"My boy showed up an hour ago saying he wanted to come back. Come home to Papa. But, of course, there's gotta be consequences. There're always consequences. You can't let your kids just run around doing whatever the hell they wanna do. Right, Buzz?"
The other man in the room nodded gravely, standing in front of the door with his arms crossed. Outside, sirens wailed and I heard the screech of tires.
"Here's hoping he wakes up soon. I gave him a hell of a knock. Don't know my own strength sometimes," Tank said, now moving to the window and peeking out.
"WE HAVE YOU SURROUNDED. COME OUT WITH YOUR HANDS ABOVE YOUR HEAD," a voice came through the air from a bullhorn. Tank turned back to me, a grin on his face.
"Cute, ain't they? Thinkin' it'll be that easy. But now I got the sheriff's wife and daughter. They can't do a damn thing," he said. "Now, the only question is: who gets shot, and who comes with us? We need one of you alive to secure the getaway. But which one? Got any ideas, Buzz?"
The man shook his head.
"Me either. I think maybe we'll let Boon decide when he wakes up. He's gonna be the one to do the dirty work, anyway. He's gotta prove his loyalty again. You can't just run off on your family, you know, and expect to come home just like nothin'. You gotta prove you're worth taking back."
Just as Tank finished speaking, Boon stirred. He didn't wake up, but his arm moved slightly. Tank walked towards his son.
"Wakey wakey," he said, kicking at Boon's legs where they lay hanging off the bed. He looked back at me.
"Screw it. I'll have him kill her first. Then he'll get to spend a little more time with you before we drop you off in the nearest ditch, with some souvenir bullets in your pretty little head. Plus, he'll get to see the way you look at him after you watch him slit her tender little throat," Tank said with an evil grin. My heart was icy cold, my head pounding, my breathing ragged and frantic. This isn't happening, I told myself. But it was.
"Hey, you little fuck," Tank suddenly screamed, leaning down and yelling right into Boon's ear. His body twitched. "Wake the fuck up. I don't got all fucking night."
Slowly, Boon seemed to come back to life. First his feet, then his legs, then his arms, moved slowly. Finally, his head rose from the comforter. He turned his face towards Tank, and I saw for the first time the bright purple mark that seemed to cover most of the left side of his face. It made me wince just to see it.
"Dad?" Boon said, his voice low, confused.
"Damn fucking straight, now get the fuck up," Tank said, kicking at Boon's legs once more. Boon's eyes seemed to focus as he rose and looked around the room; they fell on me and immediately widened, panic and fear taking over.
"Samantha, no," he said, his voice still no more than a whisper.
"Samantha yes," Tank said snidely. "Now, you ungrateful little prick, let's get this show on the road, huh? You come back here to me, want to come back where you belong? Well, let's see how much you mean that."
Tank reached behind him into his back pocket and pulled out a switchblade, much like the one that Boon had used to threaten the kids at the Clamhouse. It could even have been the same one. The sound of the blade sliding out seemed to drop the temperature in the room. The sparse light glinted off the edge. He threw the opened knife onto the bed before Boon, and then drew a gun from his belt. He aimed the gun at Boon.
"Kill the mother," he said, his voice no longer sarcastic or sardonically playful.
"Dad, fuck, no," Boon said, rising to his feet and looking first at the gun, then at the knife on the bed, then at his father.
"You're gonna have to start learning this shit sometime, son. You can't stand on the sidelines anymore. And this is how you're gonna earn your way back into my heart and into my club."
"We don't have to do this. We don't have to do any of this. We can … "
"We can't, and even if we could, we wouldn't. We're the bad guys, Boon. The sooner you get that through your stupid, thick skull, the better. Now pick up that fucking knife and slit that whore's throat."
"Why, Dad? Why?" Boon seemed to be at a loss for words as he stared at his father, hands rising in supplication.
"Because this fucking town, this police force, killed your fucking mother. So why not give a little back? Or did you forget about that?"
There was silence in the room.
"Of course I couldn't forget that," Boon said, his eyes slowly narrowing as he stared at his father. His face was growing cold, angry, hateful, an expression I'd never seen on him before. A scary expression. My heart slowed, my mind slowed, everything slowed, as I saw a look come over him that could only be described with one word: murderous.
He's actually going to do it. He's going to kill my mother. Because that cop killed HIS mother. Holy shit, holy shit, holy shit, I thought, barely able to believe it. He couldn't. He wouldn't. He'd told me he loved me. But that look on his face … it told a totally different story. A story of a boy who was going to avenge his mother.
"I didn't think you could," Tank said. Boon leaned over, grabbing the knife from the bed without breaking eye contact with his father.
"No, I remember, Dad. I remember perfectly. I remember everything," he said, taking a few steps forward, towards my mother. My heart kicked back up into high gear; this was happening. I was going to watch Boon kill my mother. This was happening, and it was happening to me, not to someone in a movie. Tears ran down my eyes in a constant stream. I made a strangled sound against the gag, my body coming alive, my legs kicking wildly as I struggled against the binds holding my arms together. Across from me, my mother just looked at me, her eyes wide.
"I remember the cop shooting her. I remember why he shot her. I remember lots of things. Like, maybe you've forgotten, but I remember her eyes. I remember how there was nothing left in them at the end. Because you took away everything that was good in her. You did that, Dad," Boon said, his voice raising as he took another step towards my mother, his head turned so that he didn't break eye contact. Tank followed Boon, his arm outstretched, gun shaking slightly.
"You shut your fucking mouth," he growled. Beads of sweat began to stand out on his wide neck.
"You want me to avenge my mother's death? You want me to kill someone else's mom so I feel better?" Boon was only a few steps from Mom at that point, the knife stretched out in her direction. "Well, fuck you."
"You better think real clear about what you're doing right now, you little fuck," Tank said through gritted teeth. He cocked the gun, the sound seeming to fill the room. Boon dropped his eyes, lowering the hand that held the knife. He held it in two hands, then, staring down at it. He didn't seem to care at all that, for the second time in a week, he was on the wrong end of a gun. His eyes darted back up to his father's. What I saw in them then … well, it was clarity. Or something like clarity.
"You're right, Dad. I should avenge my mother's death," Boon said slowly.
"Damn right you should," Tank said, his voice starting to sound strained.
All I saw of what happened, then, was a blur of pink flesh and the glint of the knife. All I heard was a screech of pain and a gunshot. And then another. My ears rang with the sound, so loud it hurt. I was vaguely aware of screaming against the gag, my eyes shut tight. There was a thud, then another, then a gigantic crash and the sound of many footsteps and garbled shouting.
I opened my eyes slowly; the room was coated in police officers, all with guns drawn. Boon was standing, arms up, knife laying on the ground next to him. Someone was struggling with the binds holding my arms back; another cop was untying my mother. Two cops had their guns drawn at a figure on the floor that I recognized, after a moment, as Tank. He was hunched over on his knees, holding his wrist in one hand. Blood was dripping from his arm.
The gun was laying on the ground. I blinked. Everything changed. My arms were suddenly free, and I scratched at the gag, taking a deep, gasping breath as I freed myself. My mother was in front of me, racing across the room, arms out. I met her with my own embrace and we sobbed together in the middle of the room as chaos continued. I breathed in deeply, never wanting to forget the way she smelled. Everyone was shouting and stomping around but I was in a globe of perfect serenity. My mother was okay. She was alive and okay and in my arms.
And that was the only thing I needed or cared about, in that moment.
The last thing I concretely remember from that night was stepping outside and watching as Boon was thrown into the back of a squad car. His face turned to the window and our eyes met. He grinned at me. That fucking grin.