Standing By

Ultimate

(Tim)

"Where's Jessica?" one-track Avi yelled, rotating his head back and forth quickly.

    "Javorsky's got her.  Come on," Sandy directed, waving us over the the gravel driveway.

    Avi ran over to her, waving his arms around frantically.  Good God, I wished we'd find that woman fast; he was driving me crazy.  Scott, Kirstie, and Mitch ran off after him, Kevin at a slower pace and looking uncertain.

    "Avi—Avi, hold up, OK?" he was saying.

    The five of us were behind Kevin at an even slower pace.

    "Where we going?" Rob asked, looking at the rest of us.

    "Damned if I know."  Austin shrugged.

    "Nowhere."  Adam pulled to a dead halt, grabbing onto me and Chance to keep us from going any further.  "I'm not going any further."

    "Me either," Chance decided, grabbing Austin and Rob and falling after Rob took two more steps forward.

    "Where Pentatonix think they're going?" I mumbled, really starting to feel uneasy.  We were standing out behind Brookings, being encouraged towards about eight to ten woodland trees, a gravel driveway, and now I could see a truck marked 'John's johns', complete with a picture of a smiling toilet.  Every instinct in me was telling me to run right back into the building with the bomb in it; alleged bombs actually seemed less threatening than the outdoors right now.

    "I don't feel right about this," Adam whispered, grasping me harder.  Chance leaned over and helped Rob up, holding onto Rob's and Austin's arms.

    "Pentatonix is just running after Avi," Austin surmised.

    "And Avi is in a blind panic over Jessica."  Rob dusted dirt and a bug off his hands.

    "Home Free!  Come on!" Sandy yelled, gesturing to us with one hand while her other arm laid across Mitch's shoulders as if to move him along.  "Mitch!  Come on!  Kevin!  Move!  Somebody push a slow-motion button here?"

    "Where are we going?" Kevin asked suspiciously.  "And for the love of everything good, Avi, come back here."

    "Jessica!" he cried.  "I gotta—Jessica!"

    "Out of here," Harris told us.  "Before the building blows up."

    Now Scott stepped backwards, giving him an odd look.  "But—"

    "Turn around," Adam whispered.  "We can't go anywhere.  Turn around and—"

    "Ahhh!" Austin shrieked as Sandy grabbed ahold of him.  He yanked away and Sandy went flying backwards as though he'd pushed her hard without even making contact with her.

    "Don't you grab him!" Rob snapped at her as she got up, Kevin and Scott now falling back with us.  As soon as Scott moved towards us, Mitch and Kirstie followed, then Avi looked at Kevin.

    "Jessica!" he called out tearfully to all of us, starting to cry again.

    "Please don't go any further, Avi, and get back here," Kevin pleaded.  "Please!"

    He paused, looking torn, unsure if he should follow Sandy and Harris towards Jessica's promised whereabouts or stick with the nine of us.

    "All of you!" Harris yelled.  "There is a bomb in the building!  We have got to get out of its fallout zone!  Or else you'll be exploded with the bomb!  Avi's the only one with with the right idea!"

    "We have to leave," Sandy reiterated, pushing Rob back and grabbing onto Austin again, this time with me in her other hand, pulling on both of us firmly.

    "He said no!" Austin screamed, grabbing me.  I was a rope in a game of tug-of-war, Sandy with my right arm and Austin with the left.

    "Ow!  Fuck!  Quit!  Both of you!"  I pushed right back at both of them, pain ripping through my arms.

    "Are you stupid?" Sandy yelled, fingernails digging into my arm as Austin turned to her, right hand extending towards her. "We got to—oomph!"  She grunted as she flew backwards again.  Austin wasn't letting go of me and wasn't letting anyone come close to me. No one seemed to be trying to pull him away either.  I cared less about having him as a new limb anyway.  He wasn't pulling on me anymore, just holding onto me desperately.

    Harris was having his own difficult time with Pentatonix.  He was trying to make them get into the John's johns truck to take them God only knows where, but Scott held onto Kirstie and Mitch and no matter how Harris pushed, pulled, or coerced, he wouldn't let go and he wouldn't budge towards it either.  Kevin, having run up and fetched Avi, pulled him back with the rest of us.  He came back with Kevin not too unwillingly.  He wasn't screaming frantically for Jessica anymore, but he did look confused.  And quite a bit scared.  For Jessica, without a doubt.  For us? I was starting to get scared for us.  Sandy had let go of me and stepped towards Adam, trying to reason with him.

    "Unfortunately, no one knows exactly when this bomb is set to go off," she was saying, reaching for his elbow.  Adam took two steps backwards and away, eyeing her warily.  "It could go off five minutes from now.  It could go off thirty seconds from now.  Come on, Adam.  You are a reasonable man.  Think.  What do you think will happen if you're standing right here when the bomb blows that building up?"

    Instead of answering her, he tilted his head to the side and squinted at her.  "Where are you from, Sandy?"

    "What the hell," she grumbled, irritatedly blowing a lock of hair out of her face.  "I'm trying to save his life and he wants to know where I'm from?"

    "So tell me and maybe I'll do what you're asking of me," he countered, crossing his arms.  "I am detecting a bit of a northern midwest accent in your words here."

       "Get in the goddamned truck!" Harris ordered between clenched teeth, still trying to pull at Mitch.  Mitch squealed like a scared mouse and plastered himself onto Scott again, Kirstie quickly wrapping herself around Mitch.  He was sandwiched between the two of them.

    "He told us never to," Kevin said calmly, now holding onto Avi's arm.  All ten of us were holding onto each other at this point—Scott, Mitch, and Kirstie; Kevin and Avi; Rob with an arm around Adam's shoulders; Chance and Austin on either side of me.  Sandy and Harris had all of us on the defensive.  Battle of the wills now.  The two of them trying to get us to leave premises, the ten of us refusing.  It was actually eerily close to one of our worst case scenarios.

    "He who?" Harris demanded, trying to push Scott, Mitch, and Kirstie as a unit towards John's johns.

    "Smith," Kevin, Scott, Rob, Austin, and I all said together.

    "OK."  Sandy blinked.  "Most of the time, yeah.  But what did he say to do in the event of a bomb?"

    "I... well, ah..."  Rob scratched at his neck, unable to really answer that.  After his scratch, he very quickly rewrapped that arm back around Adam's shoulder.

    "He didn't say," Kirstie had to admit.

    "That may have actually been one scenario we never considered," I mumbled ruefully.  We'd thought of a gazillion scenarios from stubbed toes to Linda wanting to shoot me, but not once had a bomb ever crossed our minds.

    "Ehh... yeah," Adam grunted.  "Ow, Rob, let up a little.  I like breathing."

    "You think, ah, um...," Avi mumbled.  "...that it could be the one scenario that we should leave?"

    "Well...," Scott began, Mitch starting to slide down his leg.

    "Well, um... logically, I don't want to be blown up into smithereens," Austin murmured, letting up slightly on my arm.

    "I do like being in one piece," Mitch volunteered, starting to stand back up.

    "I'm thinking... gosh, I dunno."  Kevin looked upset and torn.  "On one hand, I want to say yes, a bomb would kill us this close to it, and we should leave.  But the other says no, not to leave, to do what Smith told us to do."

    "Under no circumstances should you leave premises," I repeated what Smith had said, though my instinct wanted to run away from here.  But he'd said that would be what our instincts would be to do, and he'd instructed us to resist it and to never leave premises.  God.  I was conflicted as the others.

    "Should we ask?" Kirstie posed, a hand on her back pocket.

    "Smith and Rupert are with one woman who has a gun in her purse," Harris informed us.  "Carroll is with the first gunman.  Javorsky's with the second woman with a gun on her person.  Kline and Katsantonis are with the second gunman.  Frazier's with crowd control.  They are all busy except for me.  I am the guard assigned to assure your safety.  Sandy and I are both here to get you away safely.  You ten are the ones being difficult and would seemingly rather die than leave a compromised building in a timely manner.  We have to go."

    Chance, his eyes moving back and forth between Harris, Sandy, Avi, Adam, and Kevin, spoke for about the first time since we got out here.  "I think we got to trust Harris and Sandy."  Adam, Austin, Kevin, and I shot him questioning looks.  "I mean, really.  Harris works with Kantantonis and Frazier.  We got to trust Harris as well as we do Kantatonis and Frazier."

    Kantantonis?  Or Kantatonis?  Katsatotinis?  Katsa-what-the-fuck?  Nobody calls him by his full last name; it's a foreign tongue twister!  Not even secur—Frazier?  They don't call her Frazier either.  I'd about forgotten what her last name was!  She's always Gen.  Kats and Gen, it's always Kats and Gen.  Everyone calls them Kats and Gen.  So why the hell was Harris—and Sandy...  I tried to keep my face neutral as my brain raced.  Raced.  Chance was telling us something here.  Not necessarily agreeing with Harris and Sandy as it appeared at surface level, but he was telling us... I eyed Harris briefly.  Blonde hair.  Blue eyes, round face, security guard outfit, complete with hat.  E. Harris was stenciled on his shirt.  Did it seem a little... small on him?  And the pants—were they a touch tight around his waist?  They were about two inches too long, come to think of it... and Sandy with her damn clomp-clomp shoes... her outfit was just fine, but her ring, her engagement ring that she'd always worn with her wedding band... hormones?  She was in her fifties... how long do female hormones go on?  When do women hit menopause?  And then what?  No more periods, obviously, but do hormones still cycle monthly?  I had no clue.  I was more familiar with male hormones and sexuality, for obvious reasons.  Women and their bodies were more confusing to me. 

    Chance was still talking and actually earning nods of approval from Harris and Sandy.  "And Sandy's always looked out for us.  She even gave us that tour of the building when we first got to Brookings."

    I had to remind myself to keep a neutral expression.  Austin started to frown so I shook my head very slightly at him, hoping he saw me and could catch my drift.  Neutral.  Blank.  Give nothing away.  Nothing.  Austin touched Rob and Adam to convey the message.  I eyed Kevin, who was eyeing first Avi, who got the message, and he and Kevin eyed Scott, just standing there watching to see what Sandy's next move would be, and Mitch and Kirstie, who bit her lip as Mitch swallowed nervously. The ten of us were on the same page.  The ten of us knew the truth.  The ten of us knew how bitchy Sandy had been and could be.  The ten of us knew damn well Lorenzo had give us that tour.  What would Sandy say to Chance's statement?  He was clearly, in our eyes, giving her a test.  Would she pass or would she fail?  Her answer, or even the way she reacted, would tell all ten of us everything we needed to know and would verify or negate her actual identity.  The real Sandy would snort, give that eye roll, and tell Chance he was full of it and that she had done no such thing.  All ten of us waited anxiously for her reaction.  I prayed she'd retort back to Chance that he was full of shit. 

    Instead, she just nodded briskly, and my heart sank when she murmured, "Mmhmm.  Now come on and let's go."

    OK, so clearly, she failed the test.  Terrified, I glanced around at the others to see how they reacted to her response.  Chance was back to his walls.  Rob and Scott acted shocked; Mitch and Avi looked scared.  Austin and Adam seemed angry.  Kirstie appeared ready to run, and Kevin was peering at her curiously.

    "What?" Sandy—or whoever she was—demanded.  "Get in the damn vehicle!"

    "OK," Kevin said very calmly.  "I just need to tell Avi his fly is open."

    Sandy rolled her eyes as Harris, or whoever, laughed.  Avi blushed, hands flying down to his pants, as Kevin whispered in his ear.

    "Kirstie, don't be scared," Avi said out loud after fiddling with his zipper for a few seconds.  He leaned over and whispered in her ear.

    "I know.  We'll be OK," she said with a nod before whispering in Mitch's.

    "Things will be fine now," Mitch said loudly, hissing into Scott's ear.  It was a game of telephone right under their noses under a guise of reassurances.

    "Gotta tie my shoe."  Bonus points that Scott's shoe actually was untied.  Especially since Sandy eyed it.  When he stood up after fixing it, he scooted over to Rob and whispered in his ear.

    "Errrp," Rob burped on cue.  "Excuse me."  He whispered in Adam's ear.

    Adam nodded.  "Yeah, you're right, you better stop drinking those Cokes."  He whispered to Chance.

    "Nahhh, Pepsi all the way, man," Chance pretended to disagree before lowering his mouth to my ear, letting his breath form the words as his hand folded firmly over mine.  "Grab hands.  Run to building, west door.  When Austin asks if it's raining.  Make something up and pass it on."

    "Pepsi, Coke, whatever.  Give this southern boy sweet tea," I said with a snort, since we were discussing soft drink choices, and leaned into an easily-startled Austin.  I slid my hand into his, but he immediately rotated his wrist and grabbed mine firmly.  I did the same.  We were more than grabbing hands.  Austin and I were linked.  I started to do the same with my left hand but Chance wouldn't let go of me enough or long enough to let me.  I hissed into Austin's ear, "Grab hands, run to west door of building.  When Austin asks if it's raining."

    He swallowed and pointed up to the sky with a slight flick of his wrist. "Is it starting to rain?"

    Unified, moving as one very long chain, the ten of us turned and ran as, lo and behold, the skies and the clouds above started to sprinkle raindrops down on us.  Oh my God.  We could not have timed that better.

    "Shit," Harris-not-Harris cursed, clearly not having expected that move at all.  Within the Home Free/Pentatonix chain, my hands were being tightly held, one in Austin's solid link, one in Chance's firm grasp. I heard footsteps behind us, the solid firm heavy steps of Harris-not-Harris, the lighter, clompier, and more agile ones of Sandy-not-Sandy.  Stick together.  We had to stick together.  We were actually running for our lives here.  Oh for the love of God, where's Rob, don't let him fall behind, don't let him, not now, don't let him.  Run, Rob, run, and don't get too breathless too quickly.

    "Key!" she yelled nonsensically.  "Get your key!"

    Yeah, get your keys and get the hell out of here, away from us.  Far, far away from us.  Adam and Scott.  Adam and Scott had Rob between them.  Two strong runners.  They could propel Rob forward with their momentum, with our combined momentum.  Just had to get to the west door.  It was on the other side of the building; would we make it?  I could still hear their footsteps.  I knew why Kevin had picked the west door though—it was at the parking lot, was well lit, and had plenty of security cameras.  Ever the smart, calm, and logical Kevin.  We were away from the John's johns truck, rapidly nearing the building.  I could hear Rob breathing heavily but he was still mov—

    Our line, our solid chain, shuddered when Sandy-not-Sandy turned Adam into a human bowling pin, herself the ball.  Chance started to lose his grip on him, their hands slipping free, as he stumbled to his knees.  Me being attached to him, I pitched forward as well, falling face forward onto the ground, nose scraping on a rock, nearly getting dirt in my eyes, and definitely getting a mouthful of grass, which I spat out in disgust.  I'm going to have to learn how to run with my mouth closed.  When hands pulled me up, instinct to fight took over and I very nearly took out poor Chance, just trying to help me up.  He ducked my wildly swinging fists, pulling me to him as Rob started yelling and Austin ran in front of both of us.

    "Austin, I—," Chance started but Austin must not have heard him as he streaked past us, seemingly holding something small in his right hand. God, Austin, don't get us killed.

    "Chance—," I panted heavily, my hand pressed to my chest.  I was breathing so hard and my heart was racing so fast in growing panic, in increasing fear.

    "It's OK, it's gonna be—," he gasped out, moving my head for me when I tried to look over his shoulder to see the source of mumbles, grunts, gasps, moans, scrapes, thumps, bumps, indiscernible words, rumblings, and crying; all I knew, all that Chance was letting me know as he purposefully blocked my vision, was that there was significant movement to my left, people moving around, people struggling, people fighting, strange-colored lights, and I thought I could identify Austin's groans (why was Austin groaning?) and—

    Both Chance and I jerked our heads up when Mitch let loose a bloodcurdling scream.  My eyes saw and my brain barely processed Harris-not-Harris grasping him firmly by the waist and trying to peel him out of Scott's arms, out of the reach of Kirstie's clawing hands, when Chance plunked my face right back down into his shoulder and held it there with his hand.

    "Ohhh!" Scott grunted, Kirstie screaming on her own now.

    "My hair, my hair, my hair!!!"

    "Let go of her!"  Scott had very little pack to his words though, seemingly in pain, as Sandy-not-Sandy screamed herself, her clompa-clomps going flying and landing somewhere near Chance and me. I could swear I could sense someone very close behind me.  Shit, was there a third person just back there?  I waved an arm around back there in an utter panic, petrified that I'd be the next one to be grabbed.

    "Just me," Avi said softly in a wobbly voice.  "I—I don't—"

    "Stop!  Please!  You don't want to—let Mitch go, please, please?  Mitch has done nothing to you!  Neither has Adam, Harris, please just get off of him!  Let them both go!  Please!  They haven't done anything to you!  Harris, stop, drop that, OK?  You don't want to—please, please don't!" Kevin was pleading desperately as Avi knelt by Chance and me, hands falling on us.

    "Get your phone, Avi, call, OK?  Call security," Chance begged, pulling his head down to us to whisper in his ear, pushing my head away and doing about everything but cover my ears for me.  Being first blinded and now with him trying to deafen me to my surroundings, to the frantic activity going on around us, was only driving me deeper, deeper into my fear, multiplying my panic.  Somewhere, buried deep in my brain, I knew, I knew he was only trying to do what he thought he had to do to protect  me—there had to be a reason he was blocking my line of sight, my ability to hear what was going on—but, in fact, it was having the opposite effect.  I pushed at him get him away, had to, had to see, I had to, had to hear.  Hear.  I was hearing crying. Heavy breathing.  Someone struggling to breathe.  Sounds of scuffling, grunts, and growling. Austin, winded, ordering Rob to move out of the way. He'd wanted everyone out of his way, I remembered, as though he didn't need the rest of us to help him. Mitch's cries, near screams.  Mitch was terrified.  Kirstie's whimpers.  Scott was reduced to bawling, wherever he was.  Kevin still pleading, begging Harris-not-Harris to—to—

    With a grunt, I pushed off of Chance, his left arm releasing me only have him re-grasp me with his other arm.  Except now I was staring at his left hand and wrist.  I was no anatomy expert, but I was pretty sure a wrist should not be able to bend more than ninety degrees backwards.  My heart dropped as I stared at it.  Chance's wrist was broken. His wrist, where he'd been holding onto—to—was it—Adam?  My head jerked up to find Adam, only to have an intact and functioning hand and wrist slide over my eyes.

    "Stop it, Chance!" I screeched, near frantic.  Chance's wrist was broken, Mitch was scream-crying, Scott was bawling, Kirstie was whimpering, Kevin was pleading, Avi was breathing quickly next to me, Rob, Adam, and Austin were nothing but grunts and thumps behind me, and someone (not sure who) was struggling noisily in their effort to breathe.  Rob and his asthma?  I had no clue.

    "Shut up, Tim!" Sandy-not-Sandy ordered me, a half second before Austin flipped over on top of me like a sack of potatoes.  We both fell over and collapsed to the ground, him scrambling after some sort of stick he must have found. If he could jab her eyes out, go for it, do whatever you have to. By the time we managed to sort ourselves out, I was faced back towards the trees, towards Chance and Avi.  Chance's walls were broken, as broken as his wrist was.  He wasn't crying yet, but he looked about ready to at any second, face scrunched up in agony.  His left wrist, which I'd seen seconds ago and I knew to be broken, was being held up on its own, seemingly through determination alone.  He didn't want me—or them—to know he was severely handicapped.  Avi's hair was three-quarters of the  way out of its bun, face long and slack, forlorn, lips parted as he struggled to not cry.

    Austin crawled towards me, still clutching that stick in his right hand, his left cheek swollen, dirt on his forehead, mud developing on his right cheek, the dirt moistened by both the steady drizzle and the tears that were falling as steadily as the rain.  "Don't—don't scream, OK, Tim?  Be calm.  Take a breath."   

    I didn't want to take a breath.  Seemingly in slow motion, my head on a swivel stick, I moved it slightly to the right, my eyes seeing but my brain unable to comprehend much of anything at that moment.

    "Breathe," Avi advised, picking up his now shattered phone from the edge of the sidewalk.  "Before you pass out."

    "I—I tried to—," Chance murmured, fixing to lose it himself, the words heavy on his breath.

    "I know.  Don't think it was helping, though," Avi answered softly, watching me carefully before reaching out and patting my cheek firmly.  Not necessarily hard, never intending to hurt me, but enough of a force to make me exhale and draw a resultant breath.

    Kevin was standing a few yards away, eyes closed, lips pursed, as though trying to calm himself down, trying to force his rational and logical mind to work accordingly.  I was ninety-nine percent positive he was praying silently. 

    Kirstie was just a yard to his left, sitting on the grass and holding her head, hair the biggest tangle I have ever seen.  Grass, mud, blood, a twig.  It seemed to be sticking out in eighty different directions.  Blood was coming out of her temple and hairline, a steady flow from the roots of her hair.  I was guessing that that she'd had her hair pulled—viciously at that.  The blood and mud caked on her fists and her broken fingernails seemed to suggest she'd fought through it all, through the pain she'd had to have endured.  Though nearly being scalped, she'd fought with everything she had.

    Scott was just a couple of feet to her left on his knees, one hand clutched to his crotch with not one but two heavy footprints.  One must not have been enough to sufficiently incapacitate him.  His blonde hair had turned dark brown in the mud caking it, a worm he would have squealed about two hours ago inching its way across his forehead.  He lifted his hand to swipe at it halfheartedly, the fingers on his right hand flapping as though he didn't have much control over them.  Had he broken his fingers or his hand in his struggle? 

    There was only one thing those two would fight that hard and through unmentionable pain for.  I dropped my eyes to the ground.  I didn't want to see Mitch, I knew I didn't, because I knew it had broken Scott and Kirstie.  Scott was still bawling; Kirstie was crying hard but silently.  Mitch was either already dead (God, no, no, no, please, not Mitch, no, no, please, God, please) or in immediate mortal danger. 

    I had to pause, my gaze on the ground, for a few seconds, to brace myself to look at one of my more vulnerable friends, before lifting it up, up, up.  Slowly.  Harris-not-Harris' baton was in front of Scott, in four pieces; he was guarding it with what little he had left in him.  Harris-not-Harris' legs, mud up and down them them; both Kirstie and Scott had been kicking at them, and there was a small but very accurately-placed footprint.  Undeniably Kirstie's, having gone straight for the balls like we all knew she would. Harris-not-Harris' face was a mine of injuries—his left eye already had swollen shut, Scott having hit him so hard when he'd gone for his best friend.  The other eye bore distinctive gashes, one at each corner, one in the middle, running all the way down his face, blood oozing out of all three.  Kirstie had tried to gouge his eye out to protect Mitch.

    I moved shaky watery eyes to one of the people I was most scared for.  Mitch.  No longer screaming, but crying, tears streaming down his face, panting, breath coming in gasps and hiccups. His legs were pressed together, probably kneed himself, and he had two scratches to his right cheek.  Seemed OK though because those were the only visible injuries I could identify.  Other than the gun pressed to his temple, that was.  Harris-not-Harris had his arm wrapped tightly around his waist, locked into place at his side, ready and willing to use him as a hostage for whatever gains he thought he could accomplish here.  Harris-not-Harris gave a lopsided grin, throughly battered yet a victor in the fight for Mitch, the gun barrel an inch from our friend's brain.

    It was a damn good thing I was still sitting because I'd have collapsed at the sight of my good friend at gunpoint.  My arms and my whole body were shaking so hard I could hardly see straight; I was barely breathing, with my mouth quivering, jaw moving up and down quickly.  I was already crying, tears running steadily down my cheeks, a never-ending supply.  Mitch's eyes met with mine and he blinked at me.  I started to bend over, my insides torn up into a million pieces seeing him in that position.

    Chance's left arm wrapped around my shoulder and Austin's arm wrapped around my back, Avi bent his head towards me.

    "Don't scream," Avi advised.  "Don't panic.  Fight your panic.  You control it, not the other way around."

    OK then, how about whimpering?  That was a quiet and under control sound.  I sat there whimpering for a few seconds, unable to be still, unable to be silent, unable to control myself, unable to control about anything.  Including my own autonomic functions, because Chance kept on having to remind me to breathe every few seconds.  Because I just kept on unconsciously holding it.

    I was barely able to deal with the trauma of seeing Mitch at gunpoint but I needed to take it all in, to see it all.  Rob—Adam—where were Rob and Adam?  I moved from short shallow breaths every couple of seconds, urged on by Chance rather than my own autonomic system, to borderline noisily hyperventilating. 

    My eyes moved hesitantly to the right where I found Rob sitting on the ground, one hand pressed lightly to his crotch, the other fiddling with broken glasses, a few bumps on his face.  His main casualty seemed to be those glasses.  It looked like there may have been just a trace of blood near his open and panting mouth.  Overall, he looked fairly unharmed, even though he was effectively blinded. 

    Sandy-not-Sandy was another story.  She was now barefoot, toes black and blue from having been thoroughly stomped— Austin's doing, I thought, because I could see a definitive boot print on the top of her foot, and Rob doesn't wear boots.  Her legs, the shins below her dress line, were black and blue already, her arms scratched and bleeding, dress torn.  A long gash across her upper arm, bleeding pretty good. Her face was an interesting trifecta of blue, purple, and already black, blood flowing down her temples, earlobes torn, one gold hoop ripped all the way out.  Her nose was misshapen, undoubtedly broken, her eyes twin bruised caves.  The pupil in her right eye was huge, the other a tiny pinprick.  Telltale sign of a concussion.  Rob—I was certain her face was all Rob's work; the rest, Austin's—had held nothing back.  He'd hit her hard enough, repeatedly, to break bones and cause brain injury.  He was fighting to seriously injure and/or kill, if need be.  He has a kind and gentle heart unless someone he loves dearly was in immediate mortal danger.  He would only do that to protect family.  Kelsey, Lydia, Jen, mother.  Or us.  I knew he considered us family.  

    Grasping Austin's wrist hard after he pocketed the thin stick, barely able to think, afraid of what had befallen Adam, I turned my head slowly to look at him.  My eyes immediately saw what Rob had been fighting so hard for.  Adam's neck was red, very red; the outline of the belt from her dress clear.  She had been close to strangling Adam to death.  His face was beet red, though blood was quickly draining from it as vital blood vessels started flowing again.  He was breathing hard, half leaned over, hands on his knees, as he caught his breath.  His fingers were caked with blood.  I didn't see any actively bleeding wounds on him, so I figured he himself was probably the cause of the deep scratches on her arms, fighting her the only way he could to get that belt off his neck, to breathe, to stay alive.  And, as if it wasn't quite enough to nearly be strangled to death, to my absolute utter horror, there was a barrel of a gun pressed to the back of his head.  And, judging by his cautious and calculated movements, he knew it too.  He righted slowly, her grip on his right arm tightening, her arm around his left side.  She had Adam hostage. 

    "Now put your arm around me, Adam, around my waist," Sandy-not-Sandy ordered, seemingly needing him to stay upright, a bit wobbly on her feet.

    Wordlessly, breathing hard and having no other choice, he did as directed.  Linked.  They were linked.  There was no getting to Adam without getting a bullet in his brain.

    "Same.  You too, Mitch," Harris-not-Harris ordered, tapping his gun on Mitch's head.

    Crying steadily, Mitch moved his arm to complete that link.  He was one hundred percent at a gunman's mercy—and there was nothing any of us could do without getting Mitch or Adam killed.  No wonder Scott was bawling so.

    Having taken everything in, my brain semi-processing things in its in-shock state, it flipped from shock and horror to full-fledged panicked in a millisecond.  Adam.  At gunpoint.  Rob and Austin.  Having fought with everything they had, with every fiber of their being, yet defeated.  The sounds of their fighting, the shadows of a child as he knocked a full-grown man over before he struck and killed him.  Clang! went the jail cell door to lock me in.  The car just yesterday—was that really only yesterday?—barreling down on Chance and me.  A young boy with big fearful brown eyes, holding me, shielding me from an unknown danger.  Adam, the gun pressed to his head, could literally be taking his last breath.  Chance coughing, gasping, in efforts to breathe during an asthma attack in the rehearsal room last night.  Clang!  Don't you read my iPad!  Don't lie to me!  Don't lie—don't lie—don't—don't—  Beep!  Jason and Becky, Grace and Lee, Blake and Kelly, reminding me what a piece of shit I really am, how I am not trustworthy or deserving of love.  Austin sitting, lost and forlorn, utterly defeated in every sense of the word; nothing he could do.  Nothing we could do.  Mitch and Scott were what?  What the fuck was Kirstie doing in the bathroom?  A very young Chance, scared, vulnerable, bruises all over his body, a razor blade in his right hand, face intent, as he drew its sharp edge viciously at his left wrist, blood pouring, pouring out of him.  Yes, 911?  Tim—my husband Tim—he hit me!  Tim hit me!  We were having an argument and he hit me, tried to push me in the oven!  Shit, had I tried to push her in the oven?  I was seeing everything, everything my mind was frantically flipping through, in real life with my eyes; I was no longer imagining them.  I could see it, as real as my own hands.  My own hands.  In handcuffs behind my back.  Once again, in the lobby this afternoon, nearly arrested again, Tim arrest take two.  I just kept getting arrested and handcuffed.  No matter what I did, no matter where I went, no matter who I was with.  Handcuffed.  Forever restrained, forced to stand idly by, as my friends paid the price for me.  Oh holy shit, that John's johns truck was rolling backwards—it was going to run me over!  Toyota—truck—Toyota—truck—  A young girl screamed and seconds later, clang!  Clang!  Ohhh Timmy!  Do you like what you see?  Suck it, Timmy!  He'll hold ya down and I can make you!  Put my dick right in that pretty mouth of yours!  Shut your goddamned mouth!  Get anywhere near me and you won't have one anymore!  Foust, shut your damn mouth or we'll come back there and help Manning and Henderson deal with you!  Help.  Help.  The guards, the prison guards—they would help them.  Help them.  Not me, not the victim getting sexually harassed and threatened with rape, not the one that needed help, but them.  They would help him sexually assault me.  Powerless.  I am one hundred percent on my own.  Curled up in the jail cell, as far away from them as I could get, the feeling of someone hovering over me and breathing hard.  My wife had betrayed me, torn my soul apart, and landed me here, in a jail holding cell, the sounds of a young girl screaming, a perverted predator right next to me, and those sworn to protect us as civilians were volunteering to assist in raping me!  Clang!  Locked in jail.  Clang!  Locked in my mind.  Clang!  Locked in my memories.  How hard—how easy—was it for her to make up her lie, her accusation?  How could she could just switch to evil and conniving?  Had I ever really known her?  I'd married a sociopath.  What had I ever seen in her?  Clang!  The doors to my heart.  I would seal them shut.  Had to.  I'd let her in, totally, one hundred percent, only to get stabbed in the back.  No woman would ever get in again. Timothy Foust, you are under arrest—under arrest—  The prosecution would like to upgrade charges to attempted manslaughter.  Kill.  I'd attempted to kill her in my anger; in my hurt, I'd tried to kill her.  No I hadn't.  I've never tried to kill a soul.  Yes, I had; I'd tried to kill her.  No, no, no, I'd never tried such a thing—but I had.  I was actually arguing with myself in my head over that assertion.  I had not—I had—I had not—I had—God!  She'd messed with my mind so much that I'd lost it, uncertain over my own actions, questioning my own moral character.  I had officially lost my grip on reality.  Lines of reality blurred with the unreal.  I was actually seeing things, hearing things, and doubting deep-seated truths from deep within me.

    Breathing hard as though I'd been running for miles (days?), heart about to beat out of my chest, blood pressure probably near stroke level (yes, please, I don't have quite enough problems here), I slowly became conscious of my surroundings, actual tangible surroundings.  A light from the wooded area that slowly grew bigger, which I stared at for a few seconds, seemingly coming from a distance away.  It didn't scare me though, just more curious than anything else.  Concrete.  Grass.  Mud.  An ant.  I actually reached out to pat that ant as it made its way past my chin, my breath nearly blowing it away.  I let it crawl on my index finger, patting it lightly with a fingernail, my throat raw and sore.  I was certain I'd been screaming my head off.

    "It's over.  The worst of it is over," Austin reported to someone behind me as I lay there outside, partially on the edge of a sidewalk, partially in mud.

    "It's OK, shh, it's OK.  Need you to calm down, OK?" Chance was whispering, cupping my head in one hand, the other patting on my arm gently as Avi softly sang in my left ear.  Something about learning to feel the sun.  I'd never heard this song before, but I found myself liking it.  The—lyrics were calming, his voice perfectly carrying the emotion in the song.  Whatever this song was, it was so—so—so Avi.  My brain slowly stopped racing, my heart slowing marginally. 

    "Thank God that's over," Harris-not-Harris groaned, considerately reminding me of my current dilemma.

    "Are you quite done yet, Tim?" Sandy-not-Sandy demanded, her voice biting, speaking to me as though I were a child having a temper tantrum.  Although I could see how an adult having a massive panic attack and a child having a temper tantrum were not too dissimilar.

    "I think so... maybe... I hope so," I mumbled.  It wasn't like I made a conscious decision to have a terrible panic attack.  I never wanted to have a panic attack.  Never have, never will.  If I could, I'd choose to never have another one, ever. But it doesn't really work that way.  Slowly, I placed my hands flat on the ground to sit up before someone mistook me for a pig wallowing in the mud. Hands immediately fell on my back.

    "Don't move, Tim, 'kay?" Austin told me softly.

    "Just lay there a minute," Chance advised.

    Avi started with the beginning of the verse again, the same one he'd sung three times already.  This song was either extremely repetitious or he just didn't know any more of it.

    "Slow it there, Tim.  No sudden movements," Sandy-not-Sandy ordered.  "Keep your hands right where they are."

    "Use this moment to fully catch your breath," Chance murmured, hand firmly on my shoulder.  "Deep breaths.  In and out, in and out."

    "Picture yourself in the woods, watching wildlife, midday, on a bright summer afternoon, with me, Austin, and Chance," Avi suggested, patting on my hair.

    Well, Austin would rather be on the lake somewhere in a fishing boat.  But Chance might, and I knew Avi would.  I plastered an image in my mind of two chittering squirrels at the base of a tree, a chipmunk playing nearby, a robin cheeping from above, and what the hell, let's stick a gentle doe in here.

    "Can he take his anxiety medicine?" Austin requested quietly.  "He has a lot of anxiety issues, and his pill will help him stay calm."

    "Not screaming would be ideal," Harris-not-Harris remarked.

    "Where is this anxiety medicine?" Sandy-not-Sandy demanded.

    Avi lifted a lock of hair and whispered into my ear, "Where is your medicine?"

    I swallowed, snorting out a blade of grass I'd somehow managed to inhale.  "My right pants pocket."

    "No," Sandy-not-Sandy decided.  "I don't trust him to go digging in his pockets."

    "He's liable to go into another panic attack," Chance cautioned.  "And start screaming again."

    "No," she reiterated as Harris-not-Harris said, "I'll drag Mitch along and get it."

    "No," Sandy-not-Sandy said firmly.  "There will be no digging in pockets, not even by me or by—anyone.  If—hands on your damned knees, Kirstie!"  Oh Lord.  I could see it now, it my mind's eye.  Pentatonix—Kirstie, Kevin, and Scott forced still, hands in clear sight, Mitch's being held for him.  Rob's up, Adam's held by Sandy-not-Sandy.  Me lying here with my own arms extended in front of me.  It was a miracle they were allowing Austin, Chance, and Avi to be moving around at all.  Well, they were probably rationalizing that they were serving to calm me down enough to shut me up.  Yes, they wanted me to shut up, without a doubt.  "If he starts screaming again, I'll shut his trap for him."

    I heard a sharp intake of breath to my left; that'd have to be Austin. He whispered at me to be quiet. Avi, the only one within my line of sight, paled and his eyes widened. 

    Still patting on my shoulder, Chance leaned over my head, dropping his face into my field of vision.  His face was calm but his green eyes portrayed fear, his pupils widened, glassy with unshed tears.  "Tim, listen.  I need you to do everything you can to stay calm, OK?  Or at least, not screaming.  Bite your lip, bite your tongue, hold your cheek with your teeth.  Something like that.  Walls.  Throw up walls.  I'm struggling to keep mine but I'm trying.  Trying hard.  And I want you to try, just for right now, OK?  Pick one spot—I'm using a flickering light just to the edge of the building, six feet above ground.  You can use my spot too if you'd like.  Just focus all your attention on it, blank out everything else here, everything else.  Or use the imagery Avi suggested a minute ago and picture yourself in it."  He paused to touch my cheek and wipe a tear away.  "Deep breaths.  Focus on your breathing.  Meditate or pray if you want.  Tim."  He swallowed, wiping away a few more tears away that my eyes kept on producing, unable to stop crying.  It was silent crying at least.  "I don't expect you to do it perfectly; Lord knows I'm not either right now.  But I need you to try.  Try hard.  Do everything you can to not scream, to not yell, to not break down, OK?  Can you promise me that you'll try your best at it?"

    I licked my lips slowly, tasting a mixture of mud and blood.  Ew.  I needed the world's biggest bottle of water.  If I ever got out of this situation—and was still capable of drinking water—I would be drinking a gallon.  "OK, Chance, I promise." My voice came out very softly though I wasn't even trying to whisper. Okayyy.....

    "I will warn you to brace yourself.  Situation is about the exact same as it was a minute ago.  Except now Sandy's—whoever she is—her gun is pointed directly at your head instead of Adam's."

    I wasn't overly surprised at that.  I had been the one in a tornado of panic a minute ago.  The thought of the gun now aimed at my head made my heart pound though, very aware of my own mortality and how easy it would be for her to take my life.  No panic.  No panic.  Can't panic or lose my head because if I do, I will literally lose my head.  She would shoot my brains out before I uttered the first syllable.

    "OK," I whispered, pursing my lips and exhaling slowly.

    " 'Nuff of this," Sandy-not-Sandy decided.  "Austin, I see that stick again, I'm shooting you. Chance, Avi, Austin, I gave you a minute to settle him down. He seems quiet and under control now, so I want you three to back away from him.  Chance, you first.  No sudden moves.  Hands on your hips.  Do it now."

    Chance's lips formed the words 'love you' and he rocked back onto his knees, paused, then stood up.  I rotated my head just enough to see him place his hands where she wanted them, betraying no trace of the pain I knew that his wrist had to be in.

    "Ten steps away from him."

    His feet moved as he obeyed, having no other choice.

    "Avi, you next.  Ten steps backwards, straight backwards.  Hands clasped in front of you."

    With a sniffle, Avi slowly stood, backing up with his hands clasped tightly together.

    "Austin, get off of Tim.  Slowly.  Hands up, no further than shoulder level. Remember. You try shit with that stick again, I'll shoot Adam then you."

    I felt him shift his weight off of my hip and side, sliding it up his sleeve before cautiously finding his feet. For God's sake, Austin, whataya think you are, Obi-Wan Kenobi? Don't get us killed!

    "Ten steps to the right," she continued.

    I heard his boots step as directed, several solid footsteps on the concrete, softer footsteps when he moved into the grassy yard.

    "Tim.  On your feet.  No sudden moves.  Hands up, no further than shoulder level."

    My hands were oozing with mud, having been extended in front of me off the concrete and into the grass and mud.  I pulled my knees up underneath me, slowly extracting my arms and hands from the mud puddle.  I placed them on the edge of the concrete so I could be on all fours to get up, but my hands were so muddy that my right one slipped and I went sprawling right back down, this time with a bit of a splash.

    "Tim!" Austin gasped as Chance and Adam let out tiny whimpers, Avi and Rob twin wails.  A sob from Mitch and Kirstie.  A soft 'oh!' from Scott as Kevin gasped.

    "Please don't shoot him!  It was an accident.  Look how muddy his hands are.  He slipped!" Kevin tried to reason.

    "Kevin, you're a naive idiot," Sandy-not-Sandy told him calmly.  "Tim, since you can't see right now because you're facing away from me, I would like to let you know that my gun is aimed directly at your head.  One move of my finger and I can bury a bullet into your brain and you will fall right over dead.  I will give you one more chance to get to your feet.  Fail to get up and I will shoot you and you will be lying dead with your face down in the mud.  No sudden moves.  And Kevin, shut up and get the hell over there with your own dumb group.  You will be shot if you do not comply.  E—Harris, watch him."

    "On it," Harris-not-Harris confirmed.  Or E.  Long E Harris.

    "Moving," Kevin said simply, moving towards Pentatonix as ordered. 

    Knowing there was a target on the back of my head, I quietly blew a breath out through pursed lips.  One more chance.  One more chance to successfully stand up.  If I failed to stand up, I would be facedown in it as a corpse.  OK, Tim, now think.  Slow.  Slow easy movements meant I just might live here.  Let's try something else this time, because all fours didn't work.  I pulled my legs back up under me and sat back on my knees.  I am not flexible or agile enough to go from a seated position to my feet without putting my hands down to help me.  My hands were muddy and slippery.  She was watching every move I made with my hands.  She would not let me wipe them on my pants because she didn't want my hands near my pockets (as if a pill bottle or phone could be used as a weapon against her).  My shirt was already pretty muddy, and I was facing away from her anyway.  Last place I wanted to put my hands was behind my back... and that reminded me too much of being arrested.  If I wiped them on the concrete, I'd only make the area near me more slippery and harder to get up.  I twisted my body to the right, extended my hands to show her I had nothing but mud on or in them, turning them over even, and giving three strong wipes to each palm with the opposite one, thus sloughing off the majority of it.  Choosing the right side here, I selected two spots on the concrete, giving each a good firm rub.  There.  Palms cleaned off.  I could use my hands to get up now.  I put them both back up and twisted to my left, putting them down and pushing myself to my feet.  I was pretty proud of myself for figuring that one out and standing up.  As I rotated my body to face my probable assassin, I let my eyes pass over Austin, trembling slightly as he stood in the grass, at least having firm footing.  His eyes met with mine and, tears running out of both of them, he shifted his gaze from me to his left hand quickly, then back to the front towards her.  Yes, I was painfully aware that one of my best friends in the world had his hands up in a surrender gesture, held at gunpoint, any move he made potentially his last. At the last second, I realized what he was trying to say, what he wanted me to see.  His right hand had been palm out, fingers curled slightly down.  His left hand though, the one he'd directed my eyes to, had his middle and ring fingers lazily curled over, index finger seventy-five percent straight, pinky about the same, thumb firmly hitched out.  To Sandy-not-Sandy, it appeared he was one hundred percent complying with orders.  To me, to us, it was clearly our ordained gesture.  I prayed that somewhere, somehow, Smith, or a real security guard, could see it.  So we could get out of this alive. 

    I finished turning to Sandy-not-Sandy, who was nodding at me though she did keep her gun aimed smack dab at the middle of my forehead.  Shot.  She wanted to shoot me dead.  She wanted me dead.

    "Congratulations," she praised me.  "You got to your feet without sudden movements or making me shoot you.  Good job."

    Yay.  I'd bought myself another minute of life.  Another minute of this hell.  But I'd seriously rather live through this hell than succumb to the very real possibility of dying during it.

    "All of you," Sandy-not-Sandy began slowly, removing the gun sites from me only to put it right back on Adam's head with a smack that made him wince.  "First up.  Ground rules.  I saw Avi's phone break, and saw Adam's, Kirstie's, and Austin's go flying.  Harris made Mitch break Scott's.  First phone or stick I see out, we will shoot Adam and Mitch first, then the dumbass that did it.  Any sudden movement from any of you, we will shoot Adam and Mitch first, then whoever moved.  My eyes are on the four of you Home Free guys, and I've got Adam an inch from me and my gun on his head.  Harris has his eye on Pentatonix, and has Mitch an inch from him with a gun to his head.  Any move by Pentatonix will result in Mitch's death.  So don't go getting any bright ideas.  Don't make it harder than it has to be, because I have no problem killing all ten of you to make sure the one I really want winds up dead.  Play your cards right and nine of you will walk away unharmed.  Play them wrong and at least four of you are dead: Mitch and Adam first—you get to watch them die—then whichever of you dumbasses tried the stupid move, then I will kill my target.  Don't think for one minute that I'm stupid; I've got an above average IQ and I have done my research.  You have already confirmed my studies and behaved, with the exception of the panic attack and stick craziness exactly as predicted.  And by the way, we've already killed the security cameras back here.  You are alone and isolated."

    Oh shit.  Oh shit.  That camera was our best—our only—hope.  My chest starting to constrict on me again, in the beginning of another panic attack, I lifted my eyes to it.  I stared at the small black camera, its lens slightly shielded from the steady drizzle by a little visor of sorts, perched on what appeared to be a slightly adjustable arm.  Wonder how much it could move.  Not that it'd matter if it wasn't working.  Dead.  It was as dead as we were.  Which one of us was she so bound and determined to kill?  They had Adam and Mitch in their grasps, apparently willing to kill them in order to get to and kill...

    With a sinking heart, I realized it was probably me that they most wanted dead.  I was the one with all the skeletons in my closet.  Chance's skeleton was locked away in Alabama; Rob and Austin had none.  There was a minute possibility that there may be one in Adam's closet, a bone, max, but if there was, it was locked away so tightly that even his best friends didn't know it.  The weight, the grief, he carried for whomever it was he had lost to cancer.  The walls he put up whenever the subject came up.  I'd learned very quickly to avoid it.  Gotten scratched up by a brick or two maybe twice before I dropped it altogether.  But there was definitely something there that he kept very guarded.  I figured whatever it may be, at least Chris would share that bone.  So Adam wouldn't have to deal with that bone alone, as Chris would never stand to let Adam be hurt, physically or emotionally.  If he were here now, he'd be the one recklessly risking all nine of us to get Adam out of her grasp.  Rob and Austin were open books; they would be the first ones to say they had an issue and would do something about it.  Austin's lone panic attack was about me.  Though something deep inside me told me there was so much more to him than the person he allowed us to get to know. What goes on in your mind, Austin? What have your eyes seen? I sincerely hoped Sandy-not-Sandy would at least let Rob and Chance comfort him, or Pentatonix, someone capable of reassurances, when—when—shit, I was already considering posthumous problems.  When she killed me.  I was fairly certain I would not be walking away from this alive.  A quiet sob ripped from my throat; I was thankful at least I wasn't the  only one crying.  Mitch, Scott, Kirstie, Avi, Austin.  Slowly, I moved my eyes from the useless camera to Austin., who'd dropped his head but kept his hands in place, a gesture that, while well-intentioned, would never be seen.

    Sandy-not-Sandy laughed, a sick sadistic laugh, gun held to poor Adam's head.  He was biting on his lip, eyes focused on the ground, reduced to a pawn in her game.  "I love watching the hope die in your eyes.  Adam, I didn't catch yours; you'll have to show me later, if I'm not forced to kill you.  Austin, you can quit glancing at it.  It's dead.  Rob, you can't even see anything six inches in front of your face.  You're blind as a bat.  Tim, if you have another panic attack, I will shoot Adam and then you.  Finally broke through and saw it die in you too, Chance.  You're a tough nut to crack, but I know what will, and your walls are starting to crumble.  It will be worth it to watch when you do.  Maybe you'll actually succeed and die if you try suicide again after I kill your friends.  Scott, I heard it leave you.  And Avi, you're crying even harder now.  Kirstie, for fuck's sake, look at me."

    I dared move my head two inches to the right to look at her sitting on the ground at Scott's feet, hands on her knees as she sat Indian-style.  She lifted her face, pushed her nest of hair out of her eyes, and looked at Sandy-not-Sandy with tears in her eyes.

    "There it is.  Defeat.  Defeat in my little fighter girl.  Took the fight right out of you when Harris peeled your precious Mitchie out of your hands, didn't we?" she taunted.

    Kirstie's eyes shifted to Mitch, face awash in tears with the gun in his ear canal now, and she sobbed, seemingly satisfying Sandy-not-Sandy.  The murderous woman turned her attention to Kevin, just standing there with his hands on his thighs as directed, eyes closed, undoubtedly praying.

    "Kevin," Sandy-not-Sandy said loudly.  "Open your eyes.  And quit talking to your make-believe god.  No such thing.  Accept it now."

    Obediently, he opened his eyes, looking at her pleadingly but saying nothing. 

    "I can't wait to see you break.  To see you lose your shit and start bawling like a three year-old, to crack your so-called faith and the rock that holds the ten of you together, will be the ultimate satisfaction.  Now.  Look at Mitch... good."  She praised him when he did.  "Now look at Adam."

    Kevin's eyes passed over mine as he gazed at each of us—Chance's, mine, Austin's, Rob's, on his way to look at Adam as instructed.  An incredible, deep sadness, as he looked at each of us.  I thought he was trying to tell us something but I had no clue what he wanted to convey.  Knowing Kevin, it'd either be reassurances, a well thought out instruction of sorts that was lost on me, or a prayer. 

    "Kevin, you are by no means stupid.  Tell me, though, what is going on in your mind.  Don't say nothing because I know that's not true," she warned.

    He licked his lips.  "Several things.  How to stay alive.  Who you are.  I know you're not Sandy and Harris.  Why you're doing this.  What you want from us."

    Sandy-not-Sandy rubbed her head with her gun hand, making Adam wiggle fearfully in her grasp, his eyes wide and staring at that damn thing certain to kill several of us.  "Nooot what I was going for."

    "I answered your question truthfully and wholly," he maintained quietly.  "What would you like me to say?"

     "What do you think your chances are of walking out of here alive?" she snapped, giving Adam a good smack with the gun to settle him down.

    "Low," Kevin admitted, staring at the ground, Adam whimpering but drawing still.

    "Uh-huh.  What do you think they are of all ten of you walking away?" she bantered.

    "You said that would not happen," he said dully.

    She smirked.  "Exactly.  And the cameras are disabled and will not work.  You are out here with us, and I am going to kill; I knew that when I walked in here.  Not one of you can stop us.  Any of Pentatonix tries anything, steps one toe towards Mitch, Mitch dies.  Any of Home Free makes one move towards Adam, their precious Adam dies.  Do you want them to die?"

    He swallowed.  "No."

    "Do you understand this this a hopeless situation?" she pressed.

    Harris-not-Harris sighed.  "This is taking too long."

    "I'm getting there!" she snapped.  "There is a method to this!  Kevin!  Do you admit this is hopeless?"

    She was trying to break him; I could tell she was trying to make him cry and admit defeat.  I also knew an army of enemy soldiers would never kill the faith and hope within him.  She'd already broken the rest of us by taking Adam and Mitch hostage and with pointing out she'd disabled and broken the one thing that might save us.  But knowing his strong religious beliefs, she'd never break his faith or hope.

    "It's pretty bleak," Kevin muttered.

    "Hopeless, Kevin?" Sandy-not-Sandy taunted.  "Say it.  Say it's hopeless.  I want the others to hear you say it."

    Oh my God, Kevin, just say it.  I closed my eyes, praying he'd just say the words she wanted to hear.  Believe whatever you want and keep whatever hope you can, but for God's sake, say the words.  I love Kevin dearly and admire his faith, but now was not the time.  Not with Adam and Mitch on the line, and me the the third duck in the shooting gallery.

    I heard him take a ragged breath.  "It's hopeless."

    Thank God.  Thank God.  The rational part of his brain overruled the deeply religious part.  I knew with everything in me that he didn't believe the words he was saying, but he put on a mighty good display.

    Sandy-not-Sandy gave a self-satisfied snort.  "Kevin said it's hopeless.  Kevin said it's hopeless.  Even Kevin, Mr. All-Religious, knows it's hopeless."

    "Yes, it's hopeless," Kevin whispered, looking ready to cry. 

    "Now."  Sandy-not-Sandy smirked.  "Next order of business, now that we've established ground rules and determined your hopeless situation, is rude people."

    Rude people?  We were held at gunpoint yet she wanted to point fingers and call out rude people?  She.  Was.  Fucking.  Mental.  What the hell was she on?

    "I'm pretty sure each of you has figured out at this point that I'm not really Sandy," she started.

    Yeah, no shit.  Wonder where the real Sandy was.  And if she had already met her untimely end.  The real Sandy was not my favorite person in the world but I could tolerate her.  She wasn't really... awful.  More brisk and slightly standoffish.  But still.  I hated to think of.. of her dead somewhere.  God.  Someone I knew and worked with was probably dead somewhere.

    "You, ahh... think it's really necessary to do this?" Harris-not-Harris asked doubtfully.  "Give them the benefit of the doubt?"

    "Moron," Sandy-not-Sandy retorted.  "It's going to become perfectly clear here, because I am going to speak my mind and I want him to know exactly what I think of him before I dispose of his useless, pompous, no-good, piece of shit, smart-ass, I'm-special-because-I'm-a-celebrity-and-rules-and-laws-don't-apply-to-me ass.  Gah!  He deserves to die!"

    "OK," Harris-not-Harris murmured, the ten of us now switching gazes about.  Laws?  What about laws against shooting people, plotting murder, and holding people hostage?  Pretty sure there are definitive laws that apply to everyone on those counts.  I was, however, smart enough to hold my tongue, given that gun now wiggling in Adam's ear canal.

    "I'm gonna throw up," Mitch whispered, looking pale as a ghost, body already heaving.  Harris-not-Harris looked horrified and leaned him over, backing up a step to let him barf on the ground.  Poor Mitch.  He'd already been through this once, with the mugger in New York, yet here he was again, twice in two weeks.  I wondered if he was having flashbacks too.  A puddle of vomit now at their feet, Harris-not-Harris moved them a few feet to the left before sticking that gun right back to his temple.

    "Ya done, Mitch?" Sandy-not-Sandy asked pointedly.

    "Yeah," he said softly, returning his hand to his hip where Harris-not-Harris had wanted it.

    "Sandy has been disposed of," Sandy-not-Sandy began, gazing at each of us.  Mitch in his upset tummy misery.  Avi sniffling a few feet away.  Kirstie crying behind a beehive of hair.  Scott a yard from her, hands clasped in front of him.  Kevin with his lips slightly parted and breathing hard.  Chance still staring at that brick.  Which I should probably do too, but I didn't feel like I should disengage from the immediate danger.  Me standing perfectly still, knowing at any minute, any second, the gun could be on me, very aware that Sandy-not-Sandy was directly opposite of me.  Had she always been right there, or had she adjusted her stance so she could have a clear shot at me?  The flickering light Chance had referred to earlier was now directly behind Linda, flickering quickly.  Where the hell it was coming from was beyond me; I couldn't see any source for it whatsoever, and it was on a solid brick wall.  It was weird.  Walls don't have random lights on them.  Kind of reminded me of a laser light without the laser.  Austin still had his hands up, left held in that gesture for what little good it'd do at that point, the limited light catching his shoulder weird. Rob was just squinting at her.  She turned and giggled at him.  "Can't see, can ya, Robbie?"

    "No," he answered, ignoring the use of the ever-hated Robbie.  "You are a big navy blur."

    "Good.  Serves you right," Sandy-not-Sandy snorted.  "Now for introductions, since some of us were apparently raised in a barn."  She stared at me.  "I will say that, in five years of knowing you, I have never seen you in such a wild panicked state as you were a minute ago.  I liked it.  No snark, no shit-eating grin, just screaming your ever-loving head off."

    She continued to ramble on about all my perceived faults, but by some miracle, my ears heard the words but they did not register as I just looked at her, trying to will the tears away and pretend she had a pig snout of a nose to distract myself.  Yes... I'd suspected for a minute here, but now I had no doubt.  None whatsoever.  She had Sandy's dark eyes (contacts, probably).  Sandy's dark medium-length hair, certainly dyed and cut in her style.  Sandy's dress—was the real Sandy naked somewhere?  I was sufficiently disgusted at the thought that it was enough to stop my tears. 

    "Don't you wrinkle your nose at me, Timothy Foust!" my mother-in-law snapped at me.

    Oops.  Must have done that unconsciously.  Though she did entirely deserve a wrinkled-up nose.  She deserved a whole hell of a lot more than a wrinkled-up nose.  She deserved a punch in the nose.  Which Rob had actually done.  I took to staring at her nose, her beaten face.

    "Are you listening to me are have you already tuned me out, as usual?" Linda snapped.

    How to respond to that while preserving my and Adam's lives...  I wanted to tell her so many things—how her daughter had lied to me, how her daughter had stabbed me in the back, how her daughter was a conniving bitch.  Guess the apple don't fall far from the tree.  How I wished I'd never met her, never asked her to marry me, never entangled in her family.  How Jenika was dead to me. 

    I swallowed thickly, acutely aware of everyone's eyes on me, probably praying I'd keep my smart-ass mouth shut and praying I wouldn't dissolve into another panic attack.  I turned my eyes on the flickering light, now above Adam's head.  A moving flickering light.  If nothing else, it gave me something to think about other than Linda and Eli.  "I hear you."

    "Surprised you didn't have a sarcastic remark or cutting insult to give me," Linda grumbled, raising her eyebrows at me.  "Well?  I know you were raised by a herd of cows in a barn, but come on.  Introduce me to your friends.  I would like them to know who is going to be killing you and Adam."

    My stomach clenched and I tightened my jaw, snorting not too unlike the bull she was implying me and my family to be.  Calm down, Foust, she's trying to rile you up. 

    "Gonna lose that short temper of yours now?" Linda grunted, playing with different locations on Adam's head that she could drive a bullet through.  He bit his lip, trying not to move to cause that bullet to go in his brain.

    I closed my eyes, trying to force my pounding heart into slowing, knowing every beat it made, every breath I drew was one more beat, one more breath than she thought should be allowed.  I didn't want to die, I really didn't.  My life had turned to hell, but it was still life.  With people in it I loved, with people that loved me, with people that made life worth living.  With people who didn't deserve to die on my account.  She'd said she was willing and able to kill each and every one of my friends to get to me.  Yet I was the one she really wanted dead.  Would she really let Adam and Mitch—and the others—go, if she had me?  Would she really let nine of us walk away if she had clear access to me?  Sadly, that was seriously the best case scenario at this point.  There was no way the ten of us could survive this, but nine might.  The innocent ones could. 

    I licked my lips, fighting every fiber of my being to try to save my own life because I knew that was impossible.  I was going to die tonight, there was no way around it.  I was going to be shot to death.  I just wondered if it would be in the head or in the heart.  A bullet to my brain would kill me instantly.  A bullet to my heart might give me a few seconds before I died in front of everyone. 

    I knew what I had to do to save the others.  Having already lost my battle to not cry, I spread my arms out a little further and forced my feet forward. 

    "Tim," Chance warned.

    Nine out of ten.  Nine out of ten.  "If—"

    "Tim, no," Austin ordered urgently.

    "I surrender," I said shakily, unsure of how quickly she'd take care of things and kill me.  I glanced up at the light, now seemingly growing. 

    "No," Rob told me firmly.  "You are not."

    "If I—," I began, wondering how badly a bullet to the chest would hurt.

    "You will not," Adam growled at me.  "Step back."

    Harris-not-Harris gagged as Mitch started retching again.  "Eww, Mo-om, can I take a different hostage?  This one can't even keep his dinner down."

    "No," Linda said coolly, never moving her eyes from me and Chance as he risked his own life to pull me back the two feet I'd stepped forward, keeping her gun firmly on Adam's head.  "Has to be queasy-pants there.  Only thing enough to keep those two down."  She nodded at Kirstie, still hiding in her hair, and at Scott, a couple of feet away, hands clasped and in clear sight.  Frowning slightly, I peered around him as inconspicuously as possible.  Where did Harris-not-Harris' baton go?  It had been just behind Scott's feet.  It was all gone.  I looked at Harris-not-Harris fearfully but all he had was his gun, now four more feet to his left.  Somebody had to have had  it.  Batons don't just walk away on their own.  Avi's hands were still clasped in front of him, empty; Kirstie's empty on her knees.  Wasn't in Scott's, clearly.  I blinked at Kevin, standing a few feet from Harris-not-Harris, eyes sad and lips ever moving in prayer (God knows we needed one), hands on his thighs and, of course, empty.  Hmm.  Maybe it rolled down the hill towards John's johns?  Or Linda's dress belt? There was no sign of it either. Long as they weren't in Linda's or—Eli.  Had to be Eli.  Though Jenika didn't even like Eli.  Eli didn't like Jenika.  Linda didn't care much for Eli either; always said he was a good-for-nothing mistake.  Hence, he tended to keep his distance from the family.  So why the hell was he working with a mother he didn't like to defend a sister he didn't like?  It made zero sense.  Nothing made sense.

    "And Adam's the only thing enough to keep these four down."  Linda sounded proud of herself.  "Adam, Adam, Adam.  Each of these five men would risk their own lives for the others, as Tim just so kindly tried to demonstrate.  Thank you, by the way, for being a teaching moment."  She nodded and smiled at me.  I returned neither.  "But which are you are willing to risk Adam?  Hmm?"  She removed the gun from his head long enough to flick the trigger twice, then placed it back on his head and flicked the trigger again.  My stomach dropped, watching that trigger move, so close to his brain.

    "No!!!" Austin and I shrieked, Chance falling to his knees, unable to stand any longer.  Rob collapsed a second before Kirstie and Scott went into hysterics, Mitch crying helplessly, Kevin breathing hard, Avi now on his hands and knees.  Eli eyed him but did nothing.

    "That's what I thought," Linda said with a smirk.  "These four would do anything for their precious Adam."

    "I can't seeeeee!" Rob bellowed, in clear agony over seeing nothing but blurs.

    "Consider yourself lucky," Austin whimpered, trying to help him back up.  "It ain't pretty by any means.  And I'm ninety percent certain that Sandy person is Linda, Tim's mother-in-law."

    "Guilty as charged," she stated.

    "And the Harris guy?" Rob asked, he and Austin righting fast enough to merit a gun point in their direction.

    "Dunno," he admitted, both now stilling as the gun moved first from Austin's chest to Rob's and back, shadows somehow defying explanation and moving all around Austin.

    "Oh, Ti-im," Eli sang out, gun to Mitch's neck at this point.

    I moved my eyes from his gun long enough to ask, "Why, Eli?  Why you?"

    "Eli?" Rob mumbled to my right, Austin now forced five feet from him.

    "Brother-in-law.  Jenika's younger brother," I answered, watching him watch Avi find his feet and stand up.

    "Believe me, he wasn't my first choice," Linda groaned.  "He's dumber than a box of rocks.  But you work with what you got."

    Chance's gaze moved from his brick to look at Eli, hands moving from his hips into the air, palms out, one finger working its way down his suicide scars.  Eli's eyes flickered down, very clearly seeing what Chance wanted him to, giving him a shrug as if to say he didn't care.  Course he doesn't.  He's around her maybe once a year and leaves when he's damn ready.  He doesn't want to be around someone who calls him an accident to his face.  His head snapped to when Mitch started retching again, one hand pressed to his stomach.

    "I know one way to make you stop barfing!" Eli snapped.  "Want a gun barrel in your mouth?  Huh?  Huh?"  He slapped him upside the head with the gun but moved away from Mitch's vomit, though it was nothing but water at this point.

    "No," he whispered.

    "Then stop!"  Eli flicked the trigger, making Mitch, Scott, and Kirstie scream, Austin and Adam draw in noisy gasps of air, Rob rub his eyes, me whimper, Chance's mouth drop open, Kevin slap a hand to his own mouth in horror, and Avi drop to his knees again.  "I'mma put you out of your misery and shoot you next time!"

    He let out a ragged breath, crying heavily, and Scott was now lying on his back on the ground.  I would have screamed at that if it hadn't immediately registered that there was no blood.

    "Scott?" Rob asked shakily.  "Where's Scott?"

    "Ground," Avi reported as Scott sat up.

    He blinked hard, having been scared stiff.  "I'm not sure if the cause of my death is going to be a bullet or a heart attack, because I've about been scared into one several times."

    "I'm still here, Scotty," Mitch said softly.  "I'm still alive at the moment."

    "Stay that way," Scott ordered as the gun lowered to him.

    "Get up," Eli ordered.  "Slow.  Hands in the air."

    Scott raised them, stumbling a bit as he tried to stand up.  The instant he wobbled on his knee, my heart about stood still, afraid that that slight momentum shift would be the end of him, that Eli would shoot him dead for a second's clumsiness.  This must have been how the others had felt watching me struggle my way out of the mud puddle, heart stopping with every uneven move I made.  It felt just as bad watching it as it had been doing it.

    "Avi, you too," he ordered, moving the gun to point at Avi's chest once Scott stood up.

    Visibly swallowing, Avi rose, a bit more gracefully than either Scott or me.

    "And Kirstie," Eli demanded.  "Stand up so I can shoot you easier."

    The ball of hair moved slightly and she stood up shakily, her body trembling like a leaf under the watchful gaze of the gun I knew she could barely see.  Eli turned to look at Kevin, standing one hundred percent still, hands on his thighs, gazing towards the building, which now I was pretty sure was not going to be blown up with a bomb.  It would have gone off by now.  We'd been lured out here, under the guise of a bomb, by people posing as others they believed—well, we had—we trusted.  Lead us out here like lambs to slaughter.

    "Tim."  Linda's voice was like ice.  "Look at me."

    Having no choice, I turned my head back to look at her.  Might as well watch the bullet as it tore through the air before it burrowed into my vital organs and stopped them from functioning.

    "Don't feel so good now, does it?" she asked pointedly.  "Don't feel so good when you're not the big man in the fight, does it? How do you think she felt?  How.  Do you think.  She.  Felt?  Like—like this!"

    "Hic!" Chance hiccuped to my left.

    "You're twice her size, Tim!"  Linda was near tears now.  In anger?  In—in fear?  In her own mental agony?  In mama bear mode?  Worried about one person she did love?  Who was one hundred percent safer than I—than we—were right now?  "Twice her size!"

    "Hic!" Chance hiccuped again as I closed my eyes, trying to block everything out—Linda's words, her tone, her insistence that I was a menace to her daughter's well-being by just existing.

    "A man!  Supposedly!"  Linda lowered the gun from my chest to my waist.  "Want your balls blown off?"  Oof, that'd be excruciating.  I couldn't help but wince at the thought.  Not only would it not kill me instantly, I'd be in excruciating pain for who knows how long.  "Ya ain't worthy  of them.  No real man should ever lift a hand to his wife, should never try to control her, and should treat her with the love and respect he swore to in his wedding vows!!!"  Her eyes squinched shut, she was now crying uncontrollably.  Her cool, cold, and calculating moves and mind were long gone, lost in a cloud of emotion.

    "Hic!  Hic!"  Chance hiccuped twice.

    Linda swung her gun from my poor balls to Chance's chest.  "Control your fucking diaphragm!"

    How the hell she expected that was beyond me.  You can't control an involuntary movement.  Crying, I shifted my eyes to him, where he looked like he'd swallowed a fly and tapped his torso at about diaphragm level.  He met my eyes and held them for a second before pushing hard at his diaphragm as though that'd stop an ill-timed case of the hiccups.  Still holding my gaze with his, he pressed to it again.  Was he trying to... shit, we're back to subtle charades again.  Diaphragm.  Lungs.  Hiccups.  He lifted his  eyes from me, slowly and carefully moving them overhead, over Linda's head, over Adam's head, up, kept moving up.  He wanted me to see something.  The light?  Was he trying to point out the odd light?  I blinked the tears out of my eyes to clear my vision a tad.  I didn't see the light on the brick wall any more.  Damn it.  It had been one thing that I could think about that didn't involve this stand-off.  I looked at the corner of the unexploded theatre.  With the dead camera.  The useless so-called security camera.  What did he want me to look up there for?

    "But nooo, you lifted your hand and hit a woman!  Your wife!  You are despicable, truly despicable!  This is how she felt!  Fear, pure fear, when you stood over her and hit her in the face!" Linda continued to yell at me.

    I let my eyes watch her for a second, mainly for appearance's sake, then moved them back to look at Chance, letting them widen slightly in question.  Trying to hold back another hiccup (was he really hiccuping or was he just trying to get my attention and provide a slight distraction to a woman determined to play judge, jury, and executioner?), he tapped his diaphragm again.  The camera was breathing?  It's an inanimate object; that's impossible.  Maybe an animal was sitting on it?  Don't tell me we're being held at gunpoint and he wants me to look at wildlife with him.

    "Not to mention, push her in the oven!  You gonna cook her?  Don't tell me you're a damn cannibal on top of everything else!" Linda snapped. 

    OK, so not breathing, because that's impossible.  What else could he be pointing to?  Well, the other things that were in that area included his liver, spleen, gallbladder... he's not pointing to his gallbladder, ya idiot!  His shirt?  His clothes.  He is not a fashionista and he cares zilch about mud, so I didn't think he was trying to convey a fashion no-no or that I had mud on my shirt.  Something on his shirt.  A little dirty, a lot wet.  A red and blue T-shirt.  The spot he kept tapping, the same, spot, repeatedly, was red.  Red.  Was I supposed to look at something red?  The camera wasn't red; it's black.  And nothing on it could possibly be red because it's made of metal.  Metal doesn't turn colors and nothing on it was—on... on... unless the red...  My heart did a double flip in my chest when I finally saw what he wanted me to see.

    "I'm here for Jenika," Linda told us all, me quickly lowering my gaze so as not to let on what I was seeing.  "I'm here to get justice for my daughter!"  But I had, without a doubt, seen it.  The red indicator light.  It was on.  "Because the justice system won't work for you!  You, you're a hot-shot celebrity, a country music star!"  The camera she'd said she'd broken and disabled, moreover, killed, was on.  Someone, God bless their soul, had fixed it.  Quickly.  One of the guards had found it and fixed it.  Someone, somewhere, was watching us.  "They don't throw stars in jail!  Oh no, you won't spend a night in jail where you belong!  You're going to get off scot-free because you can sing!  And that isn't right!  And guess what—I'm going to fix that!  The justice system may fail us and cater to your posh ass, but I sure as hell won't!"  She was now glaring at Rob angrily, gun ever present on Adam's temple.  While she was glaring and hollering like a madman, I looked back up to the camera.  Was it my imagination, my trying to see what I so desperately wanted to see, or was it slightly jutted out more?  I blinked at Linda, now going on about how she couldn't stand my voice or my singing and bellyaching that I should have never made it in the music business because I have no talent.  Lady, I don't give a fuck what you think.  No one's forcing you to buy it.  And she wouldn't destroy Home Free or me by not buying it.  OK, now she's yelling at Adam for having the dumb idea to even form a band in the first place.  I glanced up in time to see it unquestionably move.  It had shifted from straight and at me to its left—my right.  Rob was to my right, blinking hard and squinting at something to our left, trying desperately to see through nearsighted eyes.  No way in hell he could see it even if something else didn't have his attention; I'd be lucky if he could see me distinctly.  Austin was to my right, face twisted in agony as he could do nothing but listen as Linda shot jab after jab after jab at me, at Adam, at us.  His eye caught mine and he glanced up to his left, where he very quickly, very decisively, shot the sign, his body seemingly in a mist of sorts. He'd seen it.  And a good fifty percent of his tears and pain was acting at this point.  He always has been good at that.  He hadn't fully and completely lost hope either.  Hope, a small sliver of hope, was still alive in Austin's heart and undoubtedly in Kevin's as well.  Where was Kevin?  Every time I saw him, I swear to God, he was a step or two off from where he had been last.  Was he moving?  Shit, Kevin, what the hell you think you're doing?  Don't—don't get shot—or get Mitch and Adam shot—because of me.  He was now behind Avi.  Course, his mind—his intelligence, his calm and rational brain—may just be our best weapon here.

    He caught my eye, glanced upwards towards the camera quickly and back to Linda.  He moved one finger over the top of his wrist, then opened and closed his mouth twice.  He'd seen the camera too.  And he wanted us to stall and keep her talking (that shouldn't be hard to do—she loves to hear herself talk).  Of course.  In a moment—in a moment—this might actually be over.  With us alive, all of us, if security got to us in time.  Smith had been beckoned.  Smith.  Security.  Run, Smith, hurry, come, come, please...

    I moved my eyes back to Linda for a few seconds.  "Yes, Tim, mama bear's here and mama bear ain't happy because you hurt her cub.  That's what real family does."  Linda's figure became blurred as something—some... some, veil, for lack of a better word, eclipsed her, lines fuzzying and distorting.  "Just in case you were wondering.  Because you don't have one.  Never had one your whole life.  The Fousts are in Texas—all of 'em have given up on you.  They don't want you any more'n your real parents ever did."  For half a second, nearly missed in the blink of an eye, a clear figure formed out of the distortion, out of the pixels that nearly obscured Linda, and my heart nearly stopped when the ghost from my childhood reappeared, the dark-haired lady in the blue dress, just to step into the darkness unseen again.  The hell?  I knew I hadn't imagined it.  Where the hell she come from, and why?  Did she follow me around?  And who the fuck was she?  "Bet your real daddy knocked her up by accident and she carried you and birthed you only 'cuz she had to, just to throw you away like a used tissue.  Because no one wants you," she spat, every word a punch in the gut, every word being a thought already thought.  Not good enough, never good enough, never, never, never... given away.  I was given away because—because— I'll never know.

    "I want you," Chance said next to me, voice slightly shaky.

    "I want you too," Rob agreed, Austin saying the exact same thing just a syllable behind Rob.

    "I need you," Adam upped it with tears in his eyes, watching her every word now cut into my soul.  She knew how to hurt me—and she had.  My eyes welled with tears of my own, the blue dress lady now just to Adam's left with her face buried in her hands.  Can ghosts feel emotions?  This one seemed to.  She seemed distraught.  Hell, we were all distraught here.  It was a near-hopeless situation.  Of course we were distraught.   

    "We all want you," Scott spoke for his group, Kirstie's ball of hair nodding along with him, her voice lost in it.

    "No one cares that you were adopted," Avi agreed.  "Family is who you love and who loves you, not who you're related to."

    Kevin, now behind Eli, said nothing, just staring at and judging Linda, whose words were now cushioned by my friends' love.  My friends are my family.  My friends and goddamn it, my family is my family; even if they couldn't get away at the time, they are always and forever with me and love me.      

    Linda looked exasperated, the desired effect of my being unwanted and unloved lost in my friends' declarations.  "OK, fine, maybe a few irrelevant people might want you, whatever.  But they can keep on wanting you but never having you again, because I am going to put you out of your misery and end your sorry existence."  With that, she pulled her gun off of Adam's head and aimed it directly at my chest, locking her dominant right arm as the intangible ghost of a lady glided directly through the gun, her hands reaching for it but unable to touch it. 

    Time seemed to stand still as Linda's finger grasped at the trigger, starting to pull it backwards, aimed point blank at my heart.  Oh shit, this was it.  This... the end, this is how I'm dying, right now.  My body trembled, bracing for it, dreading the pain, anticipating the pain, seconds, seconds, I had less than a second to live, she's shooting me, each heartbeat in my chest frantic as though trying to escape its imminent, abrupt, and forced end.  The gun went off with a deafening crack and before I could even form a thought, a quick and final goodbye to the world, to my time here on earth, I was on the ground, pain radiating all up and down the left side of my chest, searing and burning pain; I was in such pain that I had to be screaming but I could hear nothing, not even my own voice as it tore out of my throat, my dying throat; every breath I took a painful gasp, never sure of which would be my last, sharp pain inhibiting the depth of each inhalation.  My ears slowly began to process sounds again, everyone, all ten of us, screaming, screaming, the screams coming louder than I'd ever recalled, and I wished to God I'd hurry up and just complete the dying process so I wouldn't have to hear their heartbreaking screams.  My vision was already gone; my own screams weakened by an inability to get in a good breath.

    Suddenly, my vision actually returned—the bricks of the building, Adam pulling frantically at Linda and bellowing, Austin and Chance ignoring everything and everyone and risking their own lives to come running to me.  Something thunked right next to me and I pulled my eyes away from my friends for a millisecond only to realize, horrified, that Rob was down.

    Rob was down.

Rob was down.

    Rob was down.

    I glanced at the pool of blood that was engulfing me—us—and started painfully hyperventilating, cold hitting me from head to toe, painfully freezing me.  I lifted my head only to drop it back down, my back, arm, shoulder, and chest screaming at me before I could get my head an inch off the ground, although I'd seen, very briefly, the shadowy figure hunched over him, touching his face before dropping hers down to his .  I would have to settle for screaming, though even at the top of my lungs, my voice was irritatingly quiet why the hell can't I scream??? "Rob!  Rob!  Rob!  Rob Rob Rob RobRobRobRobRobRob—"

    "Shh."  Chance's face descended into my field of vision, one hundred percent obscuring it.  All I could see was Chance, his face wrinkled in unbearable despair and pain. "Shh.  Shh.  It's OK.  You're OK.  You're OK.  You were not shot.  The bullet never touched you.  You are OK."  He kissed me lightly on the jaw, two tears dripping from his eyes onto my cheeks. 

    "Rob—," I said weakly, my fingers moving around on the ground in the oozy thick blood.

    "Rob saved you," Chance informed me, crying steadily as another, different scream tore through the air, a male, only to cut off abruptly.  Someone else was down.  Someone else.  Much too low to be Mitch; too high to be Avi.  Scott?  Kevin?  God, no.  Someone else.  And Rob... Rob had thrown himself in front of gunfire, took the bullet with my name on it, certain to kill me,  thrown down his life, everything he has—a wife, daughter, family—so that I may live, and he was now lying in an ever-growing endless pool of blood at my side.

                    To be continued