FORTY #2
He's blocking the way to the patio door, so I go right and head for the stairs. He leaps toward me, grabbing my foot and making me trip as I get up four steps. My ribs slam hard into the edge of the stairs, but I keep going, desperately clawing at the wood to pull me up.
"Where are you going, bitch?"
The word bitch causes the anger to spike hard, and I channel every bit of Ruby inside of me.
I'm so goddamn sick of men taking their rage out on me .
Twisting, I lift my free foot, and with a feral cry deep from my chest, I slam the heel of my foot right in the center of Rick's face. There’s a very satisfying crack followed by Rick squawking in pain. I do it again, and then feel a wet warmth.
His blood.
Once more, his face drops to the wood, howling in pain.
His now crooked nose, his lips, and his chin are all coated in his blood.
"Am I your bitch, now?!" I scream, before the front door is completely kicked in. I gasp, terrified that he somehow brought reinforcements, men, to kill me, take me away from my husband, from my home.
And I move to run, but stop.
Because the man standing in the doorway, breathing heavily, looks so much like my husband.
Familiar blue eyes scan the scene and blaze in fury when they land on us.
It's not my husband, though.
It's his father.
The surprise allows Rick to recover slightly and realize he's outnumbered now.
Desperate, eyes wild, Rick lifts his arm up and points the gun right at me.
I gasp and throw my hands up instinctually, waiting for the pain.
And in that terrible split second, all I can think about is Hayden.
My husband.
His light brown hair, beautiful blue eyes, and shy smile. The way he called me Emerlad the first time we met. The way I was halfway in love with him by the end of our meal at Margaret' s. The way he accepted me exactly as I was, never asking me to be less... well, less me.
I think of how this will destroy him.
How much I love him.
How much I'll miss him.
How if heaven exists, I hope I'm there waiting for him.
He is my home in this life and the next.
The gun goes off.
And I think it's the end.
But there's no pain.
Hearing loud thumps and grunts, my eyes snap open.
Hal slams into Rick with a roar, both landing hard on the stairs and now fighting over the gun.
Rick head-butts Hal, but my father-in-law doesn't loosen his grip on Rick's wrists, tilting the weapon away from me.
Rick snarls and bucks against him, but Hal snarls back, holding him tighter.
The gun is nearly wrenched from his hands, but Rick holds on with a death grip.
Hal uses one arm and punches Rick hard, right in his already broken nose, and looks up to me. Rick's bloody face is twisted in rage, and he jerks his arm.
He bellows, "Run, Emerald! Run—"
Pop.
Hal gasps, his body jolting. He keeps his eyes on me, but his grip seems to slacken.
One hand goes to his stomach, where red blooms across his blue sweater.
He's been shot.
My stomach drops.
"Hal! "
Rick rips his arm loose just enough to bring the gun up again. He looks right at me over Hal's shoulder, smiling with his bloody mouth.
Pop.
This time, the red spreads from Hal's upper chest.
Red. Blood. So much of it.
From Hal's chest.
From Rick's nose.
Too much blood.
Too much red.
"Run," he gurgles, blood spilling from the corner of his mouth. He lifts one shaking hand and points upstairs. "Run."
I don't think twice.
I turn and run up the rest of the stairs, right into our bedroom, slam the door shut, and lock it.
My eyes scan the room—catching on the door to the balcony, wondering if I could get outside from there, but there's no way down, and the drop would no doubt break my ankle.
A loud bang against the bedroom door makes me jump, and Rick throws his body against it to break it down. I open the door to the outside, hoping Rick will think I left, and then quickly duck into our walk-in closet. Shutting the door, I bury myself deep among my clothes.
Two loud pops make me press my hands over my mouth, smothering my whimper.
I'm shaking once more, thinking of Hal bleeding out. I don't hear anyone else moving. Oh, God, is he dead?
I need to call for help. My phone was in my back pocket, but when I went to grab it, it was not there. My phone! Where's my phone? Then I hear it, the muffled, but unmistakable sound of Coldplay's 'Yellow' .
Hayden. He's calling me. Footsteps move in the bedroom, like he's searching for the phone, too. I stay silent, praying that he doesn't come to the closet, that he thinks I jumped out the window.
The song ends, and then restarts, until it's abruptly cut off.
"Sorry, Haymaker, we're playing hide and seek."
I squeeze my eyes shut, pressing my hands firmer to my mouth so I don't call out for my husband. All I want is him, but I want him to stay away. I know he won't. But I don't want him hurt.
I don't want him dead.
"Emerald?" Rick calls, his voice teasing. "Oh, Emerald... come out and play..."
Hayden...
Rick grunts and speaks to my husband on the phone. I can hear muffled snarling from Hayden, even through the door.
"Emerald's no fun. Let's play a game, Haymaker. It's called—can you get here before I put a bullet in your pretty little Emerald's head? Tick-tock, hero."
Rick chuckles before I hear a loud crack, before three hard stomps.
My phone. Broken.
"Let's see... hm... I don't think you went outside, so you have to still be in here. Let's make this fun, Emerald. How about Marco, Polo.... Marco?" he calls, and I can hear his footstep softly padding around the room.
He kicks open the door to the bathroom. I flinch.
"You're not playing fair, Emerald," he calls, his shrill voice a sing-song tone before it drops. "I always wanted to play with you, you know that? Marco?"
I clench my jaw shut, trying to control my breathing. His shadow crosses back and forth from the bottom of the closet door, and I realize that hiding is futile. There are only so many places to hide in this room.
I won't get out of here by hiding.
My eyes search the closet for something, a weapon, a tool, anything to defend myself.
Then my eyes see it, my purse, and inside the can of mace my dad gave me last month.
Something to add a little more security. To make me feel safe going out alone.
When Hayden isn't with me.
As Rick continues speaking, I slowly reach up and grab my purse off the hook.
"Marco?"
Slowly, I unzip it.
"You saw it that night, didn't you? What I can do. How can I make even the most annoyingly loyal man fall... Marco?"
He slams on the ground, then laughs. It sounds cruel.
"Nope, not under the bed... hm... that only leaves one more hiding place..."
My hand finally finds the can, and carefully, silently, I stand up and step toward the door.
My head throbs.
My chest aches.
My jaw clenches.
And I'm fucking pissed.
"You know, I didn't even know the ape who hurt you, but it was just... perfect. I couldn't have planned it better myself," he chuckles, before sighing. His shadow is right outside the door, and the knob turns slightly.
"But, if you want a job done well, do it yourself... "
The door pulls open.
"Marco!"
My finger presses down.
Rick screams as the spray hits him directly in his eyes and he stumbles back, hands going to his face. I unload the can until it stops spraying, duck under the excess, and grab Hayden's hockey bag. With shaky hands, I unzip and take out the large stick.
Running over to Rick, with an animal-like snarl, I slam the stick down, right to Rick's mouth.
I hear his teeth break and he spits them out onto the carpet.
Just like mine.
And satisfaction rips through me.
I have never felt rage like this.
I scream like a banshee and do it again.
"Polo!"
Blood splatters across my face, landing in my mouth.
Warm and copper.
I lift the stick and hit him again.
"Polo!"
More blood.
He's gurgling now, like that awful noise Hal made.
Hal. Shot dead on my stairs. Rick's bloody smile.
I hit him again.
And again.
"Polo!"
Again.
He's not moving anymore. He's not making a sound.
His blood still splatters on me with every hit .
"Polo!"
Again. Again. Again.
"Polo! Polo! Polo!"
Each shriek is punctuated by a hit.
I do it over and over until Rick's face is a mess.
Like my face months ago.
I can't stop.
I don't stop.
My voice is shrill, not even resembling anything human anymore.
"Polo! Polo! Polo!"