“On me?”
“A weapon? A knife? A gun?”
“I ain’t got nothing on me.”
“Get inside and shut the door behind you.”
Sean backed away and watched him trudge out of the snow and into the doorway. For a few tense seconds, they stared at one another. “I said, Close the door.”
The man turned and pushed the heavy door shut.
“Bolt lock.”
The man cranked it until it latched. As he started to turn back around, Sean yelled, “Stop.”
The man did.
“Interlock your fingers together behind your head.”
“I told you I ain’t got nothing.”
“And I told you to do as I say. Now do it or you’re not coming in.”
The man raised his gloved hands to the back of his head and laced his fingers together, trembling. “Please don’t kill me, man.”
“I’m not going to kill you. Now shut it.”
With the laser dot never leaving him, Sean sidestepped and set the flashlight on a work shelf so that the beam spotlighted him. He approached slowly. “Keep still.”
The man did. Sean pressed the barrel of the gun between the man’s shoulder blades and patted him down, the ash on the man’s clothes smearing across Sean’s hands. He checked his belt line, thighs, ankles, chest and shoulders. When he felt confident the man had nothing more, he stepped back, the laser still dead set on his back. “Turn around.”
The stranger, hands still locked behind his head, rotated and stared at Sean for the first time. His eyes shifted back and forth between the gun and Sean’s face, the cloth in front of his mouth expanding and contracting.
“Look me in the eyes,” Sean said.
He did.
“You try anything, and I swear I’ll kill you.”
“We’re all living in such times,” he said. “I understand.”
Sean lowered his gun. “Let’s go.”
The man hesitated, but pulled his hands down and walked past Sean, cowering like he was expecting Sean to hit him as he passed. Sean watched him turn the doorknob and crack the door open.
His family just on the other side.
The man opening the door.
Stop this.
Listen to your wife.
Stop this.
Stop this.
His heart rose in his throat and dropped to the bottom of his guts.
Chapter 17
THE INSTANT SEAN stepped out of the house, Michael’s mouth opened. Elise had to stop herself from punching him. She understood that her husband was acting erratic. She saw him babbling to himself, saw his fuse was so short that even a tiny bit of conflict sent him into a rage. He needed sleep. Yet, Michael piled all of his concerns about Sean into her ear. He had always done this, even when they were kids, explaining things she already knew. It wasn’t enough that she had to be the keeper of morale in the house, making sure everyone had hot meals and a stoked fire, but she had to keep track of her husband and brother too. Make sure they were behaving. Sometimes she wanted to pull her hair out.
She told Michael to stop, but he kept hammering away. Even while she sent the others to grab items for their guest and drape towels on the floor near the fireplace, he wouldn’t stop. Elise moved near the garage door and waited. He said, “What happens when he snaps, Elise? He could hurt someone. If we don’t—”
She waved her hand in his face. “I’ll do something about it,” she said through her teeth. “I will. I’ll handle it. Lay off.”
The handle turned, and the heavy door sprung out an inch from the frame. Elise’s stomach leapt into her ribs. The door opened. A ragged man, caked with gray soot woven deep into his clothing, poked his head through the crack of the door and opened it further. His head was wrapped in the hood of his coat and his scarf was coiled around the bottom half of his face. Ice had penetrated every fiber of his clothing. The man’s eyes darted between Elise and Michael. He took a step forward then back.
Elise didn’t move. It wasn’t fear of him—he was a pathetic-looking figure and presented no danger—but he took her aback. With eyebrows crusted with ice and skin red from the unforgiving wind, it was as if he had walked out of a post-apocalyptic movie.
“Evening, ma’am,” the man said.
“Go on inside,” Sean said behind him.
Sean pushed the man’s back and forced him three steps forward. The man looked around at the books on the shelf and the clean carpet and the soft red glow from the fire in the other room. His eyes widened. “It’s so warm in here.”
The creases around his eyes changed, the man smiling behind the scarf. Her heart warmed. She said, “Warmer than outside.”
“Yes, ma’am. Much better than out there.”
“What’s your name?”
“Travers. My name’s Travers.”
Sean shut the door, his lips pursed. He nodded, and Elise got the message. “I’m sure you would like to warm up, Mr. Travers.”
“Just Travers, ma’am.” He looked at the carpet and then down at his clothes. “I don’t want to soil your rug.”
“There’s a towel down by the fire.”
“Once the dirt gets inside, it won’t come out.”
“It’s okay. The others’ll be down in a bit with some new clothes. You can warm yourself by the fire.”
“That would be good—”
“Elise.”
He extended his filthy mitten to her, and she took it. Felt like holding a block of ice. Michael shook it too and introduced himself.
Elise said, “And you met my husband, Sean.”
He looked back, said, “I did,” and nodded. “Thank you for taking me in for the night. I really appreciate it.”
“It’s the right thing to do.”
The smile wrinkles vanished from around his eyes. “Yes. It is.”
She motioned for him to go into the living room. He passed, Elise watching him take careful, measured steps, looking around at everything without settling on anything in particular. He got on his knees in front of the fire and extended his hands. She turned back to find her husband glaring at her. “What?” she asked.
“Where are the others?” he said in a low voice.
“The others?” she said, hushing to his level.
“The kids? Kelly?”
“Around.”
“They’re not to be alone with him.”
“They’re fine.”
Sean’s eyes shifted past her to Michael standing over her shoulder. “Where’s the shotgun?”
“Why?” Michael asked.
“You just left the shotgun sitting around?”
“Is that a problem?”
“Is that a problem? Do either of you understand the risk we’re taking here?”
“Risk?” Elise said. “The guy could barely lift his arm to shake my hand.”
“I’m pretty sure Aidan could take him,” Michael said.
She closed her eyes. If only Michael could keep his trap shut.
“You don’t get it,” Sean said.
“Sean, please,” Elise said, “it’s just one night. To help the man along.”
“It’d be more merciful to just kill him now.”
“Wow, Sean,” Michael said. “Even for you that’s low.”
His jaw muscles pulsed and protruded in his cheeks, telling them, “You don’t get it,” before throwing his coat off and walking into the living room.
Michael started to speak, but she put a hand up and silenced him. “I’ll deal with it.”
They joined Sean and Travers. Sean hung out near the back wall, the shotgun next to him, while Travers leaned over the fireplace. The fire roared around the outline of his silhouetted body and cast a dark shadow along the floor and walls. The moisture from his clothes began dripping in murky, watery droplets. She watched a bead sink into the towel on the floor. Travers was right: she would never get all that gray out.