Chapter 7 - THE STANDOFF
We hit the floor.
I pulled Rebecca’s wheelchair down sideways, shielding her body with mine while grabbing Lily’s arm to pull her behind the heavy oak sofa.
"Stay down!" I yelled over the ringing in my ears.
Footsteps crunched on the gravel outside. Heavy, deliberate.
"Charles!" a voice boomed through the shattered window.
It was Arthur.
I peeked around the edge of the sofa. Through the broken glass, I saw my brother standing in the fog. He looked manic. His tuxedo jacket was gone, his white shirt soaked with rain and sweat. In his trembling hands, he held a black hunting rifle.
"Arthur, put the gun down!" I shouted. "The police are already looking for you!"
"I have nothing left to lose!" Arthur screamed back. "Mom called me from the precinct using her one phone call! She told me you came here! It’s over, Charles! The board fired me an hour ago. The police seized my assets. You ruined my life!"
"You ruined your own life the night you drove us off that bridge!" I yelled back.
"I'm not going to prison!" Arthur shouted. He raised the rifle, aiming blindly at the front door. "If I take you all out, I inherit the estate! I can disappear!"
He fired again. The bullet ripped through the blue door, showering us in splinters.
Lily screamed, covering her ears. Rebecca clutched my shirt, terrified.
I looked around the small living room. There was a back door in the kitchen, but getting Rebecca there in her wheelchair would expose us to the windows. We were trapped.
"Dad," Lily whispered, her eyes wide with terror. She pointed to a heavy cast-iron fireplace poker resting against the stone hearth, just a few feet away.
It was a desperate move.
"When he reloads, I'm going for the door," I whispered to them both. "Do not move."
"Charles, no," Rebecca pleaded, grabbing my wrist. "He'll kill you."
"I lost you for eleven years," I said, looking into her eyes. "I am not losing you again."
"Charles!" Arthur yelled outside. "I'm coming in!"
I heard the heavy stomp of his boots on the porch steps.
I grabbed the iron poker. I crouched by the doorway.
The blue door was kicked open. It swung violently inward, slamming against the wall.
Arthur stepped into the threshold, the rifle raised.
I didn't hesitate. I swung the iron poker with everything I had.
It struck the barrel of the rifle hard, knocking the gun upward just as Arthur pulled the trigger. The gunshot blew a hole through the ceiling, deafening in the enclosed space.
Before Arthur could recover, I dropped the poker and tackled him.
We crashed onto the porch, rolling through the splintered wood and broken glass. Arthur fought like a cornered animal, punching blindly. His fist connected with my jaw, sending a flash of white light across my vision.
But rage is a powerful anesthetic.
I grabbed him by the collar of his ruined shirt, flipped him over, and pinned him against the wooden deck. I pulled my fist back and drove it into his face. Once. Twice.
Arthur went limp. His nose was bleeding freely. He looked up at me, gasping.
"I'm sorry," Arthur sobbed. "I'm so sorry, Charles."
I stood up, breathing heavily. I kicked the rifle off the porch into the wet grass.
In the distance, the wail of police sirens cut through the fog. Eleanor had done exactly what I asked—she had traced Arthur’s car and sent the local authorities.
I looked down at the brother who had nearly destroyed my existence.
May you like
"Save your apologies for the judge," I said.
I turned around and walked back into the house with the blue door.
