Uncertain (18 page)

I had her address. Amelia Harper. I’d spent weeks waiting for specific instructions. Was I expected to kill her? I decided that was what was supposed to happen. It should’ve already happened in Mexico, but it didn’t. That had been the plan then, so it had to be the plan now.

I looked in the mirror, trying to figure out if I should wear a ski mask or not. My hair would be dark enough if I left the lights off once I got into the house. Plus a ski mask would annoy me after a while and itch.

I thought back to the one who told us that she had to be ‘eliminated.’ That’s the word he’d used. That she was a crucial element in destroying the plot. He’d made it sound like some type of hostile takeover that we were trying to foil. He’d won me over. I remembered how passionate he was and how everything he said made perfect sense. Was I a hit man? Is that what this was? I didn’t think so.

I really did like this girl. She had a hot girl next door thing goin’ on that I was a big fan of. Her guy friend bugged the shit out of me, though. Always lurking, always trying to get her this or that. I couldn’t think of his name. Just leave ‘er alone, man. Scram. He was always trying to help her. Enough already. Kind of a weird relationship if you ask me. I was pretty sure there was more to it. That just wasn’t normal.

Tonight was the night. She would be stopped, and my task would be fulfilled. The man said she could change everything. And I wasn’t going to stand by and let that happen. I pulled on a pair of black jersey pants and a black, long-sleeved, V-neck shirt. I tried to find a coat that wouldn’t make sound as I moved.

I imagined myself going up the stairs in her house, two at a time. I knew which room she was in. It would be quick. I was still trying to decide how I’d do it. But, I had my gun—that was most likely how this would go down. So fast. I could get back out of the house and take off before anyone would even know what happened, let alone who had done it.

I didn’t have a silencer for the gun, but that didn’t matter. I didn’t need for it to be quiet, I just needed it to do the job. Anyway, I could always use a pillow to muffle the sound at the last minute. She’d be in her bedroom, after all.

I decided to leave without a coat. I didn’t have one that was quiet enough. I grabbed the keys and headed out the door. I’d filled my tank this morning, and the gun was in the car, waiting. I’d never killed anyone before, but this seemed to be important enough to take the risk. She had to be eliminated. I’d been chanting that to myself for weeks, waiting to hear from the man who’d told me.

I’d been surprised to see her—that’s when I learned that Mexico didn’t go as planned. I was pissed at the others, Marco included. Now the job was more complicated. But I’d gotten her address on my own, easily, and wanted to take care of it myself. I parked down the street and around the corner and got out of my car. I silently closed the door behind me. I put on the shoulder holster, shoved the gun in the holster, and started to walk toward her house.

It was just before 2 a.m. I stood next to the neighbor’s house and watched for any movement in her house or nearby. Sometimes her grandfather would fall asleep in front of the TV, and if tonight was one of those nights, this wouldn’t work. Maybe it would, though—maybe the TV would mask any sounds I might make. I stopped to think about that possibility, asking myself if I should leave when that happened.

I’d been visiting the house here and there ever since I had the address and I was able to make it. It got dark early, so peering in the windows wasn’t that hard. These people never looked up, never even closed the curtains. Neighbors must have hibernated for the winter, too, because no one saw me in all those times I walked around in the darkness, trying to learn the house and the habits.

I was quick enough, and I’d gone over this plan in my head a thousand times. I’d go in through the patio door, which was always open. I’d get to the stairway and head up. Hers was the first room on the right. I’d be in and out in less than five minutes. Probably even less than that. I had four different ways I could go in order to eventually get back to my car, or I could walk to that motel nearby to play it cool for the night if something came up. I felt the cash in my pocket to be sure I had it on me.

I started up the driveway, glancing around at surrounding houses to be certain no one was awake. Everything was black. Only in the living rooms were lamps on as far as I could tell. I applauded my having waited until the snow melted. It removed the factor of the sound of snow crunching beneath my feet. I walked lightly to the back of the house and crept up the steps. I was at the sliding door.

The motion sensor light had come on the last time I came to check the place out, so I planned to unscrew it just as soon as I could get my hand on it. I slid toward the door, keeping my back against the house. That way I wouldn’t cast a shadow when the light came on. In an instant, the light popped on and my heart jumped, beating faster. I quickly palmed the flood light, and with two twists, it was off.

Although the temperature was below freezing, I was sweating. I put my gloved hand on the door handle, feeling the cold metal through my glove. I moved it by the sixteenth of an inch until it opened. Then I stood there without sound for a moment, checking the nearby couch through the patio door to be sure it was unoccupied. In one movement, I stepped into the house and turned to face the door again.

I was in
. The warm air of the house was welcoming. I grasped the door handle from the inside to push it closed. My hand hit something! A jingle filled the air. Wind chimes, it felt like, had been hanging from the door handle on the inside of the door. I froze, my heart beating harder than ever.

I stood still, gripping the metal chimes for what must have been five or six minutes. I must have considered going back to my car twenty times. But, I detected no movement in the house, so I decided to continue. I didn’t want to plan for this again. I wanted to return to my normal life. I unhooked the top of the chimes from the door handle and set them on the carpeted floor, ensuring that my foot crushed them as I stood on them to get the door closed fully.

I turned and faced the kitchen. I just had to walk through the kitchen and the dining room, and then make it up the stairs. I scoffed at myself, irritated for yet another moment when I reminded myself how easy this should have been in Mexico. So much easier. We hadn’t known who she was or even if who we were looking for was male or female. But she was pointed out to us just after we arrived, and finding her and the chump she hung out with was easy as shit. This should’ve been done then—far fewer variables.

I stood at the door, deciding if I should remove my shoes. Of course I should, which was why I wore loafers that slid on and off easily—also why I bought them way too small—in case I left them here on my way out. Socks would make less sound. I slipped off the loafers and stood again, just waiting. Happy to have the too-small shoes off my feet. No sound.

I crept across the carpeted room and into the kitchen. On that floor, my feet moved easily and as soundlessly as possible. I reached carpet again. I was in the dining room. One left turn, and I was at the bottom of the stairs. I waited for a moment with my hand on the wooden banister. I heard a small sound and froze. I swung my head around, the rest of me locked into position. I couldn’t hear anything else aside from my rapid heartbeat. I breathed deeply to slow down.

I could see it. I could see her door. I unsnapped my holster. I began to re-think my plan. I wondered now if I should bother being quiet going up the stairs or if I should focus on being fast and just getting the job done. I could jump out her bedroom window and ditch my shoes or I could fly down the stairs after it was done, grab the shoes and stick with my original plan. I decided to stick with the original plan.

I took the first stair, placing all my weight on the outermost part of the stairs, hoping that would minimize any sound. When I’d practiced this at home, that’s what worked best for a near-silent ascent. This was easily the hardest part, the part where I might be heard. I was sure I could handle an old guy, and for sure I wasn’t worried about the girl—but I wanted this to be clean and professional—in and out. No one knows a thing until gramps finds her the next morning. By that time, I’m home painting the half-bath the way I’d planned.

I took the stairs as quickly as I could, alternating sides—far right, far left, up all twelve stairs. There was a squeak about halfway up the stairs that just about stopped my heart, but it wasn’t that loud. I wanted to pause and wait to see if anyone was stirring, but I couldn’t risk the delay. I waited only two or three seconds until I could catch my breath a little. I felt for my gun and slid it out of its holster. I kept it in my right hand. I double checked that it was the correct weight with bullets at the ready, and my finger found the safety and clicked it off. I turned my head and felt the curtains touch my ear from the hallway window.

Her white door had been left open a crack. I lifted my hand and grabbed the edge of the door, pushing it quickly to minimize any creaking sounds. I didn’t want her to wake up before this was done. I was very aware that I wasn’t a professional and I was worried that she’d ask some cute question, and I’d pause too long and be as stupid as Marco had been.

I was inside the door and in her room. My feet felt the change to hardwood floors now, and so I slid my socks toward her bed. The bed was closer to the door than I’d imagined. This was going to be easy. I was almost done, man. Do this, fly down the stairs, go home. My heart was beating uncomfortably hard.

She slept with a night light on, which surprised me, and only made this easier for me. She wore a fleece jacket and slept on her back, her dark hair looking wild, spread out across her pillow. Her hands were up above her head, the way a baby might sleep.

She really was beautiful.

I raised my gun.

Ortis finally released me from the dream, and I was allowed to wake up. But even before my eyes popped open, I knew something was wrong. The room sounded different, and I felt someone nearby. I scrambled so I could sit upright, my feet slipping on the bedsheets.

“It’s OK, hon.” My grampa’s voice.

I needed a second to understand what I was seeing. Ben. Ben from Mexico stood next to my bed with his hands raised, and my grampa had a thick, black handgun pointed at Ben’s head. I had no idea my grampa even owned a gun. Maybe he’d kept it from his time in the Navy.

“Hand it over, real slow,” my grampa said to Ben.

Ben held his gun by the barrel and slowly moved his right hand toward my grampa who grabbed the weapon with his free hand. He tossed it on the spare bed about six feet away.

“Mel, I want you to use your phone right now and dial the police. OK?”

Ben made a sound as I located my phone.

“I’d be well within my rights to shoot you, and I won’t miss. Don’t you say a word,” my grampa snarled.

I picked up my phone and stood up, my back against the window as I chose the “Emergency” option on my cell.

“Nine-one-one, what is your emergency?” A lady answered.

“There’s a man with a gun in our house.” My hand shook so I deliberately slowed my breathing.

“What is your address.”

“2910 Statler Rd.”

“OK, ma’am, I have your location, and I’m sending police. They’ll be on the way very shortly. Are you in danger right now?”

“No. My grampa has a gun on him.”

“How many people are in the house?”

“Three.”

“Do you know the intruder?”

“Yes, I know him.”

“You know him?” my grampa asked not moving his eyes away from Ben.

“Yeah, we met him in Mexico.”

Without warning, Ben used a straight arm to push my grampa’s arm out of the way. My grandpa fired the gun. A piercing sound resonated and I couldn’t tell what went where. Ben held his hand over his ear and charged my grampa, who fell to the floor with a thud.

“Grampa!” I shouted. I heard the operator on the phone speaking to me, but I dropped the phone and waited to see if I would feel somehow equipped to handle Ben. I ran toward my bed, which stood between us, to put my hands on Ben or to find the gun. I didn’t know how I’d land once I got to him, so I just hoped that those who protected me would take over or empower me. I only knew that I wasn’t afraid.

Before I reached him, Ben stood up, holding my grampa’s gun. It was pointed at my chest. I stopped short, feeling my feet almost skid on the floor. At that point, everything seemed to slow down. I heard a shot fire and felt myself drop to the floor.

I picked my head up and saw an extra set of bare feet in my doorway. I craned my neck to see who it was as I lay feeling stunned. I didn’t think that I was shot. I didn’t feel any pain, but I did wonder for a moment if I actually
had
been shot.

Three more shots were fired, the sound deafening. As my ears rang from the sound, I heard sirens in the distance. Finally, I could see who was doing the shooting— Dave’s dad, Mr. Phillips! He stood in the doorway in a robe and bare feet with a gun pointed at Ben. My grampa still lay on the floor. I panicked. Was he hurt?

I tried to find my voice, but I was in shock. I moved my mouth, yet nothing came out.

“Amelia!” It was my grampa. He struggled to sit up.

My lower jaw was shaking too much for me to answer. My hands shook hard.

“Are you hurt? Did he get you?”

“Uh, no,” I managed to whisper, finally, as my grampa leaned over me, patting my middle and looking me over.

“Ok, honey, stand up but don’t look over there. Just look at me.”

He put an open hand next to my eye, creating a horse-blinder-type effect, so I wouldn’t see as I stood up using his hand for help. My knees shook, and my legs felt weak. I caught sight of a limp hand draped over my bed and clenched my eyes shut.

Something about my grampa helping me made me feel like a child and far more helpless than I should have been. I didn’t want to see anything further than that hand. I didn’t want to remember this scene in this always-safe house, in my own secure room.

“Elmer. I owe ya big,” my grampa said as he held my shoulders and we walked past Dave’s dad. “Just breathe, Mel. Just breathe for me,” my grampa said in a gravely, soothing tone as we walked down the stairs. The police were already inside the house.

“He’s upstairs,” my grampa told the first officer who had her gun drawn. She rushed up the stairs, another officer close behind. My grampa realized something and turned to say, “The older guy is OK. He’s my neighbor.” I looked up in time to see Mr. Philips toss his gun on the hallway floor and put his hands in the air.

My grampa sat me on the sofa in the front room. “Any holes in you?”

I waited two beats of my heart to see if I felt any pain as he stood in front of me, wanting to know. “No, I’m fine.” My shaking body was finally slowing down. “Wait, how about you?”

“I’m all right. I didn’t get hit.”

“But he tackled you so hard.”

“It takes more than that. But I just hate that I’m old and slow. I’ll have bruises, though, I think. Fifty years ago, that kid would’ve been in way over his head.” Grampa smiled a little.

He sat down next to me, a bit more carefully than usual, as more and more officers entered and questioned us. Mr. Philips came down after a few minutes with an officer and went to sit at the kitchen table to answer questions.

My grampa looked over at our rescuer as he walked into the next room. “I have no idea how he knew, but I think he saved us both.”

It seemed that I had badly underestimated Dave’s dad, and I was sorry.