69
I came part way down the stairs and reached out to the head of the grizzly.
I threw out my arms at the ten-foot tall bear, and, with both hands, shoved the massive body towards Dave.
Dave was so intent on cutting me, he never saw it coming. The toppling giant knocked the knife out of his hand onto the stairs and Dave to the floor.
I dashed down the rest of the stairs for the knife and had it in my grip before he got up.
From where I stood on the second step, my eyes were level with his.
He laughed, that horrible cackle of a laugh. “You won’t use that. You sweet little cutie pie. You wouldn’t hurt anyone. Especially not your old Uncle Dave.” He took a slow step toward me.
“I wouldn’t bet on it.” I waved the blade at his neck. “You shouldn’t bet on it either. Bad bet. Remember the odds: I’m one for one.”
Dave squinted at me like he thought I’d lost my mind, but I was betting he was scared of knives.
After all he knew how much damage they could do.
He growled at me like a bear, and swung a paw. Asshole thought he could use my fear of bears, the fear my family knew so well, against me.
I scraped his hand with the sharp edge of the blade.
He grabbed his hand, hugged it to him. “You cut me!” he whined.
“And I’ll do it again,” I blasted at his face. “Next I’ll stab you in the throat.” A sudden flash of my memory, the mugger in Golden Gate Park. Uncle Dave always in turtlenecks or cravats, it wasn’t just meticulous dressing. He had to hide that knife scar.
He grabbed his neck with his good hand.
“Remember that! It was only forty years ago. I almost got you right in the jugular, could’ve killed you that time.” I slashed the knife at him.
He jumped back.
His stupefied look said he didn’t remember, but on some level, his unconscious was flashing warning signs.
I swung the blade, aiming for the arm that came up to protect his face.
I wasn’t afraid to cut him.
In fact, I wanted to hurt him, to make him feel some of the pain, both physical and emotional, he’d caused so many others.
The blood that spurted from his hand shot a thrill through my body.
Fear that he would get the knife away from me vanished, replaced by an animal lust for revenge.
I charged at him aiming the dagger at his chest.
He turned sideways like a matador.
I slid by, turned back, and glared.
His eyes bugged. He clutched his wounded hand to his waist and grabbed the door handle to get the hell out of there before the crazy woman cut him––again!
He opened the door and collided with Schmidt. Steven was behind the Detective.
Dave tried to push past them. “I’ve got to get medical attention. She’s crazy. She cut me.”
“Not so fast.” Detective Schmidt pulled out his handcuffs.
Dave shoved the Detective down the porch steps then broke into a run for his Porsche.
Steven chased him. He jumped on Dave’s back, wrestled him to the ground in the front yard, but couldn’t hold him there.
Detective Schmidt caught up to them and pulled his gun. He trained it on Dave.
“Back up, son!” Schmidt ordered Steven.
“DO NOT KILL HIM!” I screamed, “Whatever you do, don’t kill him.”