“You’ll do,” a man’s voice says from behind. With a hand on my lower back, he gives me a small shove toward the couch. “Sit down.”
* * *
At this point,I’m thinking it would’ve been nice if Brynn would’ve told me her real name and what happened to her in Phoenix during a good dinner of crab cakes and French fries. That would’ve been much more pleasant.
Instead, I’m finding everything out with a gun pointed at my head.
“What do you think of your friend now?” the guy asks after he finishes telling me about Brynn. Or, Elizabeth, I guess. That’s what he calls her. He’s standing at the far end of the couch, a spot where he can make Brynn or me his target with a swing of his gun.
He doesn’t look like a killer. Not that they all have the same look, but he doesn’t strike me as evil, and I’ve seen evil. He looks anguished. His eyes are lifeless. He’s obviously vengeful, but to me, it’s an act of desperation, not a true desire to do harm. Instead of grieving, he has channeled his devastation into anger and focused it on the person he believes is to blame.
Brynn is innocent. I read all those articles. Not just the slapdash, sensational headlines a simpleton teenager could’ve written. I read the meat of the story. It fascinated me. How could one woman erase from the world what my wife and I agonized over?
“Eric, please,” Brynn pleads, shifting. She winces and looks down at her bindings.
Rage fills my vision, tinging it scarlet. The first thing I noticed about Eric is that he doesn’t know what to do with a gun. The only advantage he has is that he has possession of it. The second thing I noticed is that he looks like a Mercedes driver. His appearance is rumpled right now, but the sheep embroidered on his polo tells me he isn’t a thug. On a normal day, in a normal life, this behavior wouldn’t come from him, and that is whereIhave the advantage.
“Eric, I’m Walt. I’d say it’s nice to meet you, but at this exact moment, meeting you isn’t so great. You understand.” He eyes me, suspicion in his gaze, but I continue. “I’m very sorry about your wife and child. I read about it. Devastating.” I shake my head. “My wife and I suffered a miscarriage once. It broke our hearts.”
“Not the same thing,” Eric grits through clenched teeth.
I raise my hands in front of me. “No, of course not. What you experienced was worse.”
He swings the gun over to Brynn. She covers her face with her bound hands. “Clearly,” Eric says. “I’m going to have to kill you both. My plan, as Elizabeth already knows, was to torture her by killing you in front of her, and that’s still my plan.” He glances down at me. His eyes are wild. “But you did surprise me. I thought someone else would be standing at the door.” He looks at Brynn. “I guess your boyfriend doesn’t care about you after all. Can’t say I blame him. You’re an alcoholic whore baby-killer.”
Brynn doesn’t even flinch. If his words hurt, she doesn’t show it.
I’m angry enough for the both of us. I take my eighty-two years, my bad knee and back, and combine it with my red-hot fury. Before that little prick knows what’s going on, I’ve stood up and grabbed ahold of the front of his shirt. He raises the gun above us, and I reach for it too. I have a hand on it, and I’m trying to take it without accidentally getting off a shot. His finger’s on the trigger, which is another example of how untrained he is. I have only one idea, and it’s something I’ve never done. Not to any man, ever.
I lift my knee and drive it right between his legs.
He grunts, automatically grabbing himself with two hands. I reach for the gun, but Eric keeps it against his body. I’m trying my damnedest to keep it pointed away from Brynn, and me, but the guy’s staggering and he’s so inexperienced that the hand holding the gun flops around like a fish.
A crack of thunder fills the air. An explosive blast bounces around the room, ringing and buzzing fills my ears. My hands are wet and red.
Suddenly I’m exhausted. I slump, falling into the couch.
Screaming. I think it’s Brynn.
My name, over and over. Who’s saying it now? Connor?
Sirens wailing.
I’m so tired.
29
Brynn
“Ma’am, do you know this man?”
“How long were you tied up?”
“When did he arrive?”
“Is the gun his or yours?”
“Are you hurt in any other places?”
