to him, and one was bound to hit me…
In the kitchen, the cellar door opened with a crash, its crappy, rusting hinge shrieking an announcement. It scattered Artie’s tools and the kitchen chairs all over the place.
Tony turned to see what it was.
It was Brian. Coming out of the basement. Fear and wonder on his face. A pry bar in his hands.
Tony raised the gun, pointed it at Brian.
And that was it.
Something clicked inside me.
I don’t remember what happened, not really. I don’t know when I started to move, couldn’t have told you what was going to happen if you’d asked me. I don’t remember looking anywhere but at Brian, but I must have: All I remember was his face. I couldn’t have just put my hand out, found a weapon instantly under my fingers. I don’t remember feeling the desperate pain in my knee, I don’t remember the ringing in my ears.
All I do remember is Brian staring, a horrified look on his face, at Tony and then me. I remember total silence, save for the metal mechanical noises of the gun as Tony prepared to fire, but it couldn’t have happened that way, could it? There had to have been breathing, screams, footsteps, something. But I don’t remember anything like that.
This must have been what happened: I picked up the heavy black rubber electrical cord for the new washer and dryer. Nearly an inch thick, bent in half to a length of about two feet, and neatly tied with white plastic ties, it fit my hand perfectly. One thing I do remember now is the weight of it, now, how all that lovely, copper wiring gave it the perfect heft.
It came into my hand. I pulled my arm back and swung it like a mace. Its chunky skull-shaped plug arced through the air, and landed heavily on the side of Tony’s head.
I heard a crack.
Too bad, I thought: The four stubby prongs were facing outward. Next time, then.
Tony dropped like a sack of potatoes. Straight to the floor, do not pass go, do not collect $200.
I raised my hand again. Brought the heavy cord up and lined it up with the back of Tony’s unmoving head—
“Emma! What the hell—?”
Brian was still there, the crowbar in his hand. Suddenly all the pain that I’d remembered having came shooting back, invading my bones and muscles, and I wished for the silence, the numbness I’d felt before.
The second blow went awry, across Tony’s back, before I dropped the cord and staggered toward Brian. I stopped, remembering, and turned. I found the gun, made sure that it was fast, and replaced the safety. I put it into the drawer, automatically imagining Sophia coming over and finding it.
“Don’t touch that! You could get hurt!”
I looked at Brian, and frowned: stupid.
“Are you okay?” His face was sweaty, dirty, but not a scratch on it—
Beloved.
And then the realization that he was safe, that he was whole, that nothing I’d been thinking had come to pass, that it wasn’t going to happen flooded me. The disbelief that follows waking from a nightmare, that none of it was real, took my breath away.
Hysterics. There wasn’t enough breath in me to feed my aching body, fuel my tears, talk, and keep life going, but thank God for autonomic muscles. We clutched at each other, repeated sentences back at each other.
I looked down and there was dirt and blood all over his hands, his knees. I realized the blood had been there before I’d hurled myself at him.
“What happened? There’s a man, outside—was it him? The scream—what did he do to you?”
“Shhh, it’s okay. Temple has—”
My chest constricted. “Oh, Jesus, Brian, how did you ever get away from him? Did you kill him?”
“What? No, Emma, he helped me. He got the—”
“No, he was working for Tony, the big blond guy, he got here so fast—he was on the video! Where is he now?” I looked around wildly.
Brian held on to me, tried to keep my tenuous grasp on reality together by physically holding me. “Video? Joel’s video? No, he wasn’t—yes, maybe he was on the video, but he was here, keeping an eye on us. He was the one who took care of that someone outside—I came home and found them fighting. He yelled for me to get to you. It was the other guy who screamed.” He looked down at his torn-up hands, as if seeing them for the first time. “The doors were jammed, I couldn’t get