The Library at Mount Char by Scott Hawkins

He leveled the gun at Steve.
    “Yeah,” Steve said. He raised his hands slowly. “OK. No problem.”
    The man stepped forward into the pale light of the streetlamp. His hair stood on end. His eyes rolled wildly in their sockets.
What the hell is wrong with him? Thorazine? Brain damage?
    “You’re under arrest,” the man said again, raising the gun to his shoulder.
    “Right,” Steve said. “OK. Should I turn around now, or…?”
    “Stop or I’ll shoot,” the man said. A trickle of drool ran down the side of his mouth.
    “Wait! Wait, I’ll—”
    “Do it,” Carolyn said.
    The man fired. The muzzle flash was huge and bright in the small room, but Steve seemed not to hear the shot at all. When his visioncleared he was on his back, looking up. Behind him he heard a small, tinkling sound. He rolled his eyes toward it, saw a chunk of glass fall out of the china cabinet. It made a pretty sound.
What’s that on the plates?
he wondered.
It’s all dark and drippy
.
    Carolyn leaned into his field of vision. “I’m sorry,” she said again.
    “I…help…I gotta get home…gotta feed Petey…got…go…”
    She reached down, touched his cheek.
    Darkness.
IV
    W hen Steve was dead, Carolyn took a moment to get hold of herself. She squeezed her eyes shut and blew out a long breath.
    “You’re under arrest,” Detective Miner said again. He had resumed tottering around. Now he was in the corner, his back to her. He took a step forward and bumped into the wall. She walked over to him, turned him around gently, took the shotgun from him. He surrendered it without protest.
    She gave it an expert pump, jacking another round into the chamber, then set it on the dining-room table. She was careful not to look at Steve’s body. Then she took Detective Miner by the shoulders and steered him into the archway between the dining room and the kitchen.
    “Stand here,” she said.
    He focused on her for a moment, then rolled his eyes again. “You’re under arrest,” he said. He didn’t move, though.
    Carolyn walked around to Steve’s right side. She picked up the shotgun and wrapped the dead fingers of his left hand around the pump, holding it in place with her own. She put his right index finger on the trigger. She aimed the gun at Detective Miner.
    Miner watched this without much interest. “Stop or I’ll shoot.”
    She pulled the trigger. The blast caught Miner in the chest, obliterating his heart and lungs and sending a good bit of tissue out a fist-sized hole in his back. He dropped to the floor.
    She set the gun down and walked over to the light switch. There she took off her right glove and rolled her thumb across the brass plate around the switch, careful not to smear. When she was done she put the glove back on.
    Finished now, she took her hands away, leaving the gun in Steve’s grip. She turned around and faced him. Even now she did not allow herself to weep. Instead, with infinite gentleness, she reached down and shut his eyes. “
Dui bu chi
,” she said, touching the skin of his cheek.
“U kamakutu nu,”
she said.
“Je suis désolée
” and
“Ek het jou lief”
and
“Lo siento,” “Mainū māfa kara dēvō”
and
“Het spijt me”
and
“Je mi líto,” “Ik hald fan di
” and
“Ben bunu çözecektir”
and
“A tahn nagara”
and on and on.
    She sat beside Steve’s body, rocking back and forth a little, hugging herself. She took his head in her lap. Silver moonlight lit the room full of broken things. Alone, she dispensed with lies. All that night she held him, brushing his hair with her fingertips, speaking softly, saying, “I’m sorry,” saying, “forgive me,” saying, “I’ll make it better” and “I promise it will be OK,” over and over and over again in every language that there ever was.

INTERLUDE I

    FROM THE EAST, THUNDER
    A fter Isha and Asha were killed, David brought the two deer carcasses back with him to the Library, one over each shoulder. The next morning he skinned them