ANNASOPHIA
Satish’s blood-curdling yell ricochets off the walls. Electrified by a surge of hope, I instinctively snag Alexandra’s elbow.
“Jesus!” Nicholas turns his head a fraction of an inch.
“Drop the gun,” Satish repeats from the hallway door.
“Before or after I shoot Mrs. R?” Nicholas faces us again, and his lips twist in a grotesque smile.
“What’s shooting her get you?” Satish sidles into the living room.
“Rhetorical question, dumb-ass.” Nicholas shakes his head, nailing me with a see-through stare. “I’d better hear your heels clacking on the kitchen floor in one second flat, or I’ll shoot her and give you my answer later.”
“All right. Got it.” The noise Satish makes in retreat would distract a zen master.
Nicholas whips his head around. “What the hell are you doing?”
“Staysa, Magnus. Down.” I release Alexandra and snatch the heavy crystal candy bowl I’ve been eyeing since Nicholas entered the living room. Faster than I ever imagined, I draw back my arm. “Watch out, Staysa.”
Her mouth drops, but she falls in a heap like the boneless Mr. Kitty and scrabbles behind the nearest chair.
Magnus freezes.
“Stand absolutely quiet, and you stay alive.” Nicholas coils his arm more tightly around Magnus’s throat. Eyes slitted, he focuses on the bowl. His cold, I-dare-you-to-throw-that smile snakes down my trembling arm.
Alexandra rushes forward, arms out as if in greeting. “Give me the gun, Nicho—”
“Noooo,” I scream. “Duck.”
“Nicholas won’t hurt—” Too late, she glances over her shoulder at the bowl hurtling through space. A deafening crack cuts off her scream.
In the nano-second time stops, she crumples in slow motion at Nicholas’s feet.
“Jesus.” Nicholas rears back, calls her name, and shoves Magnus to one side, still leveling the gun at my abdomen. “Gunshot wounds to the gut are usually fatal.”
Mouth dry, I hug my waist and will Magnus to get to his feet.
“Or,” his voice turns silky as he aims at Magnus. “Or, I could shoot the kid instead.”
Magnus stumbles to his feet, yells at the top of his lungs, and performs some kind of Frisbee jump. When he lands, he kicks Nicholas in the knee. Not even a blip of time elapses as he dives behind Anastaysa’s chair.
The gun hits the carpet and spins away from a howling Nicholas.
Satish materializes, gun in hand. “Don’t move.”
“Come any closer, and I’ll stomp her brains out.” Nicholas raises his foot two, three inches above Alexandra’s motionless head.
“Let me examine her,” I say in my most forceful ER-doc-tone.
Nicholas slashes a finger at the floor. “After you push me my gun.”
My heart bangs my chest wall hard enough to explode. I whisper, “Alexandra’s hurt.”
“Careful,” Satish says.
“Shut. Your. Hole. And while you’re at it, lay your gun behind you. Now slink in there with the kiddies.” Nicholas motions from me to the gun and to the space behind the chair where Magnus and Anastaysa are huddling. “What’re you waiting for, bitch?”
“What if the gun goes off when I pick it up?” I pitch my voice high, tremulous.
“Then you’ll be dead.” When I remain unmoving, he adds, “You? Alexandra? The cop? Someone’s going to die.”
His baritone swells—an actor on-stage projecting to the back row. In love with his own voice, he delivers his next line. “Tell your boyfriend I can’t hold my foot up much longer. A hair on his head moves and—”
An explosion and a fountain of crimson gushes from his neck. A lake spreads outward on the carpet. Nicholas topples face down into his own blood.
Satish barks, Lay the gun on the floor.
I do, and chaos speeds up.
Anastaysa and Magnus rush from their sanctuary and wrap their arms around me. Going down on one knee next to Nicholas, Satish orders me to check Alexandra. I’m numb, fighting shock and staring everywhere but at Nicholas’s body. Satish’s grim face is unnecessary to confirm what I already know.
Nicholas is dead.
Alexandra, on the other hand, moans when I whisper her name.