1. Incite
incite
Deirdre
A loud crash jolts me from my slumber, and I sit up as my heart nearly thumps out of my chest. I search for the gun hidden in my pillowcase, and as soon as the cool metal is in my grasp, I switch off the safety.
My bare feet pad toward my bedroom door, and with bated breath I listen closely.
When I’m met with silence, my trembling hands turn the knob to investigate.
Faint clatters sound below me as I exit the room, keeping my back flush to the wall as I toe toward the stairs.
When I reach the mezzanine balcony, I lower into a squat and will myself to remain silent despite the deafening thump in my chest. Heavy footsteps travel the ground floor, followed by the sound of running water. They’re not in a hurry to leave, and I’m growing more impatient by the minute.
Wiping my sweaty palms on my pajamas, I strengthen my grip on the handgun.
Catching my first body—or “first blood” as we Klarkes like to call it—is uncharted territory for me, and I’m ill-equipped. Obviously not with weapons, but mentally I’m out of my depth. I imagine the real thing is never like what you practice. Far messier too.
Shit. I’ll need a clean-up crew, and I don’t even know the protocol.
My thoughts cease as the footsteps grow closer and closer until a pair of arms come into view, holding a broom and dustpan in each hand.
The rest of their body comes into view with their back to me, and what I assume is a balaclava is on their head.
Their movements are intoxicating, and that’s when I realize, this isn’t just anybody. It’s him.
This is it. The moment I’ve anticipated and dreaded. Curiosity has led me here, staring down the man who’s remained a mystery while invading my every thought. The chaos in my mind has silenced, replacing itself with him . If I keep waiting, I’ll be too late.
Take the shot. Now.
“I can do it,” I whisper softly for only me to hear.
I fire two shots off into the darkness. Bullets whiz past his large bicep as he finally angles himself toward me.
My couch explodes with feathers as it absorbs the blows.
I fire twice more, mere inches in front of him as he remains still, rooted to the spot.
Duck feathers litter the air from my bloodlust.
My poor sofa didn’t deserve this.
His gaze travels up the staircase before locking on me. The gunshots echo in my ringing ears as we face off.
I drink him in with bated breath, unsure of his next move. He’s tall and broad, would surely overpower me if given the chance, and I just wasted four bullets. His eyes pierce me, and his head tilts slightly as he stretches his arms to the sides and releases the broom and dustpan.
Clattering sounds flood the space between us, and the broom smacks the floor.
My breath hitches as his feet pull him slowly toward the bottom of the stairs.
His hands raise in surrender, his focus on me.
At this moment, I consider why I didn’t just lock myself in my room, but it’s too late for that.
“Who do you work for?” I bellow.
His lack of response unnerves me.
My trembling hands remain on the weapon, nervous to fire again, but I will if he approaches me. Unable to enjoy awkward silence, an inner thought tumbles from my lips, betraying my stance.
“Do you plan to kill me?”
One of my grandmother’s many mantras rings true as my index hovers the trigger on standby.
Klarke’s don’t hide from danger, they incite it.