On My Way - Eve Langlais Page 0,73
seconds to save everyone. If only I had a weapon.
My fingers slid into my coat pocket and despite my not recalling it being there before, my fingers curled around the grip of a pistol. I pulled it out. Aimed with both hands bracing it.
Fired—and didn’t hit myself in the face this time!
The figure yelped, and they dropped the hand holding the bottle. As I stalked toward them, I shot again and again.
The fire dropped out of their hand and sizzled harmlessly in the snow. The arsonist took off and disappeared into the woods.
I emerged in the spot where they’d stood and saw dark red spots in the snow and the bottle of booze with the rag stuffed inside. What do you know. I recognized the brand, having bought it for twenty years. Martin ever was a man of habit.
The back door flung open. “Mom, is that you? Are you okay?” Winnie bolted through the kitchen door, frantic and coatless, wearing only slippers.
“I’m all right. Get back inside. It’s cold.” I tried to tuck my gun-wielding hand out of sight, but I wasn’t quick enough. I don’t think it would have mattered, anyhow.
Winnie’s eyes widened as she caught sight of me. “Was that you shooting?”
I pressed my lips tight. I shouldn’t say anything, but I also couldn’t keep lying. I kicked snow over the bottle. “Thought I saw an intruder.”
“And tried to shoot them? Jeezus, Mom. What happened to you?”
Orcs, wolves, and lake monsters. I stuck with, “My car broke down.”
“And then you what? Got into a fight with a squirrel?” She eyed me up and down.
I could only imagine the mess I looked. “I wish,” I muttered.
“Mom, you are scaring me. What’s going on?” she demanded.
“My car really did break down, and then I had to go through the woods and was kind of attacked by wolves, but I got away.” The nutshell version.
“So you shot some wolves?
“No.” I shook my head, and in that moment, the fact I’d shot someone suddenly overwhelmed me.
Me. I had put some bullets into somebody.
I trembled.
“Mom, what’s wrong?” she prodded gently, putting her arm around my shoulders.
“I shot him.”
“Who?” she asked.
“I think I shot your father.”
“Well, fuck.”
“Winnie!”
“Double fuck,” she exclaimed. “A pronouncement like that deserves a few fucks. And a drink.”
“Maybe two,” was my weak reply.
It was three before I stopped shaking.
Winnie, who’d gotten an edited version of my story—minus the lake monster, no mention of Kane or magic—paced. “We should call the police.”
“And say what? I shot someone loitering around my house with an unregistered gun?”
“Not just anyone. He had a bomb!” She waved the liquor bottle, the remaining booze sloshing inside. “Dad tried to kill us.”
“I don’t know that it was your father.”
She held out the whiskey. “Wanna bet his fingerprints are all over this? We both know how much Dad hates you. Who else could it be?”
“Anyone. Keep in mind we don’t actually have any evidence. Until we do, we can’t prove it was him.” Why didn’t I tell her about Kane?
“Doesn’t really matter who it is. You’ll be able to claim self-defense.” She tried to sound certain and yet in Canada, there weren’t any stand-your-ground laws. I could be found guilty, and in a twist, Martin, taking on the role of victim, could walk free.
“I’m sorry, Winnie.” I slumped in my chair. “I should have called the police rather than act.”
She said what I was thinking. “Yes, let’s put our faith in the same people who lost Dad.” Said with a nasty inflection. “I hate him. Why can’t he just die and leave us alone?”
The good part of me, the part that had turned the other cheek for twenty years, wanted to chide her for the remark. The new me lifted the glass and toasted, “Here’s to hoping he ends up rotting in a ravine somewhere.” I tossed the drink back just as a commotion at the door saw my cat rising from his pillow to glare.
He settled down as Trish burst inside.
“I came as soon as Winnie called me. What’s this about Martin attacking you? He tried to burn down the house?”
I shrugged. I was getting better at the whole nonchalance thing. “I doubt he’ll be trying that again.”
“Has that fucker been the one harassing you?” Trish exclaimed.
“Probably.” Yet it bothered me that no one had seen his face. What if I was wrong? What if I hadn’t shot Martin but someone else? Like Kane…
I resisted the temptation to call and see if he answered. For all I knew,