Grey?
Carlin is busy raving, his pupils pinpricks, eyes ringed with white. He's not paying attention as the door opens so slowly.
Grey oh my god it's Grey--
But it's not Grey's face I find, but…Danny? The man from the baseball game, the one with the dog, my neighbor. Here? Why is he here?
It doesn't matter. He's here. Someone's here. I keep my eyes on Carlin, watching Danny in my periphery.
"I'll cut you free," Carlin's saying. "We'll take your car. Drive through the night. By morning, we'll be gone."
"You're not going anywhere with her." Danny's voice is strong, quiet, certain.
Carlin goes dead still, then turns, knife in his fist. "And who the fuck are you?"
"Get away from her," Danny says, calm but firm. In his hand is Grey's hatchet. His face is weathered, voice husky like a smoker. He's in a plaid shirt and Wranglers, no hat this time, but his hair's mussed like he just took it off. I can see his eyes, and that familiarity hits me like the crack of a baseball bat. Not just from around town. From somewhere deeper.
Somewhere I can't reach.
I know him. But I don't know how.
"I've seen you around," Danny says, "thought you were harmless. Listen to me, kid--you don't want to do this."
"You have no fucking clue what I want."
"Don't make a mistake that'll haunt you for the rest of your life. Let her go and get out of here and trust me. I know."
The weight in his words settles over me.
"Trust you? I don't know who you are."
The man glances at me, then back to Carlin. "I'm her father."
"What?" I blurt, confused. "My father's in Louisville--"
"Herrealfather," he says, his eyes still on Carlin. "And I'm not letting you take her."
Carlin roars, lunging with his knife, wild and desperate but untrained. Danny dodges him easily, swinging the hatchet as he backs up. He looks comfortable enough--he knows how to fight. But he's older, slower. He steps toward the knife block and pulls a carving knife, tossing the axe away.
"There, that's better."
Carlin charges him, but he shifts, grabbing Carlin's wrist, slamming it against the counter the knife clatters to the ground. Carlin's strength outmatches Danny’s skill, and Carlin breaks free, tackling the man, knocking his knife to the ground alongside his.
With Carlin distracted, I work frantically on the chair rungs. If I could just loosen one, I could pull the chair apart, all the spindles connected to--
The seat. If I break the seat, the whole thing comes apart. With all my strength, I push off the floor, throwing both me and the chair to the ground. The impact slams my shoulder into the hardwood, sending a shock of pain down my arm, but the rungs crack loose in the back, the legs busting apart. I gash, winded, but I'm free. Free enough.
They're grappling, trying to get to a knife. The man knees Carlin in the gut and elbows his face, doubling Carlin over. He's bleeding from his nose and mouth, desperate. The man is for a knife, and Carlin runs for him, tackling him to the ground as I hurry to slide my wrists painfully under my ass and unthread my legs so my hands are in front. They knocked over the knife block, scattering them across the kitchen floor--I scramble for one as they wrestle. I can't see what's happening until the man rolls over onto Carlin and grips him by the neck with both hands. He's so intent on Carlin's face, he doesn't see Carlin blindly find a knife, not until it's sliding quietly into his side.
I scream.
He gasps when Carlin removes the knife, then he lists, sliding off Carlin, thumping against the cabinets. Looks down at the blood, presses a hand to the wound. Carlin scrambles to his feet, staring at the man, chest heaving. He looks down at the bloody knife, back to the man. But the man is watching me, eyes full of regret and apologies. Carlin follows his gaze, shocked to see me standing, knife pointed at him in my bound hands.
He shifts, tightens. "Molly--"
"Don't come near me," I spit, trembling. The tip of the knife wobbles. I don't even know if I can effectively use it. But I'm going to try.
"Molly, we have to go." He's calm, slowly stepping toward me.
