Abby Girl: I hate guns.

Jo-Jo: why?

Abby Girl: they kill people

Jo-Jo: It’s the people using them. You know that.

Abby Girl: are you sure? Because Australia has never had a school shooting, ever.

Jo-Jo: is this because of the scare you had at your college this week?

Abby Girl: maybe.

Jo-Jo: if I was there, I’d hook you up with some video game therapy.

Abby Girl: but you’re not here. You’re halfway around the world.

The glass from my kitchen window sprayed outwards, chunks flying in the sink and skittering across the stove. The sound was so loud I winced and tried to hold Joey’s gun steady in both hands. It wasn’t the first time I’d held a gun. Evan had seen to that. I leveled it at Malachai, tilting my head for aim and trying to ignore Zoey’s wails from the back of the house. I knew she was scared but there was nothing I could do.

Joey, where are you?

“Just give us Zoey!” Malachai screamed at me, taking a step toward me again.

Malachai had always been a little different in high school, I knew, and later I would wonder if that’s what caused him to walk toward a woman holding a gun—not once, but twice. My brain tried to focus on the black ski mask pullover on his face and the fact that he was wearing the same outfit I’d seen him in two weeks ago at the restaurant.

“Don’t come any closer,” I warned. The cool night air from the shattered window breezed through the house and I shivered, but the gun never wavered.

“But my mother. I promised her I would bring Zoey back.”

“I said,” I interrupted, tired of hearing him whine since the minute he stepped through the sliding door to the porch and surprised me, “get out of my house!”

“She didn’t know what she was doing, giving her back.”

Without waiting, I squeezed the trigger again. This bastard wasn’t getting anywhere near Zoey.

The Glock was heavier than anything Evan had ever owned. It clicked. I pulled the trigger again and again. Nothing.

“Jesus Chr—”

I screamed as I watched Joey fly from the corner of my vision straight into Malachai. Everything after that happened in a blur: Joey ducked low, shouldering into Malachai’s knees and throwing him into the ground in front of the fridge. Malachai shrieked like a little girl and started to scream, gurgling out his threats as Joey straddled him. Joey threw punch after punch into Malachai’s face and Malachai just whimpered.

The gun was still in my hand. I looked down at it in horror, and the night Evan died flashed into my mind. I threw it to the ground and backed up against the small dining room table, the back of my ankles hitting Zoey’s high chair. Gasping, unable to breathe, I pressed my hands to my mouth.

I had almost shot someone.

And it wasn’t even the first time.

Just like that night, Zoey screamed just as loud from the back bedroom.

Malachai was still whimpering and weakly flailing his arms, and then the noise stopped. Joey was in a rage, and I crept forward to pry Joey off by the shoulders. At first, he tried to knock me away but then I grabbed him again.

“Joey!” I yelled his name right in his ear, trying to get him to focus on me. I piled my hands into his hair and pulled. He bellowed and groped at my hands, but I jerked hard, so his face pointed up at me.

“Abby?” He blinked.

His breath reeked of alcohol. So much for that one drink, I thought, and reminded myself to yell at him later.

He crawled off Malachai, whose face was a bloody mess now and both his eyes shut. I didn’t know if Joey had hit him that hard or if he’d passed out. I didn’t care.

Joey’s phone had fallen from his back pocket and I scooped it up, tossing it to him. “Call 9-1-1! I’ve got to get Zoey. And you take care of…that!” I kicked the gun toward him.

I raced down the hallway, nearly falling against the wall as the adrenaline in my system started to subside and left me feeling woozy. I scooped Zoey up and collapsed onto the carpet in front of the crib, holding her to my chest as tight as I could.

In the distance, sirens wailed, covering the sound of Zoey’s tearful cries. Someone else must have heard the window shatter and called the police. Get rid of the gun! My brain screamed at me frantically.

Tears streamed down my face and I choked back a sob as Zoey began to fidget against me. Her cries subsided, and she pressed her face into my chest. I rocked back and forth there for what seemed like an eternity, until I heard the front door open and Joey’s voice, tired, and exhausted, greeted by a flood of voices.

Then, Joey’s voice: “Wait, what you doing? He broke in…Abby! Abby, come tell them what happened!”

It was then I realized his voice was slurred. How much did he drink? And why did he sound so frantic?

Zoey was quiet, but wide eyed, scared. I gripped her on my hip and stood, stumbling out of the bedroom and down the hall. At the far end, two paramedics pushed a gurney up the stairs and into the kitchen. Two cops came in behind them, talking calmly to Joey.

Joey stood between them in handcuffs.

“Abby,” he said, looking at me. “Abby, tell them what happened. Please.”

I cleared my throat. “I…” My mouth went dry as I looked beyond Joey to see the paramedics lifting Malachai onto the stretcher. A third cop was busy picking up Joey’s Glock and depositing it into a plastic bag.

I groaned. Joey hadn’t had time to take care of the gun. Not that it mattered, I obviously hadn’t shot anyone with it. I was grateful for that at least.

“Miss?” the officer on the right asked me. “Your name, please?”

“Abigail Jame—er, Years. Abigail Years.” What was wrong with me, why had I given my maiden name? “I can get my purse, but I, uh, where is it?” I looked around.

“I’ll check it in a second,” the cop said.

“What exactly happened here?”

“I, uh, I’m sorry.” I hugged Zoey with both hands now. “I was in my bedroom, I had just put my daughter down for the night, in her bedroom, and laid down myself.”

“And?” the same cop urged me to continue.

“I heard my back-sliding door open, and I knew it wasn’t Joey. He’d never come in like that. I grabbed his gun from under the bed and tried to shoot him.”

“Him?”

“Malachai is my brother-in-law,” I said pointedly. Zoey whimpered, and I squeezed her tighter. “Shh,” I whispered to her.

“Ah, I see. And you shot him or shot at him? Is that why the window is shattered?” the second cop asked.

I nodded. Joey was staring at me, mouthing it’s okay, tell them what happened. He looked so helpless in handcuffs, and I knew no matter what I said, they were taking him with them.

My father’s voice echoed in my head then: honesty above all others, Abby. Integrity is your greatest weapon.

Everything spilled out of me at once. “Yes, I shot at him. But hit the window. Thankfully.” Purposely, I added in my head. I shook it off and continued. “Then Joey came in and tackled him. Pushed him down, I guess. He punched him a few times, I couldn’t really see.”

Joey winced.

The third officer joined us, as the stretcher slipped by and out the front door. The paramedics didn’t seem in a hurry and chatted about coffee. Malachai mustn’t have been too badly injured.

“Is this gun registered to you, Mr. …?” Third cop asked, frowning.

Joey nodded. “Harrison. Joseph Harrison. My permit is in my wallet in my back pocket, along with my identification.”

The cops nodded and the one on the left asked, “And how much have you had to drink tonight, sir?”

“Uh,” Joey started, and I glared at him.

What happened to the one beer rule! I wanted to scream.

“Just a couple of beers,” Joey finally spit out. “Took a cab home, of course.”

The cops nodded, some unspoken language between them, which annoyed me. One spoke again: “And who is Mr. Harrison in relation to you, Miss Years?”

“He’s…” I licked my lips. It was my turn in the hot seat without a prepared statement. What were we, anyway? “Boyfriend,” I finished.

Joey beamed at me as the cop reached behind Joey and produced his wallet. The officer nodded he’d heard me as he pulled out Joey’s ID and concealed weapons permit and stepped outside, the radio crackling on his shoulder.

“Miss Years, I’ll need that ID now,” cop three told me.

I realized I still didn’t know their names. I was having trouble focusing on the plate under their badge anyway. I spotted my purse on the shelf by the door and snatched it up with one hand. Pulling my wallet free awkwardly, I handed them my ID and went back to holding Zoey with both hands.

“Hi little one.” The cop smiled at Zoey, finally acknowledging her. “Who’s this?” He looked at me.

“Zoey, my daughter.”

“How old?” He checked my ID and radioed in the number into his shoulder.

“Nearly two,” I said. I gulped again. If Joey went to jail, if I went to jail, what would happen to Zoey?

I looked at Joey. He nodded, wincing. Be strong, he mouthed.

The relief washed over me. He wasn’t upset. He just wanted me to hang in here. I was trying.

The cop in front of me handed back my ID. “Thanks,” he said. “I’ve got a three-year-old myself. They are strong-willed demons at times.”

I half smiled, though I didn’t feel like it. “Yes, they are.”

First cop stepped back inside. “She check out?” He said to number three.

“Yeah.”

Number two was still gripping Joey’s arm. He looked at number one, who nodded.

Three turned to me. “I’m afraid since it’s his gun, and we aren’t sure what’s happened here, we’re going to place Mr. Harrison under arrest.”

“What?” I gasped. “But I told you, I’m the one who fired it!”

Two and Three were busy pushing Joey through the door as One stepped forward. “If your finger prints are on the weapon, we’ll have another matter on our hands. However, this looks like just breaking and entering, so we…”

“He kidnapped my daughter!” I blurted. I grabbed Zoey tighter. Why the hell hadn’t I said that earlier; like the minute they walked in the door?

All three looked right at me. “What did you say?”

“Call Officer Knowles! He knows about the kidnapping; he was on the case!”

One, who I knew was clearly higher ranking now, nodded to three, who stepped out the door, and was on his radio once more.

I started to tell them about the kidnapping.

“We’ve had an officer stationed outside our house for two weeks,” Joey supplied when I finished. “I didn’t see him when I came in, though.”

The officers all exchanged a look. “There was a bomb threat across town. He may have left his position.”

I narrowed my eyes at them as Zoey wound her hands in my hair with a yank. “He just left?”

“Not that he would have seen Malachai sneak through the back, when your house opens onto an alleyway,” Joey said. His words came out slowly, measured.

Officer Three came back in, then. “I’ve got ahold of Knowles. He confirmed.”

“So, what are you going to do?” I asked. “You can’t take him to jail. He didn’t do anything wrong!”

“On the contrary, he beat a man unconscious,” Officer One said gently. “I’m sorry, Miss Years, but that’s still a crime, despite breaking and entering. We have to take him in to see if this Malachai will press charges when he wakes up in the hospital.”

Officer Two began to read Joey his rights as he and Three escorted him outside.

“Bye!” Zoey yelled. She looked at me and frowned. I frowned back and stuck out my tongue. She did the same and giggled. I wanted to be happy with her, but I couldn’t. Watching Joey walk out that door, it was killing me. How could we come back from this?

Officer One stepped toward me and produced a card. “I’m sure Knowles will be in touch, but here’s this as well. Since the suspect is in custody, we’ll leave you to the rest of your night, ma’am.” His tipped his hat. Before closing the door behind him, he turned and said over his shoulder, “For what it’s worth, ma’am, I’m sorry about your boyfriend.”

“Not nearly as sorry as I am,” I said, holding back the tears.

He gave me a half smile and pulled the door shut.

The contents of my purse were mostly scattered on the floor. My school ID, a tampon, some chap stick, and my cell phone. I scooped up my phone and dialed the first number that came to mind.

“Abby? It’s late. Are you okay, honey?” My mother’s voice was full of worry, as it had been since Zoey’s kidnapping.

“Mom, Malachai was here.” I waited for her hysterical response. “Yes. No. I’m fine. Look, can I come over?”

“Sure, sweetie. Is Joey with you?” Her last sentence was cautious, and I knew why.

“No, they, uh, I’ll just be there soon, okay?”

I hung up with my mother and looked around my kitchen. Speckles of blood splattered the linoleum, and the kitchen window was still broken, of course, letting in the freezing night air. I turned and deposited Zoey in her crib for a second, where she promptly started to cry. I ignored it for the time being. Rushing to the bathroom, I lost my dinner to the porcelain god, my stomach screaming in agony. It wasn’t the first time in the last week I’d felt sick, but mostly I had just ignored it. I couldn’t think about my greatest fear.

Now was not the time to focus on my turbulent stomach, so flipping out a washrag and some Windex, I cleaned up the blood in the kitchen, pushing away the image and the horrifying, soft, crunching sound of Joey’s fists landing in Malachai’s face. I grabbed a sheet from the closet and tacked it up over the window. I’d have to call my homeowner’s insurance in the morning, but this would work for now. Lastly, I locked the sliding door. I was a fool to leave it open earlier.

Zoey was still crying when I packed a few things into her diaper bag and picked her up. “We’re going to grandma’s!” I said, trying to keep my voice happy.

“G’ma!” she said excitedly. Her little legs kicked my waist.

“Let’s go!” I told her, still sounding as happy as I could.

Inside, however, I couldn’t stop thinking about watching Joey being escorted out the door.

And even worse than that? I still felt the weight of the gun in my hand.

I hated guns.