"Of course not," she snapped, suddenly angrier with him than she had ever imagined herself capable. Why had he brought her here? What did he hope to accomplish?
"Just calm down," he said, reaching out at if to soothe her.
She slapped away his hand. "Don't touch me" was all she could say before the car backfired again. Though this time, Sara knew it was not a car. She had been to the firing range often enough to know the sound of a weapon being discharged.
Jeffrey cocked his head to the side as he tried to figure out from which direction the sound had come. Again, there was a single gunshot, and he turned away from her, saying, "Stay here," as he bolted down the road toward the yellow house with the picket fence.
Sara followed as best she could, going around the fence that Jeffrey had hurdled, using a worn path in someone's garden to get to the backyard of the yellow house. There was a bright flash of light as Jeffrey kicked in the back door, followed by another scream. He ran out seconds later, and all the lights seemed to turn on in the house at once.
"Sara!" Jeffrey yelled, waving her in. "Hurry!"
She jogged toward him, feeling a sharp sting in the arch of her foot as she crossed the grass. There were pine needles and cones in the yard, and she tried to step as carefully as she could without slowing down.
Jeffrey grabbed her arm and pulled her the rest of the way into the house. The layout was similar to Possum's, with a long hallway down the center and the bedrooms on the right.
"Down there," Jeffrey said, pushing her toward the hall. He picked up the kitchen phone, telling her, "I'll call the police."
Shock overcame Sara for a moment as she walked into the master bedroom.
The ceiling fan wobbled out of balance overhead, the blades making an awkward chopping sound. Jessie stood beside an open window, her mouth moving but no noise coming out. A shirtless man lay facedown on the floor by the bed. The right side of his head was blown off. Streaks of blood led to a short-nosed gun that looked as if it had been kicked away from the area near his left hand.
"My God," Sara breathed. Blood sprayed the area by the bed in a fine mist, spattering parts of the ceiling and the light on the fan. A chunk of skull and scalp was hanging from the bedside table; what looked like a section of earlobe was stuck to the front of the drawer.
Despite the horrific scene in front of her, Sara felt her medical training kick in. She went to the man, pressing her fingers against his neck, trying to find a pulse. She checked his carotids and found nothing, her fingers sticking to the skin when she pulled them away. There was a sheen of sweat on the body. The sickly sweet smell of vanilla filled the air.
"Is he dead?"
Sara spun around at the question.
Robert stood behind the bedroom door. He was partially bent over, leaning against the wall for support. His left hand covered a wound in his side, blood seeping out between his fingers. His right hand held a gun that was pointed toward the dead man.
Sara told Jessie, "Get me some towels," but the woman did not move.
"Are you okay?" Sara asked, keeping her distance from Robert. He still held the gun at his side and there was a glassy look to his eyes, like he did not know where he was.
Jeffrey entered, assessing the scene with a quick glance. "Robert?" he said, taking a few steps toward his friend. The other man blinked, then seemed to recognize Jeffrey.
Jeffrey indicated the gun. "Why don't you give me that, man?"
His hand shook as he handed the weapon to Jeffrey muzzle first. Jeffrey engaged the safety and tucked it into the waistband of his jeans.
Sara told Robert, "I need to take off your shirt, okay?"
He looked at her with a puzzled expression. "Is he dead?"
"Why don't you sit down?" she suggested, but he shook his head, leaning back against the wall again. He was a tall man and very muscular. Even in his undershirt and boxer shorts, he looked like someone who was not used to taking orders.
Jeffrey caught Sara's eye before asking, "What happened, Bobby?"
Robert's mouth worked, as if he had difficulty speaking. "He's dead, isn't he?"
Jeffrey stood between his friend and the body. "What happened?"
Jessie spoke in a rush, pointing to the window. "Here," she said. "He came in through here."
Jeffrey walked along the periphery of the room, peering though the open window without touching it. He said, "The screen's off."
Robert hissed with pain as Sara peeled back the shirt. Still, he helped her lift it over his head so she could see the full extent of the damage. He cursed between his teeth, gripping his shirt in his hand as she tentatively pressed the wound. Blood dribbled steadily from the small hole in his side into the waistband of his boxer shorts, but he put his shirt over the area to staunch the blood before Sara could properly examine the wound. She could see an exit wound higher up in his back before he turned his body away from her. The bullet was lodged in the wall directly behind him, red pinpricks of blood forming a circle around the hole.
"Bob," Jeffrey said, his tone sharp. "Come on, man. What happened?"
"I don't know," Robert said, practically grinding his shirt into the wound. "He just…"
Jessie interrupted, "He shot Bobby."
"He shot you?" Jeffrey repeated, obviously trying to get the story from Robert. There was a surprising underlayer of anger to his tone as he looked around the room, probably trying to reconstruct the scene in his head.
Jeffrey pointed to a bullet hole in the wall on the far side of the bed. "Is this from his gun or yours?"
"His," Jessie said in a high-pitched voice. From the way she was acting, Sara guessed the other woman was talking loudly to try to hide the fact that she was stoned out of her mind. She swayed back and forth like a pendulum, her pupils wide enough to blind her in direct sunlight.
Jeffrey hushed Jessie with a look. "Robert, tell me what happened."
Robert shook his head, holding his hand tightly to his wounded side.
Jeffrey demanded, "Goddammit, Robert, let's get your story straight before somebody puts it on paper."
Sara tried to help, saying, "Just tell us what happened."
"Bob?" Jeffrey prodded, his anger still palpable.
Sara tried to be gentle, telling Robert, "This would be easier if you sat down."
"It'd be easier if he fucking talked," Jeffrey yelled.
Robert looked at his wife, his mouth a straight line. He shook his head, and Sara thought she saw tears in his eyes. For her part, Jessie just stood there, slightly swaying, her robe pulled around her as if to stop a chill. She probably would not even realize how close they had both come to death until the morning.
"He came in through the window," Robert finally told them. "He put a gun on Jess. A gun to her head."
Jessie's expression as he said this was unreadable. Even from this distance, Sara could see that the other woman was having difficulty following the story. At Jessie's feet were several opened prescription bottles that had probably fallen from the bedside table. Blood splotched the triangular-shaped white pills. Sara could see where her footprints had smeared into the thick pile of the carpet. Jessie had run past the body on the way to the window. Sara wondered what she had been thinking. Was she trying to escape while her husband fought for his life?
Jeffrey asked, "What happened next?"
"Jessie screamed, and I pushed…" Robert glanced at the dead man on the floor. "I pushed him back and he fell…and then he shot at me – shot me – and I…" He stopped, trying to control the emotion that obviously wanted to come.
"There were three shots," Sara remembered. She looked around the room, trying to reconcile what she had heard in the street with the story he told.
Robert stared at the dead man. "Are you sure he's gone?"
"Yes," she told him, knowing that lying would serve no purpose.
"Here?" Jeffrey said, obviously trying to distract Robert from the grim truth. He pointed to the bullet hole by the bed. "He missed the first time?"