saggy section of vine-covered fence.
“What the fuck?” Randy’s bellow of rage, coming from somewhere inside the body shop, made me cringe. For an instant, I wondered if I could go through with the plan. I looked toward Joe, and there, standing in the grass right between us, was Michelle. She was wet and shivering, staring toward the garage with a fixed expression that told me something: even in death, she was afraid of the man who’d killed her.
So I took a deep breath and let it out slowly. If this poor girl could face down the monster, so could I. If he got away with what he’d done to Michelle, he’d do it again to some other girl, I had no doubt.
And then there he was, bursting through the front door with a sawed-off shotgun in his hands.
Oh, shit. Why hadn’t I thought of this? He was a redneck who lived in the back of a garage in rural Georgia— of course he’d have a sawed-off shotgun.
“Where are you, you fuckin’ rat bastard?” he shouted, scanning the parking lot with his furious gaze. He cockedthe shotgun, the cha-chick noise it made sounding like certain death. “I’m gonna blow your fuckin’ head off!”
I looked at Joe—he was motioning with his hand and mouthing the words, “Stay down.”
Like he needed to tell me that.
“Don’t worry about the shotgun,” Michelle said calmly. “That thing is old, and he didn’t take care of it. His first shot will blow it to pieces—I dropped an extra shell down the barrel.”
I was dying to know how she’d managed that when she hadn’t even been able to take a piece of toilet paper from my hand earlier in the day, but now was hardly the time to ask.
“Anger gives me strength,” she said, as though reading my mind. “I didn’t know it earlier. I went to his room while you were getting ready, and when I saw him passed out on the bed where he—” she paused, obviously reluctant to finish that particular sentence. “I wanted to kill him.” She looked at her hands. “I couldn’t pick up the gun, but I saw the loose shotgun shells laying there on the table. I had to concentrate really hard, but I managed to pick one up and drop it down the barrel.” She looked at me, and her face was hard. “My granddaddy taught me about guns. That one is a rusty piece of crap.”
All I could do was stare at her, dumbfounded. And hugely relieved.
“I couldn’t let him hurt you,” she said.
“Come on out, you motherfucker! I know you’re here!” Randy pointed the shotgun toward the sky and fired. There was a deafening explosion, then Randy screamed and fell backward, clawing at his face. The shotgun fell to the ground. The stream of obscenities that poured from his lips would’ve made the devil himself blush.
I couldn’t help but smile with grim satisfaction, and when I looked at Joe, he was doing the same.
Randy’s foul language slowed down some, and I watched as he tentatively lowered his hands, staring at the blood on them, then touching the skin of his cheek gingerly.
“Shrapnel from the barrel,” Michelle said. “I hope it hurts like hell.” Then, to my surprise, she walked toward Randy.
He, of course, couldn’t see her, and he was so focused on the injuries to his face that I doubt he would’ve noticed if he could.
When she got closer, she kicked out at the shotgun. To my surprise, and to Randy’s, the gun actually moved several feet away.
Randy eyed it warily, keeping a hand to his cheek. To him, it would’ve appeared to move all by itself. He moved toward it, reaching out slowly to pick it up.
Michelle kicked it again, sending the shotgun skittering across the dirt parking lot, and Randy jerked his hand away.
He stood up straight, scanning the parking lot nervously.
Michelle walked behind him, entering the open door of the garage. Within seconds, it slammed shut, causing Randy to flinch. He swiveled, reaching for the door handle. The click it made as Michelle locked it from the inside was loud in the
“What the fuck?” Randy’s bellow of rage, coming from somewhere inside the body shop, made me cringe. For an instant, I wondered if I could go through with the plan. I looked toward Joe, and there, standing in the grass right between us, was Michelle. She was wet and shivering, staring toward the garage with a fixed expression that told me something: even in death, she was afraid of the man who’d killed her.
So I took a deep breath and let it out slowly. If this poor girl could face down the monster, so could I. If he got away with what he’d done to Michelle, he’d do it again to some other girl, I had no doubt.
And then there he was, bursting through the front door with a sawed-off shotgun in his hands.
Oh, shit. Why hadn’t I thought of this? He was a redneck who lived in the back of a garage in rural Georgia— of course he’d have a sawed-off shotgun.
“Where are you, you fuckin’ rat bastard?” he shouted, scanning the parking lot with his furious gaze. He cockedthe shotgun, the cha-chick noise it made sounding like certain death. “I’m gonna blow your fuckin’ head off!”
I looked at Joe—he was motioning with his hand and mouthing the words, “Stay down.”
Like he needed to tell me that.
“Don’t worry about the shotgun,” Michelle said calmly. “That thing is old, and he didn’t take care of it. His first shot will blow it to pieces—I dropped an extra shell down the barrel.”
I was dying to know how she’d managed that when she hadn’t even been able to take a piece of toilet paper from my hand earlier in the day, but now was hardly the time to ask.
“Anger gives me strength,” she said, as though reading my mind. “I didn’t know it earlier. I went to his room while you were getting ready, and when I saw him passed out on the bed where he—” she paused, obviously reluctant to finish that particular sentence. “I wanted to kill him.” She looked at her hands. “I couldn’t pick up the gun, but I saw the loose shotgun shells laying there on the table. I had to concentrate really hard, but I managed to pick one up and drop it down the barrel.” She looked at me, and her face was hard. “My granddaddy taught me about guns. That one is a rusty piece of crap.”
All I could do was stare at her, dumbfounded. And hugely relieved.
“I couldn’t let him hurt you,” she said.
“Come on out, you motherfucker! I know you’re here!” Randy pointed the shotgun toward the sky and fired. There was a deafening explosion, then Randy screamed and fell backward, clawing at his face. The shotgun fell to the ground. The stream of obscenities that poured from his lips would’ve made the devil himself blush.
I couldn’t help but smile with grim satisfaction, and when I looked at Joe, he was doing the same.
Randy’s foul language slowed down some, and I watched as he tentatively lowered his hands, staring at the blood on them, then touching the skin of his cheek gingerly.
“Shrapnel from the barrel,” Michelle said. “I hope it hurts like hell.” Then, to my surprise, she walked toward Randy.
He, of course, couldn’t see her, and he was so focused on the injuries to his face that I doubt he would’ve noticed if he could.
When she got closer, she kicked out at the shotgun. To my surprise, and to Randy’s, the gun actually moved several feet away.
Randy eyed it warily, keeping a hand to his cheek. To him, it would’ve appeared to move all by itself. He moved toward it, reaching out slowly to pick it up.
Michelle kicked it again, sending the shotgun skittering across the dirt parking lot, and Randy jerked his hand away.
He stood up straight, scanning the parking lot nervously.
Michelle walked behind him, entering the open door of the garage. Within seconds, it slammed shut, causing Randy to flinch. He swiveled, reaching for the door handle. The click it made as Michelle locked it from the inside was loud in the
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