Lucy and I manage to nap for about half an hour before Ben arrives. I hear his car and am dressed and ready, gun drawn, by the time he opens the back door. He stops in the doorway at the sight of me, fear flashes across his face, then relief as I lower the weapon.
"I hear you cleaned my gun collection," he says as he steps into the little anteroom next to the kitchen, "Thanks."
"You've got a decent set," I say, putting the safety back on and tucking the gun into the small of my back. Rowan comes into the kitchen and they kiss each other. I'm grossed out.
"Hopefully it all remains unused," Ben says, once they've exchanged enough saliva.
"Except for the one I'm borrowing," I reply.
"Yes, well. Ray's boys are all for revenge. They're very upset that you killed three of their comrades. It's been difficult keeping them at bay," Ben says. He sets his briefcase down on a kitchen chair, sets himself down in another one. "I'm not sure it'll ever be safe for you to go back."
Rowan brings him a glass of water. He loosens his necktie and takes a sip.
"I wasn't planning on going back," I say, "I'm not even from that town. Now that the gig's over I'm thinking about where to go next." It's a small lie. I haven't thought of much beyond losing Lucy to Reynolds and how to get her back.
"We could use you," Ben says.
"Who's 'we?'" I ask, "For what?"
"Yeah, for what?" Rowan asks.
"The FBI, for cases like this, when we need someone who isn't afraid of shooting people."
"No," says Rowan in a flat voice. Ben looks at her.
I snort and turn to leave the kitchen, find Lucy standing in the doorway. Behind her, in the living room, the TV light dances and cartoon characters laugh maliciously.
"Looks like you're ready to go," I hear Ben say.
Lucy looks away, from my face to his. She nods. I can see she's not afraid. She's got that honey pot programming that makes serving others a fabulous adventure, even when "serving others" means "going to a place you've never been, ostensibly to be saved from brainwashing that makes you love the fact you've been brainwashed, but actually to spy on people who might kill you if they realize you're spying on them."
For a brief moment, I, too, want to have that programming. Then I realize I sort of do. I've got the monster, which makes frightening, torturing, and killing a fabulous adventure. I realize I want things to go awry. I want Reynolds to refuse to return Lucy, just so I can go in and shoot the fuck out of the place. I let that monster flow through me, warming my muscles. I step aside so Lucy can leave. I finally feel like myself, feel pleased and excited to use Lucy as an opportunity to let my true self run rampant. I just need to wait twenty-four hours.
"I'm looking forward to a full report when you get back, hon," Rowan says.
Ben nods and gulps down the last of the water.
"And I'm looking forward to dinner when I get back," he says, grinning at her.
"Bring home pizza," she says, "I'm not going to have time to cook. I've got to write reports, answer e-mails, and make sure we've got the green light to invade the dairy tomorrow."
Ben sighs. "Yeah, alright," he says, "I was hoping for a home-cooked meal, though. It's been a rough couple of days."
"Home-cooked meal once this is over," Rowan says, her voice sympathetic.
I leave the room. I don't even bother saying goodbye to Lucy. As far as I'm concerned, the sex and the nap was a decent enough goodbye, and I don't feel like trying to match Rowan and Ben's puke-worthy display of domestic bliss.
I catch sight of Tilda and Reba, snuggled together on the couch, eating veggie straws, eyes glued to the TV screen. Rowan won't let them out of the house until we've got this thing settled with Reynolds. They look at me then back at the TV. It's weird being in a house with kids. I don't like it.
Once I'm in the guest bedroom I stretch out on the bed again. That delicious ache for violence is fading. I've got hours of nothing to do stretching out in front of me. I smoosh my face against a faint wet spot Lucy left on the bedspread when I'd made her come with the gun pushed up her vagina. It smells good, like pussy and gun oil. I resolve to fuck her with a gun as often as possible.
I hear the house phone ring. I'm surprised. I didn't know people had land lines these days. I hear Rowan answer it but I can't hear what she's saying. Then she's opening my door, her face tense and serious.
I hear a car pull up.
"Protect us, now," she says.
"You load that gun there," I say, nodding at the Turnbull, "Then get in the bathtub with the girls."
"Okay," she says.
I find the girls still on the couch.
"Into the bathtub, kids," I say. They sort of squeak and jump up, spilling veggies straws on the floor. They don't look at me as they rush past and disappear around the corner.
I back up until I feel the hallway wall behind me, then I slide down to a low crouch. Whether they come in the back or front door, I'll hear it, and I'll see them before they see me. Whoever they are.
It turns out it's Reynold's men. They knock politely.
"Rowan," I hear Williams' voice, the head of the group of men who found me at my apartment.
"Rowan," he repeats, "I know you're home. Just saw Ben leave with that honey pot with the pretty braid." He pauses. I hear my heart beating loudly.
"Listen, Rowan," he says, "We ran a check on that car parked in front of the house. It's not in Rebecca's name, of course, but it sure looks an awful lot like the one I saw in the alley behind her apartment last night. I'm thinking she's here with you, since she didn't--"
I don't catch the rest of what he's saying. I realize that, underneath all his talking, I'm hearing a series of clicks and wrong noises. I realize he's buying time. I back up as fast as possible, scrambling back toward the door to the bathroom. I crouch again, tucked just around the doorway, inside the bathroom, and look out down the hallway. I hear quiet crying behind me. I ignore it.
"I've got the gun for you," I hear Rowan whisper.
The front and back doors slam inward at the same time with a huge noise that threatens to leave me deaf. There's a lot of shouting, like a SWAT team. It probably is a SWAT team.
The first guy around the corner gets in the kneecap. He goes down so suddenly that the guy behind him trips. I shoot him in the calf when his legs fly up in the air. His gun slides toward me along the floor and I take a moment to snatch it, slide it into the bathroom.
The men are wearing black and they're armored, but something doesn't look quite right. Then I realize they're wearing headphones, not just earpieces. They were expecting us -- Rowan -- to use the Loop.
The third guy squeaks in a quick shot in my direction, splintering wood trim a few feet above my head. He's gone too quick for me to get in my own shot. But now I know he knows I'm low. I quickly switch to the other side of the doorway, just in time to avoid two bullets.
I wait. For a moment there's nothing but the two men down, screaming in pain.
"Rebecca, that's two more of my men you've shot," I hear Williams voice coming from the kitchen.
"This time I did you the courtesy of shooting them in the legs instead of the chest," I say, my voice loud enough to carry.
"You're looking at a long prison sentence," he says.
"Whatever," I say, "What kind of response were you expecting when you send in gunmen?"
"The window," Rowan whispers. I don't have time to react before I hear her shoot at the small window above the toilet seat. Glass shatters and I hear a man outside scream, "My face!"
I don't look. I'm ready for the next wave of men coming down the hallway. Three at once, yelling some manly attack vocalization. The hallway is so narrow they basically stack up atop each other as I take them down.
I realize Williams isn't going to give up this time. I realize I get to kill a whole bunch of men at once. I realize I feel wonderful. This is much more fun than a hit job. I load a fresh clip into the handgun then pick up the automatic weapon that skittered into my hands a minute ago, hold its shoulder sling in one hand and my handgun in the other.
I step out of the bathroom and fire bullets into the brains of the downed men as I make my way down the hall. Things get a little quieter. I don't stop. I just drop the handgun and ready the rifle.
The five men in the hall came from the right, from the living room, so I turn left and open fire into the kitchen. I mow down a bunch of men, including Williams, before they have a chance to fire. I turn around and move backward, putting the fridge between myself and the living room.
It feels like magic, like I'm floating, and I'm wounded by something but it doesn't matter. I am the monster. I am invincible. There's a maniacal grin on my face. I squat to get under the line of fire and take out the men who come for me. Cabinetry and the kitchen window explode behind me.
There's another moment of quiet. I don't quite believe it's over. I wait, listen. Something tips in through the kitchen window and I scoop it up and throw it out the back door where it explodes, throwing me back with a rush of air and a deafening noise.
More quiet, but this time because I can't hear shit. I'm looking at the fucking ugly ceiling in Rowan's fucking ugly house and I can't move.
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