Bracing myself for whatever was to come, I stepped out of the bathroom, back pressed against the wall, and poked my head around the corner. No one was there; the house was empty. Had I imagined the sound? Experiencing paranoia over the unlocked door?
With a head shake, I stepped entirely out of the bathroom and started for the kitchen to pour a glass of wine. One step, then two, and suddenly she was there, approaching me from a blind side, gun raised in the air as she stepped in front of me, barrel pointed at my head.
“Don’t scream,” Amanda said. “It’ll only make it worse.”
My breath caught in my throat, and terror clutched me. She stood in front of the door, blocking my exit, the gun raised and steady in her hand. Despite the steadiness of the weapon, however, the fear behind her eyes was evident, crystal clear.
“Amanda.”
“Shut up and put your hands where I can see them,” she hissed, lip trembling. I did as she asked, knowing that if I was going to get out of this alive, I had to stay calm. I already knew what she could do, and that was enough for me.
“Amanda,” I said gently, scanning her face for some sign of humanity. “What’s going on? Are you okay?”
She shook her head vehemently, long, blond hair flying around her face, but she didn’t lower the gun. “Shut up!” she shouted. “Shut up, Peyton, or I’ll shoot you. I swear I will.”
“I believe you,” I told her, which wasn’t a lie. She had the gun. I was unarmed. I think we both knew the chances for either of us. “I believe you,” I said again, taking a small, delicate step forward. “I just want to help you, Amanda. What’s—what’s going on?”
“I’m in trouble,” she said breathlessly, taking her eyes off me to explore the condo frantically. “I’m in so much fucking trouble.”
“Why?”
“You know why!” she screamed. “You know why, Peyton, don’t play the fool.”
“Did you do that to my mother?” I asked gently. “Did you put the patches on her back?”
Amanda didn’t answer this, but her lip trembled desperately. I took another step forward towards Amanda, but she whipped the pistol up so that it was now pointed at my face, her hands trembling. I stopped.
“Stay back, Peyton,” she warned, and I could hear the terror in her voice. The apprehension.
“Amanda,” I said, hands still in the air. “Why are you here?”
“Why am I here,” she repeated, shaking her head like a madwoman. “I’m here for Korbin, Peyton. I’m here for Korbin.”
“Okay,” I said gently. “Korbin isn’t here right now. He ran out to get some breakfast.” I hoped the lie would dissuade her from staying. Korbin was at work, and I had no goddamn idea when he’d be home. I was alone.
A low, throaty growl escaped Amanda’s lips, but the stronghold on the gun didn’t waver. She kept it aimed at me, straight at my head.
“Amanda,” I continued. “Do you want to put down the gun for me? Put down the gun, and you can tell me what you feel. How does that sound?” I smiled despite my fear, hoping it was genuine enough. “I’ve been told I’m an excellent listener.”
For a split second, I thought she might actually consider this. Her hand wavered a little bit, but she shook her head again in a second.
“Fuck you, Peyton,” she said, her voice trembling. “Fuck you and this beautiful place, and fuck Korbin, too. Fuck him!”
“Amanda.” When I said her name this time, the fear in my voice was unmistakable. I cleared my throat and took another step forward. I had no idea what I intended to do but standing here like an idiot with a gun to my face wasn’t going to fly. “Amanda,” I said again. “Korbin will be home any minute, and I don’t want anybody to get hurt.”
“Shut up!” Amanda screamed. “Shut up, shut up, shut up!”
“Please, just put down the gun.”
The sound of the cocking pistol split through the air, smothering us in silence. I shut my mouth, knowing that if I pushed Amanda further, she would just kill me. And why not? I was nothing more than an idiot that got in the way.
“It’s their fault,” Amanda sobbed. Now, tears were sliding down her cheeks, but even as she cried, her hand didn’t waver. I could tell she’d been taught to use a gun very well. “It’s his fault my husband is dead. It’s his fucking fault!”
“Who?” I asked steadily. “Korbin’s fault? Who are they?”
“The firefighters, you stupid bitch!” she screamed, practically seething. “They left my husband to die. All of them. But—but especially Korbin.”
“I’m sorry, Amanda. I really am.” My arms were starting to ache from being held in the air, but I ignored the pain, focusing my attention on the woman instead. “I’m so sorry that you lost your husband.”
