Chapter 31 of Remy’s story is by Deborah Dera. Deborah traditionally ghostwrites articles and stories but is in the process of finishing up her first eBook to be released on the Kindle platform later this year. Keep your eyes peeled.
Next week’s chapter will come from Val Muller, author of the Corgi Capers mystery series for young detectives and For Whom My Heart Beats Eternal, a time travel trio. Find out more at www.valmuller.com.
The Spot Writers’ blogs appear at the end of this story. Don’t forget to check them out.
Remy immediately froze where she was, her eyes locked on Barbara.
Sam, ever ready to take control of a situation, started to speak. “Barbara, Remy had nothing to do with Jeremy’s arrest.” As he spoke, he took a step over to try to block Remy from Barbara’s view.
Barbara was crazed, eyes wide. She raised the gun to Sam’s chest and motioned for him to move aside. “Get out of my way and don’t move again.”
Sam slowly moved but only a half step. Barbara turned her gaze back to Remy, who was still standing near the entrance to the kitchen, feeling miles away from Sam.
“I don’t get it. I don’t get what he sees in you. I don’t know why my husband wants to hang out with trash like you.”
Remy struggled to hear Barbara’s words over the sound of her own heart in overdrive. The sight of Barbara waving a gun in front of the man she loved made her realize just that. She did love Sam, and she didn’t want him to be caught in the middle of this mess.
Remy took a breath and tried to keep her tone soft. “Barbara, you know as well as I do that Jeremy’s been stalking me. And he said you’re not married. I don’t know who to believe, and I don’t care. I want nothing to do with either of you. I meant you no harm – not ever.”
Barbara shook her head and seemed to twitch her shoulder. “You’re such a liar,” she spat. “Just like him.”
As she spoke she took a step and started to raise the gun-wielding hand. Remy watched as Sam, startled by Barbara’s sudden movement, moved to reach for her arm. He managed to keep Barbara from raising her arm, but she pulled the trigger as she made contact. The loud cracking left Remy’s ears ringing as she helplessly watched Sam slump to the floor, clutching his thigh. Her heart felt like it was going to pound out of her chest.
Barbara never even looked down at the man she’d just shot as she continued towards Remy. Remy barely heard Sam shout for her to go as she turned to dash towards the kitchen.
The funny thing about life or death situations is they’re nothing like you see in the movies. None of the fast action or motivating background music exists. To Remy, everything seemed to be moving in slow motion, including her legs.
As she turned into the kitchen, Remy made sure to cut as far out of sight of the door as possible. She frantically searched for something to fight with and her eyes landed on the heavy iron skillet her mother had given her when she bought the condo. She’d never used it once – not for cooking, anyway. Remy grabbed the pan as Barbara’s footsteps approached the entryway.
She quickly swung the pan like a baseball bat, landing a heavy thud to the side of Barbara’s face and jaw the moment she crossed over the kitchen threshold. The gun flew from her hand and bounced across the floor moments before Barbara toppled over, unconscious.
Dazed, Remy hesitated.
“Is she out cold?” Remy peeked around the corner to see Sam on the floor by the door, positioned so he could see the kitchen doorway. Remy could only nod.
“Good. You did good, Remy. Listen to me. Don’t panic now. Go pick up the gun.”
Remy had never touched a gun before in her life. She moved quickly around Barbara’s body on the floor and picked up the gun. The tiny piece felt like it weighed a ton in her hand.
Sam’s voice broke her from her adrenaline induced haze. Sam!
Remy rushed back out of the kitchen and slid onto her knees at Sam’s side. “Is it bad?” She tried to peel back his hand but he wouldn’t budge.
“Best not to look. Just call 9-1-1.”
Remy hurried to the phone and dialed as she ran to the hall closet for towels. As she spoke to the dispatcher, she managed to add the towels and extra pressure to Sam’s gaping thigh wound. Sam’s face was white, and he finally relaxed a bit, leaning his head back against the wall.
The Spot Writers- our members:
Catherine A. MacKenzie