“I’ve called the police,” he hissed. “They’re on the line right now.”
She glanced past him up the staircase, then her eyes went back to the gun. Had they both been playing tag with an intruder? “Okay,” she said. “Calm down and point that somewhere else.”
Ben stared at her and came down two more steps. The pistol didn’t waver. His wide eyes flitted to the knife, then past her to the front door, and over into the living room. “Where is she?”
“Babe,” she said, her eyes on the pistol, “you’re freaking me out with the—”
“Where is she?” he shouted. His voice echoed in the hall. The glass in the door trembled behind her.
She shrieked and her mind stumbled for a moment. “She? She who?”
Ben stepped off the staircase and glared at her. He raised the pistol. The barrel was just a black square with a hole in it. He was aiming it right between her eyes. “What have you done with her? What do you want with us?” He took a step toward her, and then another.
Becky couldn’t tell if he was angry or sad. The black hole kept pulling her eyes away from his face. It was just a few feet away. She could see the little trembles and shifts as he squeezed the grip. “Babe,” she pleaded, “what are you talking abou—”
“Who are you?” he yelled. “Where the hell is my wife?”
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