The Family Across the Street by Nicole Trope

45

Logan

It’s him. He’s been worrying that the man who hurt his sister, that Patrick, would come looking for him, and all day he’s been here, terrorising this woman and her children. Why? What on earth does he have to do with them?

Logan stares at the man holding the gun and then he glances at the woman lying across the sofa, her blood soaking into the blue material.

‘Patrick,’ says Logan. He feels stupid, lost. He has no idea where to begin. Patrick is holding the gun at an angle so he could easily shoot the woman again, or just as easily shoot Logan. He is sweating, his hand shaking, and he keeps looking at the woman and looking away as though he cannot witness what he’s done.

‘How did you find me?’ asks Patrick. ‘How did you find me before I found you?’ He is as confused as Logan is. ‘Did you get my text? Is that how you…’ He stops speaking, his eyes darting around the room.

Patrick was coming for him. Why is he here?

‘I wasn’t looking for you,’ says Logan.

‘I hurt Maddy,’ whines Patrick, and he lifts his arms above his head, the gun still clasped tightly with one finger resting on the trigger. He takes a ragged, anguished breath. ‘I hurt Maddy,’ he repeats.

‘I know,’ says Logan, and although he wants to be angry, furious, to step forward and wrench the gun out of Patrick’s hand and shoot him with it, he doesn’t move. There is a chance that no one else will get hurt. He can see regret on Patrick’s face, and if he handles this correctly, it can end right now.

‘Maybe it’s time to put that down,’ says Logan.

‘I don’t think so, I don’t… I didn’t mean to hurt her… I just…’ He looks at the woman again.

Logan raises his hands, hoping to calm Patrick, who is pale and jittery. ‘If you just put the gun down, we can talk and then it will be fine. I need to call an ambulance for her, I need to get her some help. Can I do that?’ He bends his knees a little, gets ready to dive towards Patrick, knock him over.

‘It’s too late,’ says Patrick, shaking his head, and he lowers his arms, holds the gun out in front of him, moves it between Logan and the woman on the sofa, as if deciding who to shoot first.

‘It’s not,’ says Logan. ‘It’s never too late. She seems to be breathing, so just put the gun down and I’ll call for help. I’m going to slide my hand into my pocket now to just get my phone, okay?’ Logan speaks slowly, his voice calm and even. He’s talking someone off a ledge here.

‘No, not okay, don’t do that.’ His voice is a warning.

‘Patrick, if we don’t get her help, she will die. Do you want her to die? That’s not what you want, is it?’

‘Is Maddy dead?’ he asks.

‘No, no, and if you give me the gun, we can talk about that.’

Patrick shakes his head. ‘She doesn’t look old enough to have a twenty-three-year-old son, does she?’ he says as though they are chatting over a beer.

Logan looks from the woman to Patrick and back again as pieces click into place.

‘She’s your mother?’

Patrick nods. ‘Maddy, Maddy wanted me to see her again. Maddy thought I should forgive her. She read all her emails on my computer and then she nagged and nagged, and then she just dumped me, dumped me and wanted to move on with her life the same way my mother did after she divorced my father. Why do women do that, Logan?’ It’s a genuine question. He wants an answer.

‘I don’t know, mate,’ says Logan softly. He can feel a chink in Patrick’s armour, sees the possibility that he can talk him down. The minutes are ticking by and he can tell that the woman on the sofa is slipping in and out of consciousness. Her chest rises and falls but slowly, and underneath closed eyelids there is the occasional flutter of movement.

‘I want you to put that gun down now, Patrick,’ Logan says, raising his voice a little, taking a step towards him as he stares at the woman on the sofa.

‘I was so happy with Maddy,’ says Patrick, muttering the words, speaking to himself, ‘so happy with her and then she just…’ He looks at Logan, his eyes narrow. ‘You didn’t want us to be together. She told me. You were the reason we broke up. It was you.’ He points the gun directly at Logan’s chest, away from the woman, and Logan lets the relief of that seep through him. He could probably survive one bullet but this woman won’t survive another one.

‘Maddy is in hospital,’ he says, raising his voice to keep Patrick looking at him, ‘and you’ve hurt your mother. The police are on their way and there will be nowhere to run, mate. I promise you there will be nowhere to run. You need to give me that gun. You need to give it to me now.’

Patrick swings the gun back to the woman and then he starts laughing. ‘Kill two birds with one stone,’ he giggles. ‘That’s what I’m going to do, Logan, kill two birds with one stone. How lucky am I? The woman who ruined the start of my life and the man who helped ruin the end of my life in the same room. And you’re both going to die. She’s still alive, you can see that, can’t you? But not for long.’ He angles the gun to her chest. ‘Bye, Mum,’ he says.

As Logan takes a step there is a blur of movement beside him and the little boy launches himself at Patrick, shouting, ‘You leave my mum alone!’

‘Wait!’ shouts Logan. ‘Stop, no!’

Patrick is pushed back into the chair behind him and he kicks out his legs, and then, still holding the gun, he pushes the kid off him and points the gun directly at his little face.

‘No!’ shouts Logan, and he grabs the hand that has the gun, moving it away from the boy, who falls to the floor and crawls over to the sofa. Patrick pulls against Logan’s grip but Logan holds on tighter as the gun is turned to face his chest.

And Patrick fires. He fires twice. Logan watches it happen, time slowing down, sees the fear and confusion on Patrick’s face. The gun seems to have fired itself.

He feels the bullets thud into his chest. He staggers a little, steps backwards, lets go of Patrick’s hand but doesn’t go down. He needs to stay on his feet. He needs to get the gun. He needs to stop Patrick from shooting again because a gun has six bullets and he’s only used three.

‘Oh God, oh God,’ Patrick moans.

‘Give me… the gun,’ pants Logan.

Patrick lifts his hands over his head again, his eyes darting all over the room, and says, ‘Oh God.’

‘Give me… the gun,’ says Logan because he can’t seem to breathe. His body sags, unable to hold its weight with the hot air in the room pressing down on it. Logan drops to his knees.

‘I’m sorry, Logan,’ says Patrick and he lifts the gun to his own head.

And then there is the sound of footsteps in the house, moving quickly.

‘Police,’ hears Logan, as his body hits the floor. His head is next to a blue rug with a border of yellow camels.

He struggles to get some air into his lungs.

He glances sideways and up, seeing Patrick with his face scrunched up, his hand shaking as he holds the gun to his head. ‘Don’t come near me,’ he says and Logan can hear he is crying. He sounds younger than he is. There is no trace of a man left in his tears.

‘Put the gun down now!’ One voice, a woman, loud and strong.

‘Put the gun down.’ Another voice. ‘Down on the ground.’

‘You don’t understand,’ says Patrick as Logan gives in to the need to close his eyes.

The sound of a single gunshot pierces the air.

Logan feels his body floating.

He hopes Debbie is feeling better.

He hopes the promised cool change arrives.

He hopes he gets to live.