The A-Game (new version)

Chapter 3.

"Steven," I croaked. My left hand flew to my face. Within moments we were piling into the red pickup: Leo in his Star Wars pajamas, Janice in her robe and slippers, I in my sweatpants and tank-top, and Paul in his t-shirt and boxers, simultaneously fitting a gun and holster around his hip. I could almost imagine Janice shooting Paul a disapproving look, but she said nothing. Even she approved of the extra precautions. As for me, I couldn't comprehend it. Guns were for pests, for warding off criminals, for defending oneself. My mother had always been amiable and affectionate. She didn't fit into those categories. She had taught Steven and I to never kill bugs unless they harmed us first. An image of her cupping a spider gently in her palms flashed before my eyes. I saw her face, serene, framed in her dark brown curls, the hair I had always wanted. I rocked back and forth in the seat. A gun was a precaution against my mother, the one who read to us every night. Even at fifteen, I never grew tired of her stories. I never grew tired of her voice. She would play the piano and sing so beautifully that the neighbors would sit outside on their porches so they could listen. When I thought of my mother, a gun just wasn't in the picture. The fact that such a thing was a precaution in a situation involving my mother was so inconceivable that I almost thought it was a joke. But it wasn't.

The drive felt like an eternity. Rain droplets splashed down the window almost as fast as my tears. When we pulled into my driveway I was the first one out. I barely heard the car doors slam shut, 3 following behind mine. I was barely aware of Paul calling my name. When I climbed up the porch steps, I was aware of the door that hung open on it's hinges. I was aware of the tiny droplets of blood that appeared to be engraved into the grains of the wood. I paused to rest my fingers on them. How long ago had it been since she had attacked me? Paul sidled up behind me, readying his gun. My heart beat rapidly in my chest and against my hand, which resting in the sling, caused it to rest right over my heart. I wasn't surprised to find the door to my house open. It had been how I had left it, right? I stepped into the entryway, but was surprised to hear Paul call me from behind.

"Did your mom shoot at you?" I felt dread swallow my heart whole, they I didn't know why.

"No," I said, my chest growing tight. "No she didn't, why?" Paul gestured with his fingers for me to come toward him, where, upon arriving he touched three dime-sized holes in the door. His face was grave as he stated what we both had been thinking.

"Bullet holes." I looked up at him, and could've sworn that I saw him age before my eyes. His face seemed to crumple in on itself, visibly expressing exactly how I felt inside. I wondered if he could see it in me too.

"STEVEN!?" I shouted. The air felt thick, and my chest heaved, my lungs vacant of air. I felt like a compressed airbag. Tension was bunched in my chest and little springs were coiled behind my eyes, their elastic tension holding back the tears, though I could feel them burning like acid as they worked their way to my tear ducts. I choked back a sob. "STEVEN!?" I stumbled blindly towards the hallway. Could Mom have attacked him with a gun? Did we even have a gun in the house? Was she feasting on his remains at this very second? As I approached the hall, I saw something that both confused me, and relieved me. I stopped dead in my tracks and blinked as I looked down at a large puddle of blood on the floor. My father was gone.

I felt Paul come up behind me, followed by Janice and Leo.

"Leo, stay in the truck," Janice said.

"What is it?" Paul asked.

"My Dad, he's gone." I took a deep breath and slumped against the wall. "Oh thank God," I said, letting out a deep breath. I could tell Paul was still confused. "The bullet holes," I explained. "My Dad must've made them. He was badly injured but he must've gotten up when Mom attacked me, acquired a gun and escaped with Steven. He maybe fought her along the way, but the point is that Steven's okay." I heard a groan and turned to face Paul. "Was that you?" I asked him. He shook his head and pressed his finger against his lip, signaling for me to be quiet.