Chapter 49

49

The girl knew that she wasn't strong enough to fight her father, and she knew that Wylie wasn't strong enough either, but if you had a gun, it wouldn't matter. She would get the gun to Wylie, and she would make her father leave them alone, make him go away forever.

The snow had stopped, and in the beam of her flashlight, the world looked magical. Part of her wanted to pause and stare at the prettiness of it all, but she knew she had to keep moving. When the girl made it to the barn, she could hear the clatter of a struggle, the flailing of limbs, and a strange gasping sound. Except for the narrow beam from her flashlight, the barn was black. I'm not afraid of the dark, the girl reminded herself. With trembling hands, she moved in the direction of the raspy breaths to find her father. His face was covered in blood, but beneath it, the girl saw his all too familiar rage. He was on top of Wylie with his hands around her neck.

He was killing her. He always threatened to kill them, but he said it so often, she stopped believing it. But here he was, squeezing Wylie's neck so that her face was turning purple.

"Let her go, Daddy," the girl said, her voice small and timid. He didn't even acknowledge she was there. "I mean it," she said, this time more loudly, with more confidence.

This caused her father to look in his daughter's direction, but instead of being frightened, he laughed. Shame spread throughout her body. He never listened to her. Ever. She rushed forward until she was standing behind him. "I mean it, let her go," the girl said, raising the gun she found beneath the sofa after it fell from Wylie's pocket.

He swung back his hand, striking the girl across the face, sending the gun and the flashlight sliding across the barn floor. In doing so, he released one hand from Wylie's throat, giving her a chance to fight back. Wylie squirmed out from beneath Randy and wrapped her fingers around the first thing she could lay her hands on, the hammer.

Gasping for breath Wylie managed to get to her knees and swung her arm with all her remaining strength, striking Randy across the shoulder with the claw end of the hammer. He swore and dove toward Wylie. Again, he was on top of her, hands around Wylie's neck.

"Daddy," the little girl said from her spot on the barn floor. She had gained purchase on the flashlight and aimed the beam directly in his eyes so that he raised one hand to block the glare.

"Stay out of this," he said. "Stay back and shut up."

Wylie had stopped moving. Stopped fighting back.

The girl lowered the flashlight and scanned the floor and spotted the gun. Her father blinked rapidly and reached for the claw hammer that lay in Wylie's limp fingers. "Close your eyes, peanut," he said. "You don't want to see this."

He rose up, hammer lifted above his head, poised to strike when he felt the cold metal barrel of the gun pressed against the back of his head.

The girl closed her eyes and pulled the trigger.