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“Do not say his name. I’ll shoot you where you stand.” Wait. Am I perceived as a threat? A stalker?

“I think we got off on the wrong foot. I’m not here for problems. You don’t need to hide in the shadows or pull weaponry to subdue me, I just want to have a conversation and get ---” The box bellows as the gate opens a crack.

“Holy fucking Christ, Gingersnap. Shut the fuck up and do as they say. Get in here now and keep your fucking head down!” I lunge for the speaker button on the box on instinct, clinging to his voice.

It happens rapidly and nothing and everything registers at once at the naïve thing I’ve done. I can’t breathe as a man pulls me through the crack in the gates and then they slam shut again. None of this is about me. I can’t speak. I need to see Sal. The hush in the air is suddenly charged with energy that feels wrong. I don’t like this. Then there’s a series of popping and shattering things. Pieces of brick spray off of the building as if someone is power washing it.

I’m hoisted over a man’s shoulder. He’s shooting a gun behind him as he sprints to the front door. This is a mistake. I’ve made a mistake. I only scream in surprise at the popping. A reflexive shriek instead of yelling. I curl up around his shoulder and try to make myself smaller. Then more popping. Then literally a giant boom as I see the gates get rammed by a car and my favorite pink hard shell suitcase flies up and crashes into the yard.

There’s no time to worry about my underwear scattered for all to see before the door flies open. The man doesn’t stop running until I’m tossed into a closet. I land with a thud. A wide and kind face literally fills the doorway.

“I’m Lou. Do as I say. Do not come out of this closet until he comes to get you. Don’t move or he’ll kill me.” I nod a lot at him. I’m shaking, but I can’t process this. I don’t know what’s going to happen and I always know what’s happening.

“Lou, I have---”

I open my mouth to ask a question and a voice just out of range booms, “No! Don’t you fucking move, Red. Resta fermo, Rosso. Stay put!” Even though he’s insistent and his voice is dark with a rage I don’t know, my body and mind know he’ll keep me safe. I don’t know what the Italian was, but I’m sure it was telling me not to move. As long as I can hear his voice, I can try to calm down.

The door slams shut, locks from the outside, then everything gets muffled. My heart and blood are pumping like crazy. What is happening here? Who the hell is Lou? The sounds are softer as my panic mounts higher. I didn’t even sense anything was terribly wrong as I was standing outside. I have zero instincts. Zero. I’d be a disaster in battle. I was so focused on yelling at Sal. Someone is shooting, and he’s in the middle of it all. Shit. I was in the middle of it all. That was dumb. They’re shooting at Sal. They don’t get to kill him until I get to yell at him for trying to break my heart. Or just not kill him because I don’t want him dead. I want to make sure he’s ok. There are shouts and shuffled feet. Something heavy falls but there’s no crash, just a thud.

And then silence and a stillness I’ve never heard. What if he’s not ok? There’s no more popping or shooting. I stand up and jiggle the locked handle.

I’m not thinking, I’m only consumed by blind resolution to protect that man. I stand back from the door and realize I don’t know how to help him. I slump to the floor again and scoot to the farthest corner of the closet. There’s something metal poking me in the back. What if something happens to him? To all of them. What if I’m stuck in this closet forever? I feel around and find a wire hanger. Surely someone other than me could use this pick-a-lock. I start to hyperventilate, thinking about a hanger being my only weapon against this enemy.

I talk to myself to calm my butt down. But my voice is loud and shrill when I don’t intend it to be. “Oh God. I don’t know how to help. Help him. And if they’re all gone, how do I get out of the closet?” And then my ass vibrates, and I realize I have my phone.

SAL: You won’t be trapped forever, but I need you to quiet down. Do this for me. Keep yourself safe by keeping quiet. Then we talk. I promise, but let’s both not wind up dead, ok? Only way I can keep you safe is if you lower that gorgeous loud voice and keep that sexy mouth SHUT! I’ll make sure you get to be loud later if you’re soft now.

SAL: Also, you daffy broad. If we all die, you still have your phone.

I need to breathe. Concentrate on simple things. Not on the panic that might consume me if I let it. Time to think clearly. He doesn’t seem scared. He’s ok. He’s taking time out from the shooting to text and manage me. It must not be heavy shooting if he can do that. I take that small piece of comfort and let it wash over me. I let it fill me with peace. He’s ok. He’s keeping me safe. He’s not scared, so I won’t be scared.

POPPY: Don’t die.

SAL: That’s the plan. Need to focus, Gingersnap.

I don’t respond, afraid he’ll miss shooting a guy because I texted. That’s not something I could come back from. I clutch my phone and pull down a cashmere camel coat. I drape it over me and pull it up like a kid settling in for Xmas Eve. It’s agony being curled up in here, and I’m not sure how to compartmentalize all of this. When I’m at home in Sonoma, is this what he’s doing? I’m mincing garlic and he’s being shot at or doing the shooting. Either way, there’s risk and bullets and fuck. Reality crushes me a little, but the only thing it can’t touch is the way I feel about him.

I lean my head against the wall. There’s too much silence in this gun battle. Have they turned to knives? Are nun chucks quiet? Aren’t they ninja weapons? Oh, god. Now I think they’re ninjas? His world is so beyond my scope, could be ninjas. I move again, and that metal handle hits me in the back again. It’s a safe of some sort. It’s like an entire wall. It’s so eerily quiet and I think about texting just so I know he’s alive. I write a message to him.

POPPY: I don’t know what to say. I came here to yell at you for breaking up with me. For leaving me and all I can think about now is how I want you to be on the other side of this door when it opens. I want to fight, laugh, reconcile, do dirty stuff, hold your hand, be held, and cook for you. I’m terrified sitting in here. I can’t stop shaking or catch my breath, really. But it’s not because I might die. It’s because you might

.

I don’t send it. I clutch my phone to me like it will cosmically get to him. That he knows if he’d let me, I’d stand right beside him against anything. I don’t think he knows that.

And even though I came there to set things right, it wasn’t until now; I realized there’s only forward for us. No matter what, I’m only fully alive when he’s with me. I’ve never really opened my eyes or belonged anywhere. I was always the AI Bot version of myself. Something slightly off until him. I never fit anywhere because I was meant to fit with him.

I hear him bellow. “All of them. Leave no one and torch the fucking cars and toss the carcasses in a ravine. And fucking find out who the hell decided this was a good fucking idea. To attack me here at my home!?”

Lou yells into the hallway, “Done.”

“Who the fuck is coming for me? Is this Enzo stirring up shit?! Or some other broken down outlet?” Then he yells, “Mark!” Oh, thank God he’s talking to the FBI guy he has to work with to get out from under all of this. He’s a friend of Josh’s. Sal continues, “Rain of bullets. A fucking hurricane cat 5 level of bullet rain at my home. Fix this shit. Do your fucking job, you FBI motherfucking piece of garbage. You have a leak or I do. Someone knew I was here. This was well planned. Is there a fucking schedule somewhere? Fucking burn it.”

His voice is low and loud. “You want me as an asset? Then stop people from trying to ice me.” I only hear one side of this conversation. I lean against the door, my heart begging for him to come and get me.

“No. Cleaned already. What? I’m gonna ask for more fucking trouble? No sir, you could eat off my floor.” There are several explosions and a long pause.

“Well, they’re gone now. Pull the footage. And ankle bracelet me. Track me, whatever, but let me leave my fucking house. I’m a target in what we thought was the safest place. I’m tired of asking permission to take care of my business or my personal life. Be by my fucking side so it doesn’t look like I’m on a fucking leash. I have something to attend to, so I’ll be saying goodbye, and I won’t hold your personal comments against you.”