its place in her mind. Before she could get a good grip, Dakota grabbed her arm and yanked her toward him, dragging her body painfully over the ground. He tried to get
to his feet while holding onto Juno’s arm, but his head connected with the roof of the crawl space with a sickening crack. Dakota was temporarily stunned, loosened his hold on her arm. She rolled because it was the only thing she could do, and she’d seen alligators subdue their prey that way. She barely heard his cry of pain over the roaring panic in her own head. Her right hand found the gun. Juno wrapped her fingers around the barrel, pulling it toward her chest. She had just enough time to roll onto her back and point the gun upward. She pulled the trigger.

  33

  WINNIE

  Winnie woke to the sound of sirens. Her first thought was of Samuel. Where was Samuel? He was buried in the crawl space! She bolted upright and the room righted itself, but her head didn’t. No. Samuel was alive. He wasn’t the one buried in the crawl space. He was her baby. Hers. She pressed her palms to her face, pain shooting through the backs of her eyes and landing in the base of her skull. And then the realization: her hands were free. She remembered lying on the floor, still gagged, one of her knickknacks smashed to pieces, orange shards of porcelain that looked like mandarin peels flecking the rug. She saw blood on her clothes next, and in a rush the last hours rose into her memory, choking her with shock.

  Dakota had shot Nigel. Nigel was dead. She hauled herself to her feet, closing her eyes against the pain chewing at her brain. Strips of severed duct tape clung to her clothes and she brushed them off. Had Dakota cut her free? When she was upright, she took a few tentative steps forward until she had a clear view into the apartment. Terry Russel was no figment of her imagination; the old woman lay sideways with her back to Winnie. A groan came from somewhere deep in Winnie’s throat where she tasted blood and bile. Where was her brother—why would Dakota do this? The nausea unfolded and Winnie doubled over, thinking she was going to be sick. Had he cut her hands free? No. She didn’t have time to be sick. Straightening up, Winnie started to stumble forward. She had to find Samuel—her miracle baby, her baby—not Josalyn’s. She’d prayed to God for a child, like Hannah had in the Bible, even though she’d not felt worthy to be a mother after what she’d done. And then, when she’d found out she was pregnant shortly after that horrible night, it was like God had forgiven her, he’d trusted her with her own baby. She’d done a terrible thing to Josalyn Russel, and she’d been too much of a coward to make herself accountable for what she’d done, but Samuel was hers alone. She reached the foyer, stepping over Nigel, refusing to look at him. She didn’t want to think about Josalyn right now. The front door was wide open, furniture scattered and shoved in corners like someone had kicked it around in a hurry. From outside came the sounds of sirens gusting into the house along with cold, fresh air. Gasping at the feel of it on her skin, Winnie stepped across the threshold, waving her arms at the help that was finally pulling up from every direction. Mr. Nevins stood at the edge of the lawn, arms hanging limply at his sides, his face washed of color. She broke eye contact with him to watch as the police ran across her lawn, their weapons drawn.