Until the day of his death, no man can be sure of his courage.
—Jean Anouilh
Joey says nothing. But sees all.
Dupont is standing over his mother, his face twisted in rage and hatred. Eyes burn into Joey with one quick glance. Then back to his mother, motionless on the floor.
What am I going to do? he thinks. I have to do something.
Joey’s eyes dart to the fire extinguisher just to his right, mounted on the galley wall. His right hand under the blanket quietly unhooks it from the mount.
Dupont is still transfixed by his mother.
She does not move.
Is she dead? he wonders.
Then rage overtakes Joey’s mind. He unwraps the blanket and throws it off, his hand up to the fire extinguisher. He is almost naked, only in his underwear, but it does not matter. The only thing he cares about is hurting this man who has hurt his mom.
Dupont turns, startled.
The extinguisher is up in front of Joey’s face. He blasts it down square in Dupont’s face. The white chemical covers him—his face, hair, eyes.
Dupont screams as the chemicals react with his eyes. He rips at his mouth and his eyes. With each attempt at a breath, the chemical crawls deeper and deeper into his nose, his eyes, his throat.
Choking him.
He is blind and mute. Choking.
In his mind, he is cursing the boy. But no words will come out.
The white stuff is all over the floor. In his desperation to breathe, Dupont loses his footing, goes down.
The boy is over him, knees straddling his chest.
Little brat, he thinks, trying to say it. But what comes out is something inaudible. He opens his eyes but can see nothing, yet he can feel the boy on him.
And smell the chemicals.
“Arrgh.” Some sound finally comes.
Joey does something unexpected. He takes the fire extinguisher up and over his head. He brings it down, right to left, in a strong swing that grazes Dupont’s left temple. The child’s strength must be fueled by adrenaline, Dupont thinks.
Dupont feels the pain, is staggered by it. What?
Astonished by this boy.
Astonished by the child’s arrogance. He is just like his mother.
Dupont is trying to find air, breathe, to express his shock.
How dare you? is all he can think.
Another blow comes left to right.
His brain reels with pain and lack of oxygen. Chemicals crawl deeper into his lungs, increasing their burn. He can’t see or hear anything that makes any sense.
Damn child is his last thought as he descends into blackness.