10

I'm struggling on the ground and I hear the two shots; my first thought is that I'm dead. I hear her collapse and look to see a mountain of a woman beside me. I lay for a few slow heart-beats, then I hear Billy's voice. What'd he say? Something about a gun? Who's he talking to? I try to get up and moan from the violent surge of pain in my head and abdomen; but before I 'm able to stand I hear scrambling feet and the sound of punches and grunts... someone is fighting. I'm so confused. Then, another loud commotion, like the house is crumbling to the earth. I finally roll to an angle where I can see what's happening. The Beast and Billy are outside, through a hole in that what-used-to-be wall, struggling with each other in a sea of wood debris.

For a moment, all I can do is watch. Billy's on The Beast, beating his face to a pulp. Then, it's my uncle's turn. He's standing with Billy levitating in front of him, both of his claws around his neck; Billy's barely able to fight back. I have to do something, I refuse to let it end this way. I see the shotgun. I crawl to it and use it as a crutch to help me stand. If I shoot, Billy will be hit too. So I grab the barrel and walk up behind The Beast, then I swing as hard as is possible. He let's go of Billy and falls to the ground. He lays there staring at me with a strange smile on his face. I have nothing but anger and hatred in my eyes; for Billy, for me, and for my unborn child.

“Never again will you touch me, never.' is all I can think to say, and I'm relieved it's the truth. I walk over to him, as instinct kicks in I kick him hard in the ribs and spit right on his face. Even the ol' kick'n spit seems too good for him. I hand Billy the gun to finish what has been already started. He swings it over his head like a lumberjack just doing his job, it finally lands with a loud crack on The Beast's bloody head.

Billy and I just stare at each other, and when we eventually do embrace it seems the whole world doesn't exist; everything that was wretched in the world is gone and all that remains is us. He kisses my gash, my swollen cheeks from where that rhino repeatedly slapped me, and finally my lips.

'I'm sorry,' we both say and then almost laugh from the surrealism of it all.

'It's alright,' he assures me, 'it's all over and I'll take care of you now.'

'But Sam, but the deal, the hooch....,' I start and stammer.

'Let me worry about all of that, for now let's just get out of here. Please.'

'Wait!' I suddenly remember, 'Wait! My mother's apron, I forgot it. Before we leave I need to get it.'

'What?! Are you joking. Do you absolutely need it?'

'Yes. It's all I have left of her, it's just under my mattress.'

'Look, the car's down by the main road, we don't need to sneak now I suppose. How about I'll go get it and drive up to the house and fetch you so you don't have to walk all the way out there all banged up like this. I think the baby has been through enough already tonight.'

My heart leaps to my throat and my lungs are deflated of air.

'You know?' is all I can manage to whisper.

'I know,' he smiles and his eyes twinkle and shine like they had in my dream, like stars. Then I think of what else was in my dream and quickly shake it from my head.

'You're not mad?'

'Mad?!' he laughs, 'you can't help it. I'm not mad. I just know that little critter needs to be raised somewhere that's not here. Now go get that damned apron and let's get the hell out of here. I'll get you at the porch.'

He kisses me long and deep, hands me the shotgun he was still holding and scampers off toward the main road. I turn and start to slowly limp to the house.

When I get to the porch, noticing I won't need the shotgun anymore, I set it outside the door. I go straight to my room for the apron. I decide while I 'm here I might as well grab a few more items. I am fumbling through my bureau when I hear footsteps ascending the staircase. Once again my heart jumps to my throat and I'm winded. The steps are slow and dragging. My body is in shock and doesn't seem to want to move, except for the intense clutching of my right hand on the apron. I cling to that apron for dear life. I close my eyes and pray for the steps to stop. Ignoring my prayer, the feet continue louder and louder until I hear them reach the top of the landing. Then, they start dragging themselves toward my room.

I turn around, the doorknob slowly starts to twist counter-clockwise and the door slowly creaks open. So slowly, it torturous. I realize I'm still holding my breath, but all the air is rushed out of me when I scream at the sight of him. His clothes are bloody and muddy from the fighting and from his monstrous face that's still dripping syrupy blood. What used to be his face is so disfigured a person wouldn't be able to recognize him- but I know those black eyes or I should say eye. What is left of them are fixed on me. His skull is showing and what seems to be brain is oozing out. One eye lid is dangling to the side of a popped eyeball and his nose is caved in, both lips are split open and no longer cover what's inside the mouth; shattered teeth and slashed gums. I try to scream again, but there is nothing. How could he be alive, how?! He looks like the walking dead and walking he starts again, right toward me.

'I'm going to kill you,' is what is sounds like he says through blood, spit and loose lips.

I try to run around him, but he's still quick and he grabs me by the hair, whipping me around to face him. His eye and what's left of the other one, are wide and staring; nothing else about his face, however mutilated, could compare to how terrifying his eyes are.

He starts to choke me. His fingers lace around each other at the back of my neck and squeeze tighter and tighter. My vision starts to blur around the edges, but through the haze I'm able to see my own hands trying desperately to loosen his grip, my mother's apron still in my fingers. I focus on that apron, focus to keep from slipping into that haze which is closing in on me. I keep walking backwards and now my back is pressed against the banister of the stairs. I try to push back, kick him, struggle in anyway I can.

Suddenly I feel my throat is free, but now I'm falling, tumbling, I watch the room spin round and round. Before I know it I'm at the bottom of the stairs looking up at him on the top. My head has hit the bottom stair hard and I can feel the back of my head leaking blood. However, the worst of the pain is in my stomach and as he descends the stairs I mutter:

'No... you beast. The baby.'

He screams then, growls. I think he's trying to say something but his face won't allow it. He grabs the nearest object he can find- a brass candlestick that once belonged to my grandparents and he lets loose on me, on my stomach, on my child. I'm too weak to fight, the pain is overwhelming, then begins to numb. I gaze over at the apron that still in my hand and start my counting game again.

1...2...3...4...5... ...6?

There is no 6, before I make it to 6 I hear a gunshot and see my uncle fall to the ground like a felled tree. I close my eyes and am glad it's over. I feel myself being lifted and carried, then set into a seat that's slowly humming and vibrating. I've never been in an automobile I think to myself. I open my eyes and see Billy next to me as his Model T pulls away from the house. I look back and see Isaiah on the porch, the light behind casting a glow around him; making him radiate like the guardian angel he is for saving my life.