Shoot Me Down

Part 31

The jingle of keys in the lock makes me stiffen, bracing myself. The door creaks open and footsteps thud down the hallway, pausing at the entrance to the den. The crash of bottles makes me jump, and I can see Caleb backing away from the den. He’s dropped the case of beer he’d been holding and his face is white, his mouth hanging open. At last he finds his voice, letting out a string of curse words he runs into the kitchen and skids to a stop, his shoes squeaking on the tile. When he sees the wreckage of the door he swears again, moving forward to touch the cracked doorframe with one shaking hand, “Holy shit,” he moans. "She’s gone.” He paces back and forth for a second, not looking up once. Clearly he thinks that wherever Nakia’s gone, that I’ve gone with her. He’s not worried that I might still be here, watching him.

            “Shit.” Caleb is yanking on his blonde curls, his mouth is pressed into a thin line. He looks like he’s trying to work himself up to do something. He stomps over to the kitchen counter and yanks one of the drawers open. I hold my breath, waiting for him to pull out a huge shiny butchers knife, but instead he stands up straight, holding a plastic flashlight in his hand. My breath comes out in a rush, but the relief is short lived. He reaches into the drawer again and shoves aside odd bits of crap and crumpled paper. When he finds what he’s looking for he shuts the drawer violently, a look of grim determination is on his face. In his right hand is a black handgun.

            I gape at it, at how easily he holds it in his hand. As if it’s the most natural thing in the world to him. Is that it? The gun he shot me with? The shock wears off quickly when I see him look around, looking for her. Looking for a clue to where she might be. His brows are furrowed in concentration, he’s thinking. He knows she was weak from shock and blood loss, he knows she can’t have gone far. Maybe he’s wondering if she’s hiding in the house. An idea strikes me. I’ll go into the living room and make little tapping, shuffling noises. If he’s busy looking for her in here, he won’t guess where she really is until she’s safely at my parent’s house. Maybe I can even work up a convincing moan of pain and he’ll really go crazy and tear the living room apart. I’ll buy her time.

            I’m turning for the living room when I notice that he’s stopped, standing perfectly still. He’s staring at the back door. My heart sinks as I see that the doors been left open a crack, just the tiniest crack. She mustn’t have had the strength to close it. Damn him for noticing!

Caleb moves forward eagerly, brandishing the gun like he expects her to be on the porch waiting for him.

“Crap!” I follow him outside. He stands on the porch for a second, his eyes sweeping the yard. The sun has nearly set behind the trees, and he clicks the flashlight on and plays the beam erratically over the back yard. It’s obvious nothing is there.

“Bitch is in the woods,” he grunts, and bolts down the back staircase, running for the woods as fast as he can, the beam of light bobbing in front of him.

I’m about to go after him, and then I see a second light flicker through the forest, on the opposite end. Confused, I stop in time to see a tall figure emerge from the woods. I know it’s not Caleb, because I can still see the tiny flicker of his flashlight in the dark forest moving away from me. The shadowy figure approaches the house, moving slowly and carefully. Finally he steps close enough to peer over the fence into the back yard, and the pale light shining through the kitchen window washes over his face.

It’s my father.

The sliding glass door is still open, and I lean out and shout at him, “No! Don’t come here, go back into the woods. Go get Caleb!”

My heart sinks when he continues to stare blankly at the house. I look down at my hands again, frustrated with myself. Why isn’t it working anymore? I watch as Dad stalks over the lawn, trying to peer into the windows. He shuts off his flashlight and steps onto the deck, lifting each foot carefully, totally silent as he paces foreword. I back up when he leans into the door, his face inches from mine. He looks puzzled.