on myself. “You will not die on me, damn you,” I said. I jerked off my cloak and
tore off my shirt. I ripped it apart, tearing it into wide strips. I made a
thick bandage out of the strips. Then I drew a deep breath, and jerked the knife
out of his flesh. I nearly retched at the ghastly feel of doing that, the easy
slide of the metal through his flesh. I couldn’t begin to imagine the pain my
father would feel. “I’m sorry,” I whispered. “It’s out now. I’m sorry.”
I pressed with all my strength down on the bleeding wound. He moaned, his eyes
closed, but his hand came up over mine. I looked down at his hand. It was big
and strong, brown. “You will live,” I said. “I swear you will live.”
“Yes,” he said, and his blue eyes blazed up at me. “Yes, I must.” He closed his
eyes again, his hand fell away from mine. He was alive, and unconscious. I was
grateful for that.
“Keep the pressure up, Andy. You’ve got to get the bleeding stopped.” Then John
was beside me, shoving me out of the way. “Kept both guns on our villains here.
I’m stronger, I’ll apply the pressure.”
I stood some feet away from them. I looked at my husband, who was just lying on
the floor, unconscious now it seemed, his wounded leg drawn up, blood pooling
beneath him.
I had shot him. Would he die? I felt strangely dispassionate about it. He was a
murderer. However, I did not want to be a murderess. But I made no move to
staunch the flow of blood on his wound. I remained standing where I was,
watching those three men.
One of the men moved. I walked over to him, bent down, and knocked him on the
head with the butt of a gun. At that moment I heard some movement, but I wasn’t
fast enough. Lawrence had come up on his knees. He had a gun in his hands.
Another weapon? Was he a bloody arsenal? I suppose so, dammit.
It was George who saved me. He leapt at Lawrence, growling, his teeth bared. I
jerked up one of the villain’s guns.
Everything happened so quickly, it was a blur. Flynt grabbed my ankle, George
attacked Lawrence, and John, without hesitation, picked up the knife his uncle
had hurled at my father, and sent it straight through Lawrence’s throat. I never
even saw the knife, it flew so fast. There was utter surprise on Lawrence’s face.
He tried to say something, but could not. He dropped the gun and grabbed that
knife, but he didn’t try to pull it out. I heard an obscene gurgle. Blood gushed
out of his mouth. He looked over at my father, and a terrible anger seemed to
freeze his expression. He slumped backward onto the floor, George standing over
him, barking his head off. He died with that expression on his face.
Flynt, with a cry of fury, jerked hard on my ankle and managed to pull my legs
out from under me. I went down hard, but it didn’t matter. I was calm now,
focused, and I yelled, “Get away from me, Flynt, now, damn you.”
But he didn’t get away. He was stumbling at me, his hands outstretched, his
fingers curved to strangle me. Flynt was beside himself, screaming, “You bloody
bitch, I’ll kill you. You killed my master. I’ll wring your skinny neck off.”
I heard John shout something, saw his quick movement, but knew that only I could
save myself. I didn’t falter. I got hold of myself, knew what I had to do, and I
shot Flynt, a clean shot, right in his chest.
There was utter silence in that small room. The two men remained on their faces,
glued to the floor. John ran to Flynt and stood looking down at him. “Jesus, I
was terrified. You did it, Andy, you did it.”
George looked at John and wuffed. His tail began to wag, then faster until it
was a blur. Then he jumped at John, a good foot off the floor. John caught my
dog up in his arms. “It’s all right now, George, quite all right. No, calm