Page 201 - The Houseguest

I walked up to her and sat down on the fireplace hearth. I kept the gun low so I could peer deeply into her eyes. I learned how to tell if someone was lying early in my career, and I was seldom mistaken. I stared into her eyes as more of her tears fell. There it was, I felt it. I believed her. I felt a connection, a human bond, momentarily. I let my head bow forward to acknowledge the feeling, the link. I let my guard down.
She lunged upward and forward, headbutting my face so hard, my ears rung. I stumbled backwards, knocking down the very fireplace tools I had just considered using against her. I fell to my knees as she stood up whirling the chair around knocking me to the wood floor. While I was dazed, she twisted and maneuvered her hands from the ropes and seized the gun that had been flung onto the couch. She held it straight and pulled the trigger without hesitation. I felt a bullet enter around my rib cage. My muscles felt like they’d been ripped apart. Then I felt another bullet pierce my thigh. My body began to shake uncontrollably from fear or from pain, probably both.
So, this was it. This was how my careful schematic would end. I stared up at her as she stood about five feet from me now. “I always knew you were a lying bitch.” She pulled back the trigger and released a third bullet, grazing my arm. By this time, a swarm of officers had broken open the door and burst inside. They look confused and I seized my chance, “Officers! Grab her! She shot me!”
As they stood befuddled staring at Rachel holding the gun, they tried desperately to establish the facts. While they hesitated, and spoke to each other, I kept going, “Stop her, she’s going to shoot again!” Rachel
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The Houseguest by Linda Ellis www.LindaEllis.life