Page 82 of Redd

“Stop!” My mother let out a screech, and as I opened my eyes, I watched her come at my father from behind. Hitting him with her fists, she pounded his back. “Stop! Stop! You're killing him!”

Instantly, my father let me go, dropping me to the ground. Turning his attention on her, he unleashed a level of fury I hadn't seen before. Her face, her head, her chest, her stomach; no spot was off limits.

The knife swept through the air; slicing, cutting, each time the glint of metal became duller and tinted in the life he was trying to take.

Enough! Enough of this!

Crawling across the floor, I dragged myself to their closet and opened it up. Using the handle, I pulled myself to my feet and started to rummage around on the top shelf.

I felt the cold metal first, and gripped it firmly in my hand. Tugging the gun free, I clicked the safety off and pivoted on my heels.

Adrenaline kicked in, numbing the pain, dulling the aches and stabs that had been eating away inside.

I couldn't hear my mother screaming anymore. She had stopped, her body now lifelessly bobbling around on the floor as he continued to stab her in his alcohol-induced frenzy.

Clicking the hammer, my father finally stopped. I wasn't sure if he heard the gun or if he had enough of her and was about to turn and finish with me.

Twisting, his evil glare didn't even make it to my eyes. I pulled the trigger.

A loud pop rang out, creating a deafening ringing in my ears. Everything around me went into slow motion. Time had slowed to a stop as my father's eyes met mine for a brief second.

I saw confusion in his gaze, a quick snap of uncertain consciousness that held him in limbo. And then he was gone.

Dropping to the ground, his eyes stayed open and he fell over onto my mother's legs. I didn't release the gun, I held it tight, still keeping it aimed at him.

I was ready to unload the fucking clip if I had to. He was never going to hurt us again.

Lowering to my haunches, I listened to my mother to see if she was breathing. Gurgles and shallow breaths escaped her lips, her eyes were shut, her hands were open and laying by her sides.

“Mom?” I asked, gently shaking her shoulder.

Coughing, deep red blood was streaming from her mouth, pooling around her neck. Her face was swollen, nose twisted unnaturally. Cracking one lid, she began to whisper.

I couldn't hear her, so I pushed my ear to her lips. “Mom, are you okay?”

“Give me the gun, Redd.” Her voice was delicate, but troubled.

“What?”

“Give me the gun, Redd.” She repeated herself, taking in short gulps of air between words.

“Why?”

“Save your sister. She needs you, she's going to need you more than anything. Give me the gun.”

Her fingers wiggled, so I rested the gun in her palm. Curling her finger around the trigger, she struggled to lift the gun to my father's head. I didn't stop her, I knew she what she was doing and I never once tried to take the gun back.

She shot him point blank in the center of his forehead.

“Go. Take your sister and go. I won't let them separate you two.”

“What are you talking about?”

Her breathing became softer, eyes closing.

“Mom?”

She was gone. Throwing my hands into my hair, I jumped to my feet and started pacing.