“There is nothing on earth more serious than a firearm. It is not a toy, it is not a tool, it is not a curiosity. It is in a category all its own. A gun exists for one purpose only. To take a life.”
The boy nods.
“Now. You never draw it unless you intend to use it. Repeat that.”
Colter is mesmerized by the solemnity of the moment. He does as told.
“Never point it anywhere but at your target or a safe place, and that’s down, never in the air. Some people disagree but a bullet in the ground is a bullet in the ground. One in the air could hit a schoolyard.”
“Target or down.”
“Never fire it unless you have a clear target. You never fire blind.”
More repetitions from the concentrating boy.
“You never shoot to wound. You shoot to kill. You shoot to take another life. So you don’t draw your weapon unless you’re prepared to do that. And, therefore, you never use a gun unless there is no other option for your survival. Repeat that.”
“You never shoot to wound. You—”
“—shoot to kill,” Hannah said. “And, therefore, you never use a gun unless there is no other option for your survival.”
“Good. Again. All the rules.”
She repeated everything. Word perfect.
And held his eyes, never looking away.
He pointed the muzzle toward the ground and pulled the trigger several times. “This’s double action.”
She was listening attentively, frowning, studying.
“The hammer’s down. You pull the trigger. Draws the hammer back and when it’s all the way back it releases and hits the cartridge.” He did this again. “It takes more effort that way and because of that it’s less accurate.”
She’d been watching. “Yeah, the end moves around.”
“The end. The muzzle. So if you can, you fire single action. You pull the hammer back until it clicks. That’s called cocking. Then when you pull the trigger the muzzle doesn’t move so much.”
He illustrated this too.
“I want to try it.”
He didn’t belabor the rules.
Never sell your students short...
He handed her the gun.
“It’s heavy.”
“Forty-two ounces.”
Math prodigy Hannah came back with “Two pounds, ten ounces.”
“Dry fire it.”
“Dry fire. Oh, without bullets. Even though it is loaded.”
“Go ahead.”
She aimed at the lake.
“Why don’t you want to shoot there?” he asked.
She considered this. “Because the bullets could bounce off the water?”
“Ricochet. Down, a safe place.”
Hannah targeted where he’d indicated.
“Double action first.”
She frowned in concentration, aimed and tugged the trigger.
Click.
She smiled.
He didn’t. “Too fast. You jerked. You would’ve missed. Squeeze. Slow.”
“But what if somebody’s attacking you?”
“Even slower then.”
She focused on the earthly target. This time, even double action, the muzzle was steadier.
Again.
“Good.”
“I want to try single action.”
“Go ahead.”
She cocked the gun with her thumb, mimicking Shaw. Aiming, then slowly pulling the trigger. The muzzle was solid on target. And the gun itself didn’t waver. She was strong. It’s not easy to hold a gun that size motionless for very long.
He asked, “You have a sport?”
“Volleyball.”
So, arm strength.
Keeping the muzzle down, she looked up into Shaw’s eyes and whispered, “I want to shoot a bullet.”
His momentary debate ended with a harsh voice behind them. “Absolutely not.”
Allison Parker was walking up fast. “Give that back to him.”
“Mom...”
“Now.”
A defiant sigh. Hannah handed the weapon to Shaw, keeping the muzzle pointed down. He reloaded the Colt and slipped it into his waistband. He told Hannah, “Get a box for the pans and lids. Put it on the top of that.” He pointed to a gardening shed on the side of the house near where the camper was parked. “Tie the line to it. Make sure it’s taut.”
“All right.” The girl was moody. She walked into the cabin.
“Basic safety instruction,” Shaw said. “There’re a lot of guns in this country—”
“Too damn many.”
“—and she’ll probably come across one in her life.”
“No guns,” Parker said emphatically. “I will not expose my daughter to firearms. She’s a child.”
Shaw didn’t mention the age he’d been when his first lesson occurred.
Icily she said, “And I’d appreciate it if you’d keep them out of sight when she’s around.”
“If I can.”
She stared at the lake for a moment, as that subject was put to rest.
But then it was time for another to surface.
Colter Shaw said to Parker, “Tell me.”
“What?”
“I need to know.”
Parker looked at him briefly, then back to the lake. “What do you mean?”
“I need to know why. The truth about what’s going on. I’ve heard a couple of reasons why he’s coming for you. But I haven’t heard anything from you. If we’re going to control this, keep you and your daughter safe, I need to know why.”
Another duck glided over the mirrored surface and touched down, sending a V of ripples toward the distant shores. They traveled far.
Allison Parker stared at the idyllic image for a moment. She was absolutely frozen in place. Then: “Let’s go inside.”
64
“Why are you doing this to me...?
She and this curious man, this adventurer, were in the living room of the cabin. The scent was of must and some pungent cleanser.
Allison Parker found herself touching her cheek yet again. As for the ridge from the break, her doctor was wrong. It was as prominent and sharp as a knife blade.
Was she really going to tell this man, a stranger, the truth?
He’d clearly already guessed something. He was tough and blunt but those qualities weren’t inconsistent with smart and perceptive.
But there was something beyond just his likely familiarity of domestic battling from his reward business that encouraged her to go ahead. It was the quality of his listening. When she spoke, or Hannah spoke, or Frank Villaine spoke, Colter listened. He wasn’t waiting for a moment to jump in with a comment about himself or offer unnecessary advice. The speaker was the center of his universe.
Now he waited, leaning back against the fireplace and watching Hannah dig in the kitchen for the cooking implements that would be their ADT alarm.
Speaking softly, Parker said, “Jon and I were good for years. Oh, how I loved him. He was smart. He was funny. Hard to believe now, but he was. He never smiled much but he’d get off some hilarious one-liners. A good father. He helped Hannah with her schoolwork. He used most of his vacation time for parental leave with her, when I had to work.
“Ah, but then the drinking. When we met, were first married, he didn’t drink much, but when he had more than one or two, he went into a different place. There were two of him. And the drinking Jon would get mad. Not just your pissed-off mad. It was in a different dimension.”
The pale seahorse, with its smile or sneer or sensuous gaze, rose into her thoughts.