Maybe it’s crumbling into ashes in my hands even now.
Maybe, despite my delusions, I’ve never really escaped the sooty corner of the kitchen at Lorraine’s.
Maybe that’s where I’ll always belong.
By late afternoon, I’m having to fight so hard not to cry that I can barely manage brief, friendly greetings and conversation.
I’m relieved when we finally pack up the stall and head home. At least I won’t have to fake it so much there.
Annabelle is leaving at midnight.
I’ll have to make up my mind by then.
It’s not a very long walk from the village square to the farm, but it’s long enough. We’re past the walls and the guards, and we’ve almost reached the farm when we’re attacked.
It’s random. I’m sure it is. There have always been outlaws and bandits in the countryside, wherever they can stay out of range of the Central City guards and the protected boundaries of established cities and villages.
The farm is close enough to the village to be generally safe, but there’s always a risk anytime you step outside the walls.
It happened to be today.
We’re walking home in silence. Mason is locked up tight. I’m holding back tears. And even Bill is dragging behind us, droopy despite holding his favorite ball in his mouth.
There are two of them. They appear out of nowhere, holding guns and demanding everything in our possession.
Mason has his gun in his holster, but there are two ofthem, and I’d be no good in a fight. He passes over his cart without objection.
I think that would have been it, but one of the guys gets a dirty look on his face and grabs my arm.
I resist. I can’t help it. He’s dragging me off the road, and I know perfectly well what he’ll do then. But I have no time to do anything except pull away from his grip.
Mason shouts, “No! No fucking way!”
Bill, who has been lurking at our heels, nervous and confused, understands Mason’s tone perfectly. With the fiercest growl I’ve ever heard from the dog, he lunges.
He’s big. And strong. He has a big mouth and powerful jaw. He jumps as he lunges.
He goes right for the throat of the man who’s dragging me away.
The force of the dog’s attack jars the man’s hand loose from my arm. The other attacker has turned his aim onto Bill, but Mason has got his own gun out from the holster now.
He shoots the second man dead.
Bill has got the first man down onto the ground, but the attacker manages to get an arm free and pushes the dog off him to raise his gun.
He’s about to shoot Bill.
Furious, I kick the man hard in the side without even thinking. There’s no way I’m going to let him kill my dog. Then I stumble backward when he shifts his aim to me.
Before he does, another gunshot cracks. The man on the ground goes limp.
Mason shot him too.
What happens next is with a numb heaviness as we collect ourselves and return to the village to tell the guards what happened. If we don’t report a self-defense shooting, we could be charged with murder.
It’s late and almost dark when we finally reach the farm.
I’m queasy and exhausted and too shaky to even process what happened.
