Recovery (22 page)

I heard his footsteps leaving the room. I quickly pulled on my clothes and reached underneath the couch, where I had placed my gun. Then I noticed that I was shaking. I sat, trying to hold my gun in my unsteady hands, and waited for him to return.

A few minutes later, Dallas came back into the room carrying a flashlight.

“I found this in the kitchen. Do you have anything else we can use for light?” He put the flashlight down on the table beside him.

The arch of light from the flashlights beam lit up the area around me.

Dallas put his gun inside the waistband of his jeans. “I’m not going outside to turn on the generator, in case it’s a trap.”

“I have hurricane lamps and extra flashlights in the hall closet upstairs,” I said as I pointed to the stairs.

“I’ll go get them. You stay down here.”

“I thought I was to stay with you at all times?”

“I’ve already swept the house. There is no one in here. The front and back doors are securely locked. It will be all right.” He nodded to the gun in my hands. “And you need to calm down before you shoot somebody with that thing.” He nodded to my gun.

“I’m calm,” I insisted, my voice quivering.

He came to the couch and placed his hands over mine. “Your knuckles are white and you’re shaking. Take a deep breath.” I did as I was told. “I want you to remember what this person did to David. Don’t be afraid, Nicci. Be angry. It will keep you focused and relaxed.” He turned from the couch, walked out of the room, and headed up the stairs.

I started thinking about what he had said. About what had been taken from me. The happiness David and I had shared. Then I thought about what Katrina had also taken from me, and just as Dallas had said, the fear inside of me started to melt away. I could feel the anger rising and I grew calmer, stronger. I was no longer weak and helpless. I clicked off the safety on my gun, feeling the surge of adrenalin course through me.

“Time to end this,” I said to myself.

Dallas returned downstairs carrying an array of hurricane oil lamps and large electric lanterns.

“I found these,” he stated as he entered the room. “Let’s set them up around the downstairs. That should get us through the night.”

We spread the lanterns and lamps out around the living room, landing, and kitchen.

We stayed in the living room the rest of the evening. Dallas huddled near the front windows as I sat on the couch, nursing my gun.

“Don’t vary our routine,” Dallas instructed from his place on the floor. “At ten thirty we turn out the lights for bed and then you can grab a little sleep while I keep watch.”

I gave a sarcastic laugh. “Yeah, like I’ll be able to sleep.”

At ten thirty, I did as directed and went around the room turning out all of the lights. Dallas pretended to settle down in his bed on the floor next to the couch. I crawled up onto the big green sofa and pulled the blanket over me.

“Go to sleep,” Dallas called out to me in the darkness. “And click the safety back on your gun. I don’t need you waking up and shooting me in the middle of the night.”

I didn’t sleep. I lay there in the darkness listening to Dallas breathing, to the crickets outside, and even to my own racing heartbeat. At every new and uncertain noise, I could feel my heart jump into my throat, but I never heard Dallas move. His silence was disconcerting. I wanted to call out into the blackness of the living room and hear his voice answer me.

Then a light thud came from outside. I bolted up on the couch as Dallas rustled around on the floor next to me.

“Be calm,” he softly said to me. “It came from the garage.”

I felt the sudden realization of my worst nightmare grab and take hold of my heart like a vise grip. “Someone’s here,” I whispered.

“Perhaps, or maybe a friendly raccoon is just looking for a place to investigate for the night.”

“I hope you’re right.”

I jumped when I felt his hand on my arm. “Let’s go take a look out the back,” he suggested.

Dallas took my hand and we made our way to the back door. We then peeked through the window in the kitchen.

“It’s hard to see anything,” Dallas murmured to me. “It’s a waxing moon and there should be enough light to see someone out there.”

“Do we go and check it out?”

“No,” he squeezed my hand, “let them come to—”

It was at that moment we both saw a large shadow move across the lawn from the garage and close to the house. Dallas let go of my hand.

“Son of a bitch,” he mumbled beside me.

My insides immediately turned to jelly. My heart was slamming in my chest and the air in the kitchen grew thin around me.
Who’s here,
I thought maddeningly.
Which one is it?

Dallas placed his hand on my shoulder. “Relax. Remember what I told you. Don’t let them have the advantage by scaring you. I’m supposed to be a weak and injured architect. They’re not ready for me.”

I was afraid to move from my spot by the back door. I tried to take a calming breath as I glanced out of the kitchen window. Within seconds I saw a second shadow move out from behind my garage.

“There are two of them,” I almost shouted to Dallas. “I just saw more movement from behind the garage.”

“Two?” he questioned, and then he went to the window for a second look.

He spent a few minutes staring out into the darkness. He turned back to me and took my hand in his. “I don’t see anything.” He gave my hand a reassuring squeeze. “Are you sure? It could just be your nerves.”

I shook my head. “I saw a second shadow. I’m sure of it.”

Dallas sighed. “All right. If there are two of them, we still have surprise on our side.”

He pulled me back through the dark house to the living room.

“What are you going to do?” I asked.

“I’m going to let them come to us,” he replied. “Whatever happens, I need you to be ready to defend yourself.”

My mouth went dry. “Whatever happens? What do you mean by that?”

“If I cannot get to you, or I’m unable to get to you, you will need to do everything you can to protect yourself.”

My limbs felt like wet spaghetti. “I’ll probably just end up shooting myself.”

“Please try not to,” Dallas softly said, squeezing my hand.

He took me to the farthest corner of the living room next to the front window.

He pushed me down onto the cool hardwood floor. “Stay here,” he instructed.

My heart sputtered. “Where are you going?” I frantically asked.

“They will be expecting us to be in the second floor bedroom. I’m going to position myself where I can watch the stairs. Do not come out from this spot until I call for you. Do you understand? Come only when I call for you, and even then, have your gun ready. I might need your help.”

I tightened my grip on the gun in my hand and took a deep breath. I felt Dallas’s lips graze my cheek. “Be careful,” I whispered to him.

“I will.”

I heard his footsteps pad away from me.

I sat there listening to the occasional groan and squeak of the old house. I did not hear anything else, no footsteps, no sound of breaking glass, nothing to send my already overloaded nerves into a meltdown. Then after a few minutes, there was another dulled thud against the back door. I jumped but stayed in my corner.

In the darkness coming from the kitchen I heard footsteps. I waited to see a shadow pass before the living room entrance in front of me, but the room was so black I could see almost nothing. The footsteps were coming closer to the living room, and I could taste the acrid panic rising up in my throat.

A loud crash jolted me from the floor, followed by the assorted grunts of what sounded like two men rolling around by the stairs. I stood motionless in my corner waiting for Dallas to call the all clear, but all I could hear was the thud of flesh pounding on flesh, and perhaps what sounded like the crash of someone’s head against the floor.

I listened intently, my heart jumping with every moan, with every grunt, and then suddenly the noises stopped. I stood in my corner and waited expectantly for Dallas to call out to me, but he never did. As the seconds ticked by, I held the gun at the ready in my hands. Then a flash of light came from the lantern I had placed in the hallway by the stairs. I could see the outline of a thick man standing over Dallas who was spread out over the floor at the base of the stairs. The man turned, and I caught Michael’s profile in the shadow of the lantern light. I gasped in surprise, but Michael didn’t seem to hear me. He was smiling down at Dallas and then he lifted his head as he eyes traveled up the stairs.

I stayed hidden in the shadow of my corner and waited. Michael pulled a wad of thin rope from his pocket. He bent over Dallas and quickly began to tie the unconscious man’s hands and feet. After securing his last knot, Michael stood and casually stepped over Dallas’s limp body before he started up the stairs.

The coldness of his actions made me angry, very angry. I could feel the hate and the disgust rolling around inside of me, feeding an inferno that started to radiate outward to my limbs, giving me strength to move and the will to take control.

I edged my way out from the corner and silently made for the entrance of the living room. I could see Michael’s shadow on the wall climbing the steps to the second floor one by one. As I reached the shadows of the hallway, I looked down at Dallas and saw the blood oozing from his head. Michael had hit his head against the banister, knocking him out; at least, I hoped he had only knocked him out.

I stepped out into the light, raising my gun upwards along the stairs. I squared my feet and held my weapon firmly with both hands, just as Dallas had taught me. Michael stopped right below the second floor landing and slowly turned around to face me.

Michael pointed the gun in his hand at me and smiled. “Well, look what we have here. The little slut has a gun.” He laughed as he feigned a shiver. “I’m so afraid.” He paused and gave me an evil grin. “Killing David was nothing compared to the fun I’ve got planned for you and your boyfriend. When they find your mutilated bodies in the bed upstairs, they’ll think some psychotic did the deed. No one will ever suspect an upstanding and prominent New Orleans psychiatrist of your murders.”

“Why?” I looked at Michael. “Why David?”

“Because you dumped me for an artist!” he screamed. “You were mine and then he showed up at that party and took you away. Humiliating me in front of all our friends and my family.” He was spitting the words out with such hate. “I came out here that day to get you back. And then my stupid car got a flat tire and who comes to my aid but your David.” He grinned and took a step down toward me. “It was perfect. I couldn’t resist. He was on the ground changing my tire and I just walked up behind him and…” He raised his gun to his head. “It was so easy. The only problem was that he didn’t die right away like he was supposed to.” He laughed, a sick twisted laugh. “Oh, but you didn’t know that, did you, Nicci? Yes, your David was lying on the ground bleeding and groaning, making such a fuss after I shot him. I wanted to put another bullet into him, but I had to get out of there. Of course, he did eventually die, so problem solved. After that I thought you would come back to me.”

Something stirred at my feet. A hand gently grabbed my ankle, but I didn’t flinch. I had to trust Dallas. He would know what to do.

Michael took another step down the stairs. “But you didn’t come back. People whispered behind my back, my practice turned to shit, and all of your friends blew me off like I had some contagious disease.” He shook his head. “Then you wrote that stupid book. Jesus, Nicci. Smearing our relationship the way you did. You made it really hard for me to want you back then.”

My hands were beginning to sweat around the butt of my gun. The anger within me was boiling like acid, eating away at all my doubt. I knew what I had to do.

“Then you finally came back. But on the arm of this guy.” He nodded to Dallas. “And I knew then I had to finish this. What were people going to think of me if you ran off again with another man and didn’t come back to me?” He leered at me. “Time to begin the festivities.” He pointed the gun at my chest. “Now I can begin by either shooting you,” he said, and then lowered the gun to Dallas on the floor beneath my feet, “or him. Which is it going to be, Nicci?”

My grip tightened on the gun. All I had to do was squeeze the trigger and end this. I lined up the tip of my gun with Michael’s chest and steadied my aim.

“Good-bye, Michael,” I casually stated, and then gently pulled the trigger.

I heard two rapid shots. I don’t recall firing twice, but I can remember the way Michael lurched backwards against the wall when the bullets tore into his body. He fell forward, crashing into the banister, and rolled down the oak stairs until he came to rest a few feet away from me.

A hand suddenly came up, pulled me to the floor, and reached for my gun. Instantly Dallas was on top of me, covering me with his body. I fought to raise my head from beneath him, and then I saw Michael’s lifeless eyes staring up from the stairs before me.

“You all right?” Dallas shouted.

“Yes,” I whispered a little out of breath, “I’m all right.”

He pulled the rope off his right wrist and then untied his feet. I helped him up from the floor, and when we both stood, we looked over at Michael. I had shot him once in the chest and once in the head. A pool of blood had started to collect on the stairs next to his body.