The kitchen door flies open as Nate appears. He takes in Calvin’s body, then his eyes flash to the gun I’m pointing at him.
‘I told you to stay in the car,’ he says.
I swallow, trying to subtly push Hannah behind me, to shelter her. I eye Nate’s gun. Will he shoot us?
‘He tried to kill us,’ Hannah sobs, gesturing at the body. She doesn’t know what I know. She thinks we’re safe now.
Nate takes a step towards us. ‘It’s OK,’ he says gently. ‘It’s over. You’re safe.’ He nods at the gun I’m holding in my shaking hand. ‘Put the gun down, Ava.’ He takes another step towards me.
‘Stay back!’ I yell, surprising myself.
He startles, pausing mid-step. ‘Ava,’ he says, frowning. ‘It’s me. What are you doing? Put the gun down.’
‘Mom,’ Hannah cries, tugging on my shoulder. ‘Don’t shoot. It’s Nate.’
I stare at Nate. He’s poised like an animal about to pounce, his eyes flicking to the gun and then to my face. I waver, not knowing what to do. I could lower the gun, pretend I don’t know the truth about his connection to Calvin, laugh at my paranoia and try to get Hannah and me safely out of here with him, but who’s to say if I do that he won’t just shoot me. The grip on his own weapon is tightening. I catch the movement out the corner of my eye.
‘Ava,’ Nate says again, beseeching me, but he must see something in my expression – fear, horror. He knows I know the truth. He moves, lunging towards us and I fire, but Hannah is pulling on my arm and it goes wide. Nate ducks and his foot slips on the blood-slicked floor. As he fights to regain his balance I use the opportunity to push Hannah out the back door.
‘Run!’ I yell as we dive down the steps.
A bullet smashes into the wooden railing by my hand.
‘Run!’ I scream again and Hannah needs no encouragement, sprinting towards the trees.
I follow her, firing the gun blindly over my shoulder. Another gunshot cracks the night air and Hannah yelps but keeps running. We swerve through the trees, blinded by the dark. I’ve lost my sense of direction – which way is the car?
I don’t see the blur of movement to my right until it’s too late. Nate lunges out of the shadows, throwing all his weight onto me, and I trip, falling to the ground, my chin smashing a rock buried in the dirt, Calvin’s gun flying from my hand. I hear Hannah scream somewhere off in the distance and I try to lift my head, try to shout at her to keep running, but Nate grabs my head and slams it hard into the ground. Stars burst on the back of my eyelids. Leaves and dirt fill my mouth and I start choking. The next thing I know, he’s lifting me up, tossing me onto my back. The air slams out of me and, winded and stunned, I stare up at him, struggling to focus.
He’s hovering over me, pointing his gun at me.
The moon has slipped from behind its cloud cover and I can make out the glimmer in his eyes, and just like that I’m blasted back into June’s bedroom, to that night. And memories that have been hidden, buried miles deep, break through into the light.
I see June on her knees. I see myself in the doorway, holding the gun I took from the man downstairs in the kitchen. I see myself raise it and fire.
I didn’t shoot the man in the skull mask – Calvin. I missed.
Oh my God. It was me. I shot June. Someone came up behind me and hit me around the head just as I pulled the trigger, causing my shot to go wide, hitting June by accident.
I see myself lying on the floor in June’s bedroom, fighting against the darkness, eyelids flickering. A shadow falls over me. The man who hit me steps over me. A third man.
The images start to strobe. Past and present merging, memories dancing out of the fog, offering me patchy glimpses of things I don’t want to see. The man bends down beside June. His face . . . it’s a clown mask. Leering. Grotesque. He shakes June hard by the shoulders. I’m paralyzed to help, to make him stop. The scream chokes in my throat.
He shouts something at her.
Where is it?
Her eyes are wide.
He tears off his mask. Where is it?
I remember. It all comes back to me.
June’s head lolls back on her neck like a narrow stem has snapped under the weight of a bloom. Blood darkens her T-shirt.
I open my eyes.
Nate stands in front of me, gun pointed at my chest, silhouetted against the moon. There were three men, not two. I look at Nate. He was the third man. But where was he? Why didn’t I remember him until now? Perhaps he was ransacking Gene’s apartment while the others searched the main house.
‘It was you,’ I say.
‘Guilty,’ he says.
‘Why?’ I whisper in shock. ‘How . . .?’
I don’t get an answer. He shoots me.
The bullet slams into my chest with the force of a freight train, spearing me to the ground. Pain explodes through my body, every nerve ending screaming and writhing with it. Lungs on fire, I stare up at Nate, trying to breathe but it’s impossible. ‘Hannah . . .’ I croak with the breath I’ve got left.
Nate stands over me. He laughs and opens his mouth to say something.
Whatever he’s about to say is cut off by a loud crack. A gunshot. Nate’s arm jerks. He staggers forwards, stumbles, but somehow manages to stay standing. Behind him I catch
