The hard metal barrel jabs painfully into the small of my back. I wince, shift my weight, but Frank’s strong hand grips my shoulder.
He leans forward, whispers into my ear: “Sit still, Deidre. Don’t make this difficult.”
Rain slaps against the windows, and the crack of thunder booms, echoes in the room. Dad is pacing around Duncan and the huge man. He’s jittery, screaming at them.
“Get him, Bullock! Tear him up!” His voice is shrill, excited. He gets off on this stuff. He’s sick.
“Frank,” I whisper. “Frank, don’t do this.”
“Deidre,” he says. “I always liked you. I always treated you like my own niece. But you need to shut up right now.”
“Frank, listen to me,” I hiss hurriedly. The words are rushing out of my mouth. I can’t keep up with my thoughts.
“Dei—”
“Frank!” I say, turning around, catching his eye out of the corner of my own. “How long was my father making you go through my trash?”
He doesn’t reply.
“How long, Frank? Years? Did that make you feel good? Did it?”
“Of course not,” he says quietly.
Duncan grunts as Bullock thumps him in the gut, doubles over. The knife sings through the air, but Duncan spins out of the way at the last minute, but fails to dodge the cutting counter-swipe. He grabs his face, backs away from Bullock, and his hand comes away stained red.
“God damn it, Frank!” I growl, breathing hard. “He’s going to kill Duncan. Damn it, Frank, Dad is trying to steal our baby! Do you know why?”
“I said shut up!” Frank snarls into my ear. He pushes the gun harder into my back.
“I know you won’t shoot me, Frank. I know you can’t. You know I’m pregnant. Isn’t this breaking your heart, pointing a gun at a pregnant girl? At someone you thought of as your own family? I always trusted you, Frank. Whenever Dad had it out at me, I always came to you to talk. Don’t you remember? We used to sit in the garden, you’d tell me all about your day. Don’t you feel responsible? Don’t I matter to you?”
He meets me with silence.
Duncan dodges another swing of the shimmering knife, spins, pivots on his heel and lands a thunderous elbow into Bullock’s sternum. The huge man staggers backward, winded, gripping onto his chest and struggling to breathe.
“Frank, this baby is mine. Dad only came out here when he found out it was a boy, right? Am I wrong?”
No reply, which means I’m right.
“He wants the son he never had! He wants someone he can train, someone he can tame! He wants to make my boy into the fighter he could never be! Don’t you understand? All he cares about is legacy!”
“He’s the boss,” Frank says stonily.
“So you’re just following orders? The good dog you’ve always been?”
“I’m no dog,” Frank growls.
Finally! Some pride! Some backbone! God damn it, how deep had he buried it? How long had it been missing? I need to take that thread, and I need to pull on it. I need to do so without snapping it.
“Damn it, Frank, then don’t let him do this. You know this is wrong. This is too much, even for my father. He can’t steal my kid from me! You’re not his dog, right? You have a conscience, right? Are you going to blindly follow Dad everywhere, do whatever he says? Aren’t you your own man?”
I feel the press of the barrel in my back weaken.
“Save us, Frank. Save Duncan. You always liked him, didn’t you? He always had time for you. He was never rude to you. He’s a good man. You’re a good man, too. Somewhere inside, there’s good in you. Save us.”
“Shut up,” he says, but his voice cracks.
“My son’s name is Thom,” I say. “Thom. You hear me? Thom!” I repeat the name, over and over. “He has a name. He’s innocent. He should be able to choose his own life. Would you want your child to grow up like me? Like you? Do what Duncan does? Do you want him to suffer like all of us, Frank? Look at Dad, he’s lost. He can’t be saved. He’s fucking crazy. But you! You can do this. You can save us!”
“Please stop talking, Deidre. Please.”
“For fuck’s sake, Frank!” I growl, shaking my head. “My son’s name is Thom. He is innocent. Don’t let Dad take him away from me. Don’t let Dad ruin him!”
“Deidre,” he whispers. “He’ll kill me.”
“Not if you kill him first.”
Still silence.
“Fucking hell, Frank!” I whisper hoarsely, gripping tight onto the metal bleachers. “He’s going to take my fucking baby!”
The gun barrel leaves my back. I feel Frank stand behind me.
“Enough!” he bellows.
Dad, Duncan, and Bullock all turn their heads to us.
I take my chance, and run toward the exit, flail open the door before closing it behind me. I find the fire alarm switch I noticed on the way in, slam my palm against it, break the glass.
Sprinklers spray, emergency lights flash red, and bells ring.
I poke my head up through the window in the door to the gymnasium. Bullock is now on the ground, knife sticking out of his thigh and arm broken, bent disgustingly between wrist and elbow. Duncan only needed a second’s distraction.
Dad hasn’t moved. Duncan stands, looking at me, blood dripping from the slice on his face.
I inch the door open.
“It’s over, Dad!”
“Like fucking hell it is, you ungrateful bitch!”
I calmly approach Frank, touch his shoulder. “You’re doing the right thing,” I tell him.
He’s panting, and he’s sweating, and I’m worried he’s going to give himself a heart attack for how nervous he is.
He says to Dad, “You shouldn’t be doing this to your own daughter.”
“It’s for her good!” Dad yells back, but Frank just shakes his head.
“Put down the gun.”
Slowly, behind Dad, Duncan creeps forward, each step as silent as a cat’s.
“Never.”
“Put it down, boss,” Frank says, his voice rising.
To my astonishment, Dad raises his gun, points it at Frank. Frank flinches a little, but keeps his weapon trained on Dad.
“I can’t shoot him, Dee,” Frank whispers to me.
I summon up the courage to bring myself to say it: “You have to, Frank. You have to kill my father.”
But Frank doesn’t move. His finger is down the side of the barrel, not on the trigger.
“Damn it, Frank!” I shout, grabbing hold of the gun, trying to get my finger on the trigger.
The loud bang pierces my ears, sends pain throbbing into my skull. I jump back, look toward Dad, see his revolver smoking.
Frank drops to the ground, his body limp, his eyes open but dead. There’s a hole clean through his chest.
Dad turns the gun on me.