The Last Day

SEVENTY-THREE

Ward opened the. 38 and looked at the candle's reflection on the brass circles, the contrasting silver primers in their centers. He closed the cylinder carefully, hearing the positive snap of steel on steel as it locked back in place.

Sitting in the silence, he heard a squeak over Alice's Game Boy that was so slight he almost missed it. The women heard it, too, and turned toward the sound. His house had been built using expensive hardware throughout, but even the best metal hinges, when not lubricated regularly, would make a noise when opening.

“Natasha, take Leslie and Alice to our bedroom and lock the door,” he whispered. “You can escape through the window. Once I know he's in here, I'll yell.”

“Maybe it's Todd,” Natasha whispered back.

“No, he'd knock,” Ward whispered.

Alice turned off her Game Boy and looked at Ward. Without saying anything, Leslie took the butcher knife, Alice lifted her tote bag, and they followed Natasha out of the room, moving fast down the hallway.

Ward blew out the candle, got behind the chair, and aimed the. 38 at the kitchen door thirty feet away across the dining table. He heard the bedroom door slamming shut behind the women. He blinked and waited for his eyes to become fully accustomed to the darkness.

Using the back of the chair to brace his extended hands-one gripping the weapon, the other under the butt-Ward felt his gun hand shaking. Never in his life had he been in mortal danger. He knew Louis Gismano was in the kitchen; to get into the rest of the house he had to come through the kitchen door, which Ward could just make out. Once through the door Gismano's choices were to make a hard left turn to the foyer, or come in the darkness straight toward Ward through the dining area. When Louis left the kitchen to come into the den, he would be in range. The only problem was that Ward had never fired a gun at any living thing before.

“Louis,” Ward said in a louder than conversational tone. “I know why you're here. What happened to your son was a terrible tragedy, but it wasn't my wife's fault. There are people with guns coming any minute. You can just go,” Ward said, his voice breaking up slightly. “I have a gun. I don't want to shoot you, but I will if you don't give me any choice.”

He jumped at the sound of Natasha's voice drifting eerily out from the kitchen. “Little guy, Mama loves you so very much.”

He knew the recorded voice came from the stuffed bear that had been stolen.

Ward wondered if his mind was playing a trick on him, or if there was a figure filling the kitchen doorway.

Rage replaced his fear, and remembering Todd's instructions, and trusting his instincts, Ward let his brain tell his hand where to send the bullet, and he slowly tightened his grip, squeezing the trigger back evenly. For a split second when the trigger broke, his hand jumped, bright light filled the large space, and the explosion deafened him. In the flash Ward saw a man standing there. As Ward's eyes adjusted, he was sure the door frame was now empty.

“Shit,” Ward said.

He was answered with a loud, eerie burst of laughter and Natasha's recorded voice: “Little guy, Mama loves you so very much.”

John Ramsey Miller

The Last Day