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At the same moment Ali tells Ryan to run, a figure pops up from behind the counter and there’s the sound of wind cutting the air next to Ryan’s ear. He sees the gun in the man’s hand, Ali tugging on his arm, causing him to miss his mark. The gunman backhands Ali and she falls to the floor.

Ryan doesn’t think. He’s running on pure instinct now. He zigzags in a sprint at the man, much as he did on the basketball court all those years ago. More whooshing sounds as the small, menacing-looking figure gets off another two silenced shots. Ryan ducks and continues his charge. Near the counter stands a sculpture of a rhinoceros’s head on a pedestal. The long barrel of the pistol follows Ryan as he grabs the statue in both hands and thrusts it two-handed like he’s making a desperate pass in the last seconds of a game. The heavy sculpture hits the assailant square in the face, momentarily disorienting him. Enough time for Ryan to complete his charge. He leaps, Michael Jordan–style, crashes atop the man, coming down on his head with a sharp elbow.

They’re both on the floor now. The man is a coil of muscle. Ryan gets on top of him, straddles him, as the man struggles to get the muzzle of the gun straight for the shot. The man’s eyes are clear blue and determined. He manages to free his arm, pulling back the gun and hitting Ryan on the head with the butt.

It’s a blow that carries more weight than mere gunmetal. It carries the memory of a night on a knoll in the rain.

Ryan’s thoughts are hazy, he feels throbbing pain, blood dripping into his eyes. But he won’t let her down again. He brings a fist down on the man’s face. The man takes the blow, trying to angle the gun again to take Ryan out. But Ryan keeps hitting him in the face, again and again, pressing away the gun hand with his other arm. He feels bones shatter, but he keeps hitting him, even when the man stops moving. The cartilage in the man’s nose is flattened. Ryan’s fists are raw and bloody, knuckles broken or bruised to the bone. With each hit, something releases in Ryan. The fury. The years of guilt and shame. The crushing loss.

As if from far away, he hears Alison’s voice:

“Ryan.” It’s a gentle tone. Strangely not frenzied, given what’s happening. “Dodge,” she says quietly. “Please… please, stop.”