The Standoff

The car door opened.

Julian stepped out into the rain. He wasn't running. He wasn't shouting. He moved with a terrifying, lethargic grace, his black coat flapping in the wind. In his right hand, dragging against the wet asphalt of the driveway, was a fire axe.

The metal tip scraped sparks against the stone. *Scrape. Step. Scrape.*

"He's not here to save us," Arthur whispered, his weight sagging against me.

"No," I said. "He's here to collect."

I turned to run, dragging Arthur toward the trees, away from the burning house and the man with the axe.

A hand shot out from the debris pile behind us.

It clamped onto my ankle.

I screamed, falling hard onto the wet grass. Arthur tumbled with me.

I kicked out, my boot connecting with something soft. A groan.

Simon pulled himself out of the wreckage of the library. He was a nightmare made of soot and blood. His suit was melted to his skin on one side, his hair singed away. But the gun in his hand was steady.

"Going somewhere?" he wheezed.

He scrambled up, moving on adrenaline and hate. He grabbed Arthur by the collar and hauled him to his knees, pressing the barrel of the gun into the soft flesh under Arthur’s jaw.

"Stay down, Helen," Simon spat. "Or I paint the grass with him."

I froze on the ground. The heat from the house was blistering my back, while the rain froze my face.

*Scrape. Step. Scrape.*

Julian stopped ten feet away. He looked at Simon. Then at me. Then at the burning house.

He didn't look angry. He looked disappointed.

"You let the fire out, Simon," Julian said, his voice calm over the roar of the flames. "Bad form."

"I fixed your mess!" Simon shouted, tightening his grip on Arthur. "I handled the accounts! I handled the girl! I handled everything while you played dead!"

"You stole," Julian corrected. He lifted the axe, testing its weight. "You skimmed. You got greedy."

"It was my money!" Simon screamed, hysteria rising in his voice. "I earned it! I kept this family out of prison!"

"And now you're going to put us in the ground," Julian said.

He took a step forward.

"Stay back!" Simon yelled. He jabbed the gun harder into Arthur’s neck. Arthur whimpered, his eyes squeezed shut. "I'll kill him! I swear to God, Julian, I'll kill your father!"

Julian paused. He tilted his head.

"Go ahead."

I gasped.

"He's useless to me now," Julian said. "The accounts are frozen. The house is gone. He's just an old man who talks too much."

He took another step.

"Shoot him, Simon. Save me the trouble."

Simon hesitated. The bluff—if it was a bluff—had rattled him. His eyes darted between Julian and the gun.

I saw my chance.

I was lying in the debris field of the library window. Shards of glass. Books.

And the heavy brass lamp from the desk.

It was lying in the grass, half-buried in mud.

I shifted my weight, inching my hand toward it.

Simon was focused on Julian. Julian was focused on Simon.

I wrapped my fingers around the cold metal base.

"You're a psychopath," Simon whispered.

"I'm a businessman," Julian said. "And you're fired."

Julian lunged.

He didn't swing the axe at Simon. He threw it.

The heavy blade spun through the air.

Simon flinched, instinctively ducking away from the projectile. The axe buried itself in the trunk of the oak tree behind him with a dull thud.

It was a distraction.

Julian charged, closing the distance.

"Now!" I screamed.

I scrambled up, swinging the heavy brass lamp with both hands.

I aimed for Simon’s gun arm.

But the mud was slick. My foot slipped.

The swing went wide. The lamp hit Simon in the shoulder, knocking him sideways but not disarming him.

He staggered, retaining his grip on Arthur, dragging the old man down with him.

He spun toward me, the gun swinging in a wild arc.

He leveled it at my face.

"Drop it!" he screamed, his finger tightening on the trigger. "Drop the lamp, Helen! Or I shoot Arthur first!"