Bella
Gerrard watches me back away to the wall with amusement.
He’s wearing a dapper pinstriped suit and an unsettling smile. “Bella, Bella, Bella,” he says, spreading his legs.
I don’t say anything.
His watery blue gaze is roving over me. “Missed you at the funeral.”
“Please, Gerrard, please. Let me go.”
He runs a single finger over his cheek and licks his lips. “It really is a tricky situation. I mean, Emilio told me what you’ve been up to.” He wags his finger at me. “You naughty girl.”
“Gerrard, please. You’ll be rid of me, I’ll leave here, I’ll do anything, anything… but this.”
Gerrard 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.
“Gerrard…” I say.
“Oh come onnn, Bella. You know you’ve wanted this since the first time we met.”
I shake my head. “Gerrard, 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 and spreads his arms. “So, Bella, what do you say?”
I shake my head again and rush to the other corner of the room. “No. No, I won’t!”
Gerrard 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 and press my face up into it, closing 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, pleading with my own.
“Oh Bella, don’t you get it?” he says, 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.”
“Gerrard—”
The gun slides up to my lips.
“Do it.”
I unbutton and unzip them, then slide them down.
Gerrard glances down and 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 hands shaking, I undo my shirt, button by button, wishing there was an endless number of them. My shirt now open, Gerrard 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 Gerrard’s eyes makes it clear: There is no getting out of this; he’ll just shoot and rape you anyway.
So, I take off my button-up, then unclasp my bra and let it drop to the floor.
Gerrard lets out a growl of pleasure and 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 out, 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 Bella, 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 out, yanking down his briefs.
I twist away as he shoves into me and a gunshot goes off.
His penis is right against my outer lips, millimeters away from penetration. Gerrard 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, Paula’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, Paula throws a squinty look around the room. “You alright there Bella?”
I throw my shirt back on, speaking amidst my redressing fumbles: “Yes, Paula! Thank you – I’ll be right out!” I scramble into my pants then hurry to the flap door, avoiding looking at Gerrard’s motionless body.
I crawl out, stand up and turn to Paula. 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, and adds, “As soon as I heard what he was trying to do, I knew what I had to.”
I gape at Paula, 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, Bella. Upstairs, Emilio is up to no good. Just now he brought a blonde man through the house with a gun pressed to the back of his head.”
I gape at her and 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, then pause at the foot of it. “Paula, 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 she shakes her head again. “No, if I left now I could never forgive myself. Besides who will look after Muffin?”
My stomach twists with guilty fear. “Paula… where is Muffin?”
“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 Paula, I gesture to the closet. “Ok, wait there for me.” I drop the napkin to the ground and take the gun in my hand. “I’m going to put a stop to this.”
But Paula doesn’t move.
“Please,” I say “I’ll be fine. Remember who won all the shooting competitions when we were young?”
A knowing smile spreading on her face, Paula nods. “Your brother was never much good at anything,” she says as she returns to the closet with Muffin. 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,” she explains.
I nod and 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 Emilio.
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, and peer around into the living room. Anton and Remy have their guns on the table and 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 and shoot Anton’s hand, then Remy’s. As their hands go red and their faces contort, I aim at their other hands and shoot again. They’re yelling, jiggling their arms uselessly to grab their guns at the table.
I hurry over. “Where is he?” I demand.
They glare back at me, still jerking their arms, trying to get up.
I punch Remy and aim my gun at his head. “Where is he?”
“Outside,” Anton croaks out.
“Thanks,” I mutter.
I smash his head on the table, then do the same to Remy. That should take care of them for now.
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.