11:35 p.m. Sunday, December 31
Breathing heavily, with his gun drawn, Warner burst out of the darkness into the cabin. The French door swung closed behind him and he scanned the living room before his eyes riveted on the large man wearing the familiar NASCAR racing jacket. That bastard, Bruce, again! Did he kill Chad?
The man stood pressed up against Lina, gripping her throat and pinning her to the wall near the wood stove. Lina’s eyes darted toward Warner and she whimpered like a rabbit caught in the fangs of a wolf. Bruce must be the one who attacked Lina. Why is he doing this?
Warner’s heightened senses flashed like a snapshot of the room, capturing everything: the motion of dust motes drifting, Lina swallowing and moaning and clawing at the door, Bruce’s tongue wetting his rough lips; his own knocking heartbeat, the faint smell of wood smoke, musky sweat, his mother’s flowery perfume, lemons, earl gray tea—and terror.
Then his sight fell on his mother’s body lying prone on the floor, and his anger exploded, swamping his vision with a consuming fury. His muscles tensed as he raised the gun in both hands and aimed it directly at Luke’s chest. The man’s eyes narrowed and he released Lina. When the man took a step forward, a flush of adrenaline knocked Warner’s heart against his chest. All I need is a heart attack right now.
“It’s over asshole.”
Warner pulled the trigger.
Only a dull click broke the room’s silence. When Warner fumbled to release the gun’s safety, Luke rushed him. Flicking the safety off, Warner was about to snap the barrel back and load a round when the larger man collided with him. The force carried the two into the wall near the stairs, and a sharp pain burst between Warner’s shoulder blades. He groaned as the air smashed out of his lungs.
Fighting a headlock, Warner shoved his right arm out and raised the gun. Luke seized Warner’s hand and pinned it to the wall as they grappled for control of the weapon. Warner kneed the other man hard in the groin, but like a champion wrestler, Luke deflected the blow with his knee. Grunting, he grabbed the top of Warner’s shoulder in one strong hand and pitched him over the chair by the stove. Warner crashed across the seat while Luke managed to keep a firm grip on his gun hand. Too fast for Warner, Luke towered over him and began awkwardly punching the back of his head with a left fist. He must be right handed.
To clear more space for the attack, Luke kicked the small footstool out of the way. The distraction allowed Warner to slide out from under the punches, but he caught himself on the floor in front of the chair, jarring his wrist. When Luke’s powerful legs tried to pin Warner in place, Warner twisted his hand and the man lost his grip. Forced to reach for the gun barrel instead, Luke slammed a knee into Warner’s temple. The glancing blow exploded into points of light before Warner’s vision went dark from the pain.
Dazed, Warner’s sight returned and he caught a glimpse of his mother. His determination rekindled and he ignored the throb in his wrist and the pounding pain in his forehead. When Luke managed to get both hands on the gun and twisted, the muscles in Warner’s hand began to weaken.
Fear entered Warner’s eyes with the realization that the younger man was bound to outlast him in a straight fight. Another twist from his opponent and Warner let out a grunt of pain. Just like when I was a kid… always beaten.
A scraping noise came from the front porch and the French doors swung open to reveal a large menacing black shadow that separated from the night.
As Bella stalked into the room with a rumbling snarl and bared white fangs, Warner found new hope. But I’m not a kid anymore—and this isn’t a game…. and I’m not alone. Now be a man and take care of your family! The dog’s distraction gave Warner the chance to rise on one knee and throw his shoulder forward. Forced to stagger back, Luke lost his hold on the gun and tripped over the footstool. As the younger man toppled backward into the middle of the living room floor, Warner drug himself up using the arm of the leather chair. His mother lay still on the cold tile floor with Bella standing nearby, bristling at Lina. What did Bruce do to Mom? And why is Bella growling at Lina?
“Son-of-a-bitch!” Luke cursed, scrambling back to his feet with a red face.
Gripping his father’s gun in both hands, Warner snapped back the recoil and loaded a bullet. From the corner of his eye, he saw Lina step forward only to retreat into the corner when Bella snarled and lunged at her. While the dog straddled Sylvia, Luke planted his feet for another rush.
“Try it you sorry bastard and I’ll shoot!” Warner challenged, aiming the gun at the man’s chest. Then I’ll bury you and tell God you died.
Luke connected his boot with the footstool and hurled it toward Warner.
A flash with a loud explosion echoed through the room, followed by the acrid smell of gunpowder. Yelping in fear, Bella bolted down the hallway.
The stool crashed at Warner’s feet while Luke grabbed his left side and staggered back into the dining table. Shoving a chair aside, he collapsed onto the floor. In the corner, a wild expression entered Lina’s eyes as she stared in shock at the wounded man.
“You fucking shot me!” Luke cried. Pressing one hand over the red stain at his side, he struggled to stand and continue the fight. With a grimace from the pain, he fell back and slid down onto his side, clasping both hands over the wound.
Holstering the gun, Warner rushed to his unconscious mother and knelt by her side. He found a weak pulse. Thank God! He darted a glance at Lina who was now crouching in the corner with her hands over her mouth. What did she do to send this Bruce guy over the deep end?—Warner forced himself to set the questions aside. Ease off. She was attacked and Bruce tried to strangle her….
“Help me get my mom onto her bed,” Warner called over his shoulder to Lina. When Lina continued to stare at the fallen man in obvious fear, Warner followed her gaze; the man lay curled on the floor, motionless, and appeared unconscious. “He can’t hurt you now."
Without waiting for her help, Warner reached under his mother and lifted her frail form into his arms. Fighting dizziness from his own injuries, he struggled to rise with the help of one knee. Sylvia moaned, and Bella cautiously crept back into the living room to sniff her dangling arm.
“Yell if he moves,” Warner said, with a last darting glance at the man—I hate leaving you alone, but mom needs help. While he carried his mother’s limp body through the hallway, Bella padded behind with a whimper. Easing around the corner of the hallway, Warner strode into the dark bedroom and laid his mother onto the soft mattress. Then taking Bella by the collar, he led her into the other bedroom. He cringed once more at the duct tape still clinging to the dog’s muzzle.
“We’ll get that off as soon as Mom’s okay.”
Squatting down, he gave Bella a tight hug before leaving the dog alone inside. You’ll be out of harm’s way here. Closing the door, he retrieved a wet washcloth from the bathroom before re-entering his mother’s bedroom. He turned on the soft bedside light and saw that she was breathing easier. After laying the cloth across his mother’s brow, he propped her head and shoulders up on a stack of floral pillows.
I can’t lose you too—not so soon after losing Dad.
Easing down on the edge of the bed beside his mother, Warner tried not to cry.
Someone’s got to get help—I can’t leave you like this.
-- : --
“This is all messed up,” Lina said as tears rolled down her cheeks. Her lips trembled as she rose from the corner of the living room and walked over to where Luke lay moaning. Dropping to his side, she reached out to caress his shoulder.
Rousing, Luke turned his haggard face toward her and grabbed the hem of her dress. His face brightened and he whispered, “Holly?” Twisting the cotton material with a blood soaked hand, he tried to pull her closer.
“Get… something… a towel—hurry!” He then dropped back, again pressing both hands over the wound in his side. Blood seeped between his fingers to form a darker glistening patch on his black t-shirt.
Lina shivered and filled with despair. “Second chances is a lie,” she whispered. “You never did love me. All’s you ever wanted was Mama.”
Overpowered by a deep sense of loss, she rose and steadied herself on the edge of the table. A darker side of the chaos in her mind boiled to the surface. Ain’t Holly who’s betrayed me this time—this you done yourself.
“Like Papa says, time I accept I cain’t have ya,” she said. “And if I cain’t—”
“Goddamn it, Lina, help me!” Luke tried to shout, but blood continued to drain from his wound, sapping his strength. When he struggled to rise, a fresh red plume seeped through his fingers. His face twisted with fear as he slipped back to the floor.
Seeing the small pool of blood spreading beneath him, Lina stepped back in resignation. “I’d rather see you buried ‘fore you leave me for her.” A smile crept over her lips. “Maybe next time you’ll do right by me….”
Her face took on a distant expression and she stiffly walked over to the now-cold stove. Picking up the canister of starter fluid, she removed the bright red cap and began spraying the acrid smelling fluid back and forth like a lawn sprinkler across the nearby chairs.
“Stop! I ain’t fucking dead yet!” Luke cried in desperation. Managing to drag himself partway up by a table leg, he made one final plea, “I… I love you, Angel.”
The spray of flammable liquid sputtered as the can ran out of fuel. Beyond hearing, except voices from the past, Lina released the empty container and let it bounce onto the floor. She removed the ornate silver lighter from the small purse still at her shoulder and sparked a flame. Igniting the nearest chair, the soft fiery whoosh singed the delicate hairs on the back of her hand. Satisfied, she stepped away and returned the lighter to her purse.
Rippling across the seat of the brown leather chair, the flames spread like transparent blue water with yellow tips. Tendrils of fire rushed up the chair-back and down the armrest. Spreading across the drenched river stones in front of the wood stove, the flames leapt onto the second chair. Within seconds, both chairs were engulfed. Leather crackled and the seat cushions gave way to a caustic black smoke that billowed toward the high ceiling.
Glancing at the lover that was also her torment, she watched Luke slump back and close his eyes. His chest began to rise and fall in shallow ragged breaths, and his blood-drained pallor became even more ashen. Once I take care of Mama, we’ll go outside and swing.
Leaving Luke, Lina strode into the hallway leading through the kitchen. Picking up a half-full wine glass and a bottle of champagne from the counter, she continued to the bedroom. Mama shouldn’t be in Luke’s bedroom again. A hint of smoke trailed behind her. As she passed Warner’s room, Bella lunged at the door with a menacing growl. Ignoring the dog—I’ll get you later—Lina stepped into the doorway of Sylvia’s bedroom. After watching Warner brush loose strands of graying hair from the elderly woman’s peaceful face, she stole into the room.
Mama, I’m here to forgive you.