The Likeness

Then I was on my feet and Rafe had leapt backwards off Justin and Abby was pressed against the wall, as if we had been blown apart by a bomb blast. The house was frozen, stunned into silence; the only sound was all of us breathing, hard fast gasps.

“There,” Daniel said. “That’s better.”

He had moved forwards, into the sitting room. There was a dark gash in the ceiling above him; a trickle of plaster fell onto the floorboards, with a light pattering sound. He was holding the World War I Webley in both hands, easily, like someone who knew how to use it. He had it trained on me.

“Drop that now,” I said. My voice came out loud enough that Justin let out a wild little whimper.

Daniel’s eyes met mine and he shrugged, one eyebrow going up ruefully. He looked lighter and looser than I had ever seen him; he almost looked relieved. We both knew: that bang had flown down the mike straight to Frank and Sam, inside five minutes the house would be surrounded by cops with guns that made Uncle Simon’s banjaxed revolver look like a kid’s toy. There was nothing left to hold onto. Daniel’s hair was falling in his eyes and I swear he was smiling.

“Lexie?” said Justin, a high incredulous breath. I followed his eyes, down to my side. My sweater was rucked up, showing the bandage and the girdle, and I had my gun in my hands. I didn’t remember pulling it out.

“What the hell?” said Rafe, panting and wild-eyed. “Lexie, what the hell?”

Abby said, “Daniel.”

“Shh,” he said gently. “It’s all right, Abby.”

“Where the hell did you get that? Lexie!”

“Daniel, listen.”

Sirens, somewhere far off in the lanes; more than one.

“The cops,” Abby said. “Daniel, the cops followed you.”

Daniel pushed his hair out of his face with the back of a wrist. “I doubt it’s that simple,” he said. “But yes, they’re on their way. We don’t have long.”

“You need to put that away,” Abby said. “Right now. You too, Lexie. If they see those-”

“Again,” Daniel said, “it’s not that simple.”

He was right behind Justin’s chair, the high-backed armchair. It and Justin-petrified, staring, hands clamped on the armrests-shielded him to chest height. Above them was the barrel of the gun, small and dark and wicked, pointed straight at me. The only clear shot I had was a head shot.

“She’s right, Daniel,” I said. I couldn’t even try to take cover behind a chair, not with all these civilians in the room. As long as he had the gun on me, it wasn’t on them. “Put it away. How do you think this is going to end best? If the police find us all sitting here peacefully waiting for them, or if they have to bring in a full SWAT team?”

Justin tried to get up, feet scrabbling limply at the floorboards. Daniel took a hand off the gun and shoved him down, hard, into the chair. “Stay there,” he said. “You’re not going to get hurt. I got you into this; I’ll get you out.”

"What do you think you’re doing?” Rafe demanded. “If you have some idea about all of us going down in a blaze of glory, you can stick it-”

“Be quiet,” said Daniel.

“Put down yours,” I said, “and I’ll put down mine. OK?”

In the second when Daniel’s attention went to me, Rafe made a grab at his arm. Daniel sidestepped, fast and neatly, and elbowed him in the ribs without ever taking the gun off me. Rafe doubled over with a rough whoosh of breath. “If you do that again,” Daniel said, “I’ll have to shoot you in the leg. I need to get this done and I don’t have time to deal with your distractions. Sit down.”

Rafe collapsed on the sofa. “You’re insane,” he said, between painful wheezes. “You have to know you’re insane.”

“Please,” Abby said. “They’re coming. Daniel, Lexie, please.”

The sirens were getting closer. A dull clang of metal, booming off the hillsides: Daniel had closed the gates, and someone’s car had just rammed them open.

“Lexie,” Daniel said, very clearly, for the mike. His glasses were slipping down his nose, but he didn’t seem to notice. “I was the one who stabbed you. As the others will have told you, it wasn’t premeditated-”

“Daniel,” Abby said, high and twisted and breathless. “Don’t do this.”

I don’t think he heard her. “The argument broke out,” he told me, “it turned into a fight, and… honestly, I don’t remember exactly how it happened. I had been doing the washing up, I had a knife in my hand, I was terribly upset at the thought that you wanted to sell your share of the house; I’m sure you can understand that. I wanted to hit you, and I did-with consequences that none of us ever, for one moment, could have foreseen. I’m sorry for any and every wrong I did you. All of you.”

Screech of brakes, rush of pebbles scattering; the sirens, howling and mindless outside.

“Put it down, Daniel,” I said. He had to know: that I only had a head shot, that I couldn’t miss. “It’ll be OK. We’ll sort everything out, I swear we will. Just put it down.”