Toni
Clarence watches me back away to the wall with amusement.
He’s wearing a dapper pinstriped suit and an unsettling smile. “Toni, Toni, Toni,” he says, spreading his legs.
I don’t say anything.
His watery blue gaze is roving over me. “Missed you at the funeral.”
“Please,” I say, “Clarence, please. Let me go.”
He runs a single finger over his cheek, licks his lips. “It really is a tricky situation. I mean, Carlos told me what you’ve been up to.” He wags his finger at me. “You naughty girl.”
“Clarence please. You’ll be rid of me, I’ll leave here, I’ll do anything, anything… but this.”
Clarence runs his finger over his other cheek. “Anything, eh?”
I stare at him uncomprehendingly, not wanting to comprehend.
He unbuttons his black pants, then unzips them, and at once I understand.
“Clarence…” I say.
“Oh come onnn, Toni. You know you’ve wanted this since the first time we met.”
I shake my head, say, “Clarence, please.”
When he rises, his pants stay on the ground. Through his sleek black underwear, I can see his giant penis. He steps out of his pants, spreads his arms. “So, Toni, what do you say?”
I shake my head, rush to the other corner of the room. “No. No I won’t!”
Clarence purses his lips. “Ah well, guess we’ll have to do it the other way. He advances slowly, lifting his gun. “Don’t move.”
I shrink into the wall, press my face up into it, close my eyes.
The edge of the gun presses into my chest. “Open your eyes.”
I open them.
“Look at me.”
I look into his ice blue eyes, plead with my own.
“Oh Toni, don’t you get it?” he’s saying, rubbing his gun up and down between my breasts, “I like it when you beg.” His gun slides down further, to my pants, inside them. “Take them off.”
“Clarence—”
The gun slides up to my lips.
“Do it.”
I unbutton and unzip them, slide them down.
Terence glances down, grins.
“Lace ruffles? Almost like you knew.” His gun slides back down, slips under them, between my legs. He cocks the rifle. “Your shirt now. Unbutton it.”
I do. My hand shaking, I undo my shirt, button by button, wishing there was an endless number of them.
My shirt now open, Clarence runs his gun over my bra.
“You know what to do now.”
My whole body is trembling now.
Maybe I should just let him shoot me. Anything would be better than this.
But the cold want in Clarence’s eyes make it clear: There will be no getting out of this; he’d just shoot me and rape me anyway.
So, I take off my button-up, then unclasp my bra and let it drop to the floor.
Clarence lets out a growl of pleasure, presses his erection into me.
“You feel that?”
I burrow my head into the wall, and he continues, “I’m going to fuck you and you’re going to like it.”
I twist to face him.
“Fuck you,” I hiss, and he smiles.
He grabs both my breasts and squeezes. Traitorous spasms of painful pleasure spread through my body, and, as he fondles me, he whispers in my ear, “Oh Toni, I know you all too well. I know the more you resist, the more you want it.”
He pulls down my underwear so they drop to the ground, then pulls down his.
I shove myself away, but he grabs me by the waist.
“Careful,” he growls, yanking down his briefs.
I twist away as he shoves into me and a gunshot goes off.
His penis right against my outer lips, millimeters away from penetration, Clarence shudders. His face registers stupefaction as he looks down at the red patch growing on his shirt. Another blast and he collapses to the ground.
On his back, he convulses for a moment before falling still.
Through the flap door, Maria Fernanda’s kindly old face peers out.
“Did I do it? Is he dead?”
“Yes!” I bleat.
As I stumble off to the side so she can’t see my humiliating state, Maria Fernanda throws a squinty look around the room.
“You alright there Toni?”
I throw my shirt back on, speak amidst my redressing fumbles, “Yes Maria Fernanda! Thank you – I’ll be right out!”
I scramble into my pants then hurry to the flap door, avoiding looking at Clarence’s motionless body.
I crawl out, stand up and turn to Maria Fernanda.
Flopped on the armchair, legs akimbo, she’s holding the gun in a napkin as if it’s a chocolate chip cookie.
She murmurs, half to herself, clearly in shock at what she just did, “Mad, mad business. Just stuck my head and hand in, pointed where I thought the thing should go and – boom! – it went.”
She shakes her head, glances at the gun, says, “As soon as I heard what he was trying to do, I knew what I had to.”
I gape at Maria Fernanda, but her white face betrays nothing, is oblivious, doesn’t even notice my gaze.
“Where did you get the gun?” I ask.
“Your father’s room. There’s one in almost every other drawer.”
With the napkin, she hands me the gun.
Then, standing up and smoothing her skirt, she says, “Careful Toni. Upstairs, Carlos is up to no good. Just now he brought an albino man through the house with a gun pressed to the back of his head.”
I gape at her, blurt out, “What do you mean, just now? As in, five minutes ago?”
She nods, then shakes her head wistfully.
“This used to be a respectable house, a peaceful home. Your father never would have done such a thing.”
I hurry to the staircase, pause at the foot of it.
“Maria Fernanda, you need to get out of here. Maybe go to our cottage in Bayfield. Take your phone, and I’ll contact you when this is all over.”
But Maria Fernanda shakes her head again.
“No, if I left now I could never forgive myself. Besides who will look after Jane?”
My stomach twists with guilty fear.
“Maria Fernanda… where is Jane?”
“Why, the same place I was until I heard your brother come home: in the vacuum closet downstairs.”
I hurry over to the closet, throw it open and practically burst into tears at the sight of my wagging-tailed, lolling-tongued dog. My little darling.
Turning to Maria Fernanda, I gesture to the closet.
“Ok, wait there for me-” I drop the napkin to the ground, take the gun in my hand – “I’m going to put a stop to this.”
But Maria Fernanda doesn’t move.
“Please Maria Fernanda,” I say “I’ll be fine. Remember who won all the shooting competitions when we were young?”
A knowing smile spreading on her face, Maria Fernanda nods, mutters, “Your brother was never much good at anything,” as she returns to the closet with Jane.
Before I shut the door, she hands me a lion-handled knife.
“It may come in handy.”
I turn it over in my hand, the wooden head of the beast looking strangely familiar.
“It was your mother’s,” Maria Fernanda explains.
I nod, whisper, “Thank you.”
I tuck it in my pocket and shut the closet door.
There’s no time to think of that, of her. There’s only time for what I’m doing now – stopping Carlos.
I turn to the staircase.
Inhale, then exhale.
This is it. These next few minutes will decide everything.
I run up to the stairs, down the hallway to the corner, peer around into the living room.
Antonio and Roger have their guns on the table, are on their phones.
There’s two of them and one of me. I’m only going to get one shot at this.
I step out, shoot Antonio’s hand, then Roger’s.
As their hands go red and their faces contort, I aim at their other hands, shoot again.
They’re yelling, jiggling their arms uselessly to grab their guns at the table.
I hurry over, demand, “Where is he?”
They glare back at me, still jerking their arms, trying to get up.
I punch Roger, aim my gun at his head.
“Where is he?”
“Outside,” Antonio croaks.
“Thanks,” I say.
I smash his head into the table, then do the same to Roger.
That should take care of them for now.
Then I hurry to the glass door, where, in the distance, I can see two figures: one standing, and one on its knees.
I rush out, saying a silent prayer: Please God, don’t let me be too late.