I don’t know how long I sat there sipping beer. Long enough for my head to stop bleeding, if not to stop aching. The whole County Sheriff’s Office must have been out there by now, given the bright slivers of light shining in, the hum of a crowd.
A while back, Chris had started scratching, opening up sores. His trembling had also gotten worse. Calm as can be, John kept talking, telling stories he’d heard from his brother, asking after people they had in common. Empty beer bottles collected around us and his voice went on and on, husky and low. Probably on account of all of the smoking. The friend, Isaac, didn’t utter another peep.
“Chris, son,” said a man over a megaphone. “It’s Sheriff Albertson here. I’ve had a talk with Joanna—I know this was all an accident.”
“Jo?” Chris scrambled over to the front glass wall on his hands and knees, still gripping the gun. He peeked out from behind the safety of the magazine stands.
“Why don’t we talk this over, just you and me?”
“No!” cried the tweaker, pulling at his short hair. “She’s not . . . I can’t see her.”
John said nothing. His eyes were glued on Chris.
I couldn’t stop the shaking, first in my arms, then my legs. Please, please, please. Somebody get me out of here.
“Get up.” Chris rose to a stoop, standing over me. “Move, you fat bitch! Time to show these fuckers that I’m serious.”
“N-no. Please.”
He knocked the almost-empty beer bottle out of my hand, sending it spinning across the floor. Again he went for my hair, dragging me up to my feet. A cry caught in my throat, chunks of hair tearing out. I grasped for his hand, trying to ease the grip he had on me, the way he ripped at my scalp.
“Hurry up,” he said, and the flat of his hand smacked against my face.
Blood dribbled from my nose, putting the taste of copper on my tongue. The right side of my face was throbbing. He shoved me toward the door, the gun pressed hard against my spine.
“Open it.”
I squinted, staring out into the night. It was hard to see much. There was a lot of light, so many people out there, watching. No one doing a goddamn thing to help. All of me shook, tears, blood, and snot dripping down my face. My hands fumbled over the deadbolt, fingers numb. Then I flicked the lock, pushing the door outward. I held it open with one hand.
Chris’s arm came around me, his hold like a lover’s. Give or take the gun shoved under my chin.
“I want Joanna!” he said, yelling the words loud in my ear.
“Chris—” the sheriff started in his nice, calm voice.
“Now. Bring her out.”
“She’s not here, Chris. That’s going to take a little time.”
Behind me, Chris swore. “No. You get her here now.”
“If I bring her out here, you need to do something for me. Why don’t you let the girl go?”
Chris’s response was less than happy. I was sickened by the rancid smell of him, and the sound of him breathing hard and muttering to himself echoed in my head, through my hollow bones.
“You’re not listening to me. I’m in charge . . . I am. You need to see that.”
“Chris—”
“Shut up! I didn’t want to have to do this!” he shouted. “This is your fault.”
I swayed, and pee ran down the inside of my legs, beyond my control. It puddled in my flip-flops.
“Hold on. Okay,” rushed the sheriff. “I’m making the call right now. Let’s keep calm.”
Wonder if my mom was out there? I hoped not.
Something seemed to move in the shadows beside us. I couldn’t see. All of the lights were blinding, intensifying the pounding in my face and the pressure of the gun. Chris tightened his hold on my ponytail. Finger on the trigger and still hiding behind me, he pointed the gun out in the direction of the sheriff’s voice.
“You bring Jo here,” he said. “And her car, too.”
“Okay. Whatever you want, Chris.”
“I’ve got three. And I will blow their fucking heads off, one by one, if you—”
John hit us from side on. Chris came down hard on my back as I struck the ground. The heavy shop door swung shut. A knee dug into my spine and Chris’s weight lifted as he tried to rise. But another body, Isaac, joined in, arms punching and legs kicking, fighting for control. We were all tangled up, in each other’s way. They might have been aiming for Chris, but I caught more than my fair share of punches. John’s tackle had knocked Chris forward, however, and I was no longer pinned completely beneath him. Sheer terror drove my muscles. I struggled to get free, squirming and pushing out from under Chris’s writhing hips and legs. Just above me, Isaac was desperately clutching at Chris’s waving arm, trying to get the gun off him.
Meanwhile, John rained punches down on Chris’s face, turning it to a bloody pulp. The pistol went off, the sound deafening. Someone screamed in pain, and blood painted the air for the second time this evening. Chris’s weight shifted at the shot, and for a split second there was space for me to squirm out from under him. Free at last, I scrambled onto my knees. Isaac had both hands on the gun, twisting it in Chris’s grip. Bang, bang, bang! After the last retort, Isaac stumbled back, wrenching the weapon free from Chris. Thank God. It clattered against the floor, landing right in front of me. Without hesitation, I grabbed it, scooting back on my ass until I could go no farther. Blood—I don’t know whose—was misting up my right eye. But I could see well enough for this. Finger tight on the trigger. Barrel pointed straight at Chris’s chest. Click. Click. Click. Nothing happened.
Oh shit. No ammo.
The door flew open and police crowded in with guns and bulletproof vests. Bright light blazed in from outside. Two of them wrestled John off of Chris.
It was strange. People’s mouths moved, yet it sounded like we were all underwater. Every noise seemed muted, delayed. One cop crouched down beside me, hands sliding over mine, clicking on the safety before prying my finger off the trigger. At first, I didn’t want to let it go. It might be out of bullets, but I could use it as a blunt weapon if necessary. Hammer the asshole’s head in even. But the cop’s hands were stronger than mine. Eventually, he won, giving the gun to someone else, who took it away. There was so much light, so much movement happening all around.
“Is it over?” I asked, taking it all in through one eye. The other was swollen, eyelid glued shut with dried blood.
Whatever the guy beside me said, I couldn’t hear.
Man, the Drop Stop was a mess. Way worse than usual.
Chris lay still on the ground, his face like ground beef. Barely recognizable. Two officers stood beside John, who had blood dripping from his fists and a long, ugly gash high on his upper arm. Isaac lay crumpled on the floor, still. Gaze blank, he stared at the ceiling. His chest was dark, something soaking into the pale gray material of his shirt. I kept watching, but he didn’t move. Not once.
Emergency medical technicians were the next to rush through the door, bringing their bags of equipment. They wouldn’t have let them in if it wasn’t safe, I guess.
It was over. I shut my one good eye and rested my head back against the milk fridge.