forth between us. He looks at her, then jerks his head back to me. Then back to her. Then back to me. Never together. “I’ll kill her,” he warns. “You touch her again and I’ll kill her.” His shirt is charred black at the chest; a cut on his cheek is dripping blood. Looking into his frozen blue eyes, I know he means it.
“Larry, you don’t have t-”
“Shut up!” he shouts. “It’s up to her.”
Shaking off the blow, Nora’s still on the floor. Her right eye is already starting to swell.
“Are you okay?” Lamb asks.
“Drop dead, asshole,” she shoots back, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand.
“It’s not too late,” Lamb says, sounding almost excited. “We can still make it work-just like I said. We stop him; we’re heroes. We can do it, Nora.
I nod at her to play along. She won’t even look at me. She takes one final sniffle and the tears are gone. Her eyes burn at Lamb. She licks her lips. With the taste of freedom on her tongue, Nora Hartson wants out.
I make one last attempt to get her attention, but she turns away. This isn’t about me. It’s about them.
“We can do it, Nora,” Lamb says, as she climbs to her feet. “Just like always. Our secret.”
Staring straight at her family’s closest friend, Nora stays silent. She’s trying to hide it, but his argument’s wearing her down. I see it in the rise and fall of her chest. Hunched over, she’s still breathing heavily. It’d be so easy to give up. Surrender now and blame everything on me. Searching for an answer, she touches her swelling eye. Then slowly, right in front of her face, she raises a defiant middle finger. “Rot. In. Hell,” she snarls.
When I turn to Lamb, his eyes, cheeks, lips… all his features fall. I expect him to lash out, completely crazed. Instead, he’s silent. Even more silent than usual. Clenched jaw. Stabbing stare. I swear, the room gets colder. “I’m sorry you feel that way,” he eventually says without a hint of emotion in his voice. “But I want to thank you, Nora. You just made the decision that much easier.” Without another word, he turns the gun toward me.
“Michael!” Nora screams as she starts running.
As Lamb’s gun swings across the horizontal plane, I barely register what’s happening. I’m gaping down the barrel of the gun, and the whole world hits Pause. Out of the corner of my eye, I see Nora launching herself at me. Frozen solid, I struggle to turn. There’s a coughing fluorescent light right over her head and a clear plastic fork discarded on the floor. A silenced shot explodes just as she crashes into me, face-to-face. I raise my arms, trying to catch her. A second shot erupts. Then another. And another.
Her head jerks back as she’s hit from behind. One. Two. Three. Four. Her body jolts as each one connects. We’re both thrown back by the impact, crashing into the guardrail.
“Nornie?” Lamb cries out, lowering his gun.
Falling to the floor, I barely notice him. “Nora, are you… ”
“I–I think I’m okay,” she whispers, struggling to raise her head. As she looks up, blood slowly creeps out of her nose and the corner of her mouth. “Is it bad?” she asks, reading the look on my face.
I shake my head, fighting against the tears that fill my eyes. “N-No-no. You’re gonna be fine,” I stutter.
Sinking in my arms, she ekes out a tiny smile. “Good.” She tries to say something else, but it gets lost. I cradle her head as she coughs blood all over my shirt.
Across the room, Lamb just stands there. Shaking. “Is she… is she… ”
I look back down, unable to think. “Nora-Nora-
Her eyes are fading. I don’t think she hears me. “Michael… ”
“Yeah?” I ask, leaning over.
Her voice isn’t even a whisper. Her breathing’s down to a low wheeze. “I… ” Her body heaves and the words stop. I shut my eyes and pretend to hear every syllable.
Trying to make it easier for her to breathe, I carefully lower her to the floor.
“I–Is she okay?” a voice cries out.
I slowly look up and my fists tighten. Straight ahead, all I see is Lawrence Lamb. Paralyzed, he’s still just standing there. His gun dangles from his fingertips. His mouth gapes open. Rooted in place, he looks devastated, like his whole world just evaporated. But the moment our eyes meet, his brow contorts in an angry furrow.
Inside my chest, a volcano of rage explodes. I freight-train toward him as fast as I can. He raises his gun, but I’m already there. My good shoulder collides with his chest and sends him crashing into the wall. The gun goes flying.
Refusing to let up, I slam him back against the wall and punch him in the stomach. Lashing out, he takes a wild swing that connects with my jaw, but I’m way beyond the pain. “You think that’s gonna hurt me?” I shout as my fist crashes against his face. Over and over, I pound at the cut Nora opened on his cheek. Again. And again. And again.
Older and far slower, Lamb knows he can’t win a fight with someone half his age. Realizing he’s trapped, he circles away from the wall, back toward the center of the room. His eyes search wildly for the gun. They don’t find it. Gone is the stiff-jawed confidence that comes with being the President’s best friend. He looks like he’s about to fall over. The gash on his face is a bloody mess. “She never loved you,” he says, holding his cheek.
He’s trying to distract me. I ignore it and hit him in the jaw.
“She didn’t even pick you,” he adds. “She would’ve dated Pam if I said so-”
Cutting him off, I pound him again in the stomach. And the ribs. And the face. Anything to shut him up. Bent over in pain, he staggers back toward the recessed section of stained glass. I know it’s time to stop, but… next to the railing is Nora’s nearly lifeless body-she’s on her back, a pool of her own blood still growing below her. That’s all it takes. Barely able to see through the tears, I throw everything I have into one last punch. It connects with a thunderclap and knocks Lamb backwards a good four to five feet.
He hits the guardrail completely off balance, and like a human seesaw, flips over the railing and heads straight for the enormous stained glass panels that are built into the ceiling of the room below. I close my eyes and wait for the sound of shattering glass. But all I hear is a dull thud.
Confused, I rush over to the guardrail and look down. Lamb, dazed, is lying across the wide-paneled glass flower at the center of the glass. It didn’t break. Directly below him, on the other side of the glass, the crystal chandelier is swaying from the impact.
“Hhhh.” He lets out a haunting sigh as a cold chill runs down my back. He’s going to get away with this.
Suspended above the Indian Treaty Room, he cautiously rolls over, turns himself around, and slowly, carefully, crawls back on the glass toward the guardrail.
Desperately, I look around for the gun. There it is-right next to Nora’s shoulder. Soaked in blood. I run and grab it, whirling back to point it straight at Lamb.
He stops in his tracks. Our eyes are locked; neither of us moves. Suddenly, he purses his lips.
I pull back on the hammer.
“Spare me the dramatics, Michael. You pull that trigger, no one’ll ever believe you.”
“They’re not going to believe me anyway. At least this way, you’re dead.”
“And that’s going to make it all better? Some quick revenge for your imaginary girlfriend?”
I look over at Nora, then back at Lamb. She’s not moving.
“Come on, Michael, you don’t have it in you-if you did, we never would’ve picked you.”
“
“If that’s what makes you feel better… but ask yourself this: Who do you think that gun’s registered to? Me- the confidant trying to protect his goddaughter? Or you-the killer I had to stop?”
My hands are shaking as I slide a finger around the trigger.
“And let’s not forget what happens to your dad when they put you in jail. Think he’ll make it on his own?”
A single shot-that’s all it takes.
“It’s over, Michael. I can already see tomorrow’s paper:
My eyes go dark. The gun’s pointed right at his forehead. Just like he did to Vaughn-and blamed on me.
Watching me twist, Lamb flashes a cold smile. It digs straight into my shoulder. I tighten my grip on the
