Shotgun Opera

The flames blocked his way to the front door. Forget it. He?d find a back way, bust out a window if he had to.

Then he remembered the mother. Damn. The old woman was nothing to him, but could he leave her up there to burn? The answer was no. He started for the stairs.

Don?t be a sap, said Danny?s voice. Get out of there. Sticking your neck out for civilians is how you get killed.

?Shut up. We?re not going to do things like that anymore.?

He climbed the stairs, got to the second floor, and his knees were screaming. He ignored the pain, kept climbing. He glanced over his shoulder. The flames roared through the first floor, crept toward the staircase.

Hurry, you old bastard.

Up to the third floor, clenching his jaw all the way. The pain went up through his legs and into his hips. He checked two rooms, found the old woman in the third.

She looked up when Mike entered the room. Her expression was confused, but then she smiled knowingly, nodded after looking at Mike for long seconds. ?So you?ve finally come home.?

Mike said, ?Lady, your house is burning. I?ve got to take you out of here.?

She seemed not to hear. ?I waited. All these years, waited to tell you what you?ve done to your family.?

?I think you?re making some kind of mistake,? Mike said.

?I loved you, and you left me. Left all of us, gallivanting all over the world. You weren?t a husband. You weren?t a father. You were just some ghost we caught glimpses of at holidays.?

Oh?shit.

Was she drunk? Senile? It didn?t matter. There was no time. ?Sorry, lady, but I guess I?m going to have to drag you out of here.? He took three steps toward her.

She leapt from her rocking chair, and Mike had a split second to be impressed. So fast, graceful. She lunged in perfect fencing form, arm outstretched.

And thrust the knitting needle into Mike?s gut.

Mike froze, shocked. The needle was thin but long, and had found its way under Mike?s rib cage. His mouth fell open; he didn?t know what to say.

She pulled out the knitting needle, stepped back, looked at him with strange new eyes as if he?d just walked into the room.

Mike stumbled back. ?You dumb?bitch.?

Told you so, Danny said.

Can?t you just shut up? Mike thought. But he wasn?t mad. He wasn?t anything. The pain in his belly seemed like something distant, abstract. This made sense. This is what he?d had coming, what he?d deserved all along. He wouldn?t argue with fate. The image of a pink sock flashed through his brain, then Keone?s bullet-torn body. Sure. He had it coming. They all did.

Better this way, Danny had said. Better than cancer. You get to go out fighting.

There?s no good way to go out, Mike had told his brother.

He turned his head slightly, saw the flames dancing up to the third floor. It looked so pretty and orange.

He pulled his hand away from his gut. The bleeding was light, such a small hole. The blood wasn?t dark. He didn?t think she?d punctured any vital organs. He prodded the area with three fingers. Not much pain.

Mike was going to live.

?I have to go,? said the old woman.