“We can’t go in there and subdue them with witty banter. What is more likely to happen is that we go in, chaos ensues, weapons start firing randomly, and someone, or a few someones, get hurt.”
“I know,” Nicolas snapped. He’s doing his best to keep it together, but he would love to hit me again. “I actually have an idea that I think will work.”
“I’m all ears.”
“We don’t barge in. We go in politely.”
“Excuse me?”
“We get invited in. As a guest.” Oz was still confused. “Oz, we knock on the damn door.”
Oz laughed; it was a nervous laugh, and one that he feared might get him decked again, but it was genuine. “You ass, that might actually work.”
Chapter Fifty-Three: Jonathan
Jonathan was indifferent about his existence. He had never thought about life as a choice; just something that happened, or didn’t.
He found himself thinking about this very thing as he stood in the room, on the verge of catastrophe, with the only people in his life that mattered. Before, he would have only put Finn on that list, but watching the brave, quiet girl face up against Alex with only a knife clutched in her hand, he realized he cared about her too. If something happened to her tonight, it would affect him. He would feel a lot more than indifference.
For all of the things Jon tried not to care about, most of them did actually matter to him. His home, his job, and even the other islanders. He may never be at the point where he embraced them, but he couldn’t pretend anymore that they didn’t matter.
Even with a gun in his hand, he felt emasculated. Finn had to feel even worse. He was afraid to use the handgun because Alex’s shotgun was still pointed at Finn, and Jon was frozen with the fear that Alex might actually shoot his little brother. He couldn’t live with being the cause of Finn being shot. He realized, in increasing panic, that inaction might cause the same result.
Jon couldn’t follow what was happening anymore. Ana was trying to reason with Alex, who actually started to look crazier by the minute. Jon was trying to make eye contact with Finn, to try and form some kind of a plan, but even when their eyes met, neither could process anything except confusion. Then Finn was talking over Ana, and Alex started talking, and it was all a mess of words and fear.
During the whole encounter, Alex had looked at no one but Ana. He was studying her, and then at times, it was like he was seeing right through her. His eyes were frantic and his words stumbling, but his face was perfectly stoic and focused on her; crazy, but focused. Jonathan was almost glad he could not read his thoughts, but as he watched Alex, the more he worried this situation might beyond what any of them could handle. Jonathan noted that Alex’s hands were shaking less.
Finn was watching Ana with desperation. He really does care for her, Jonathan realized. He could almost understand.
“Alex, please, this is all a misunderstanding,” Ana was still pleading. Her words were useless with Alex, and Jon wanted to say, can’t you see it’s not working? He’s insane.
And then, the strangest thing happened. “Is that the doorbell?” Finn was the first to voice it. His voice was drowned out by the loud barking of Angus, who had padded into the kitchen to announce the visitor. Alex pointed the gun at the dog for a moment and then quickly put it back on Finn, deciding that the drooling canine wasn’t a threat.
“I don’t know....at this hour…” Jon left the rest unspoken. They were all confused.
The doorbell rang again. Angus continued to bark, and now Mr. Jenkins had joined him, chiming in. “Alex, I think we should answer it,” Jonathan said. He asked his permission, as he had read somewhere that if you were ever taken hostage, you should treat your captor like they were in charge.
Alex nodded, clearly glad to be the one making the decision. “Jon, you go answer it. I will stay here.” He nodded at Ana and Finn. “My insurance. So no funny business. Get rid of whoever it is.”
Jonathan took a deep, calming breath and went to the door. When he answered it, standing before him were two young men that were completely unfamiliar to him. They’re not from Summer Island. One of them was holding a handgun, his face covered in blood. Jon’s medically trained mind was unable to resist identifying a crooked and swollen nose, clearly the source of the blood. The other man put his finger to his lips.
Jonathan stared at them, wide-eyed. He couldn’t stop looking at the man with the bloody face. While he held the gun with a sense of purpose, Jon couldn’t help but wonder if the man even knew his nose was broken. It was pointing slightly to the left. An ice pack to reduce swelling, then a simple tug and snap should right it. No visible contusions. Did he fall on the rocks like Ana?
He would have to do or say something soon, as Alex might wonder what was going on. Jonathan wouldn’t know what to say even if Alex asked for an explanation. He wasn’t entirely sure that he wasn’t imagining the whole thing. Hallucinations wouldn’t be the weirdest thing to happen to me tonight. I bet that guy’s nose hurts.
“Where is Ana?” the one without the gun whispered, low enough only the three of them could hear.
“Who the hell are you?” Jon whispered back, quickly.
“Here to help. Pretend we are a neighbor.”
Jon had to think fast. “Oh, Mrs. Auslander, what brings you all the way over here in the middle of the night?” Jonathan said loudly, so Alex could hear.
“We don’t have time,” the one with the gun and broken nose asserted, followed with a short, tender sounding snuffle. “Is the one with the shotgun dangerous?”
Jonathan nodded, and at the same time realized he trusted them. Wherever they had come from, they had come to help. This might be moment that would turn the tide in their favor. He quickly offered his gun over to show he was not going to harm them, but they shook their head.
“Hurry up,” Alex shouted from the kitchen. “We need to finish our…card game.”
“Pretend to get rid of your neighbor, and then we are going to come in quietly,” the black-haired one with the gun and broken nose directed in a voice that, while very low, was not lacking in authority.
“You’re so kind, Gertrude, we will make sure to bring back your pie dish as soon as the weather clears. Now get back home and get warm!” Jon scolded the invisible neighbor, good-naturedly. The one with the gun shook his head and sighed, but Jonathan didn’t have time to ask him why.
The two men hurried in quietly, and Jonathan closed the door. They gestured for him to return to the kitchen. Jonathan felt a surge of hopeful energy. He had no idea who these men could be or why they were here, but he trusted they would be able to help.
When he returned, he realized suddenly why the man had been shaking his head.
“Where’s the pie?” Alex asked, calmly.
That’s when the first shot was fired.
Chapter Fifty-Four: Nicolas
Nicolas stared at Oz in grudging, bemused amazement. When Oz accepted the gun from him, a change had come over him. He put on his game face, is what Nicolas would have said if the situation hadn’t been so difficult, and his fear for Ana not so tangible.
Oz had taken complete control of the situation. He handled the front door instructions like a professional, and without any hesitation. The man at the door was in awe as well, and clearly in need of someone to take over. He trusted Oz right from the start, for no other reason than how confident Oz had seemed. Dude, you were totally like The Wolf from Pulp Fiction, Nicolas would have said to Oz later, if Oz had not completely betrayed him.
Even Nicolas immediately understood the problem with the pie excuse. He didn’t blame the nervous guy with the pistol, though. Everything had happened so fast. They had no time to plan, or even really think things through; they’d just have to make the best of it. Resigned, he knew that things were going to start moving, and fast.
“Where’s the pie?” He heard a voice from the kitchen. Everything came together. Alex Whitman. The calls, the wild goose chase. Alex Fucking Whitman
.
That’s when Oz fired a shot, into the air. The blast was deafening, and Nicolas crouched, covering his head, as pieces of the ceiling sprinkled down over him. He had not been expecting it. There was a commotion in the kitchen as they tried to figure out what was happening. A dog started barking, loud and deep, repetitive woofs adding to the general bedlam. Then, suddenly, there were two dogs, creating a dysfunctional melody of noise.
Oz’s face was neutral but Nicolas could see him trembling and his breathing, while not fast, was deep and heavy.
“Dude,” Nicolas whispered, panting.
“Yeah,” Oz whispered back, and Nicolas was relieved to feel a piece of the old Oz back, no matter what the circumstances were.
He followed Oz into the kitchen, apprehensive but committed. The wheels were in motion and there was no slowing them down now.
The man with the shotgun–who Nicolas now knew to be Alex Whitman–had one hand on the back of the neck of another man, Alex’s other hand still holding the shotgun. Ana was screaming, waving the knife out in front of her toward Alex. The man who greeted them at the door was gesturing at Alex with his gun. Alex threatened Ana and the man with the gun, forcing them to back off.
“Anasofiya,” Nicolas calmly interrupted the chaos. When she turned, her face reflected her shock. Her lower jaw trembled and the knife slipped out of her hand and crashed to the floor
“Nicolas?” She whispered, her voice childlike. She loves me. She needs me. I know she does. His heart felt like jelly. He wanted to rush to her side, but that could end badly for one or both of them. Alex looked ready to snap.
“I’m here, Muffins,” he soothed, trying to sound reassuring when all he could feel was uncertainty, fear, and a good measure of anger. He wasn’t thinking about her betrayal, or the secrets she had kept. “I said I’d always be here when you needed me.”
Ana gaped at him, lips slightly parted. She started to cry. Nicolas couldn’t imagine what she had been going through. The blonde guy on the floor was eyeing them both oddly, and a new kind of understanding came over Nicolas. Another secret? Oh, he is so not your type, Muffins.
“Nicolas Deschanel,” Alex said, looking up from the man he had been holding at gunpoint. “I have all sorts of questions for you about how you managed to get on to the island, but this hardly seems the right time for them.” Alex’s voice was clear and commanding. All of the country dialect was gone. This was a man in control.
“Hardly,” Nicolas agreed, the anger bubbling up to the top of his jumbled emotions. Uncle Augustus had trusted Alex Whitman first to be their overseer, and then to care for Ana as she ventured out on her own. He had lied to Nicolas on the phone. “What is it you want Alex? Is it money? I have endless amounts of that. Say it, and it’s yours.”
Alex laughed, and the guy on the floor flinched as the gun shifted rhythmically at his neck. “What is it with rich people offering others money to solve a problem? Is everything about money with you people? I don’t want your money. It’s probably tainted anyway, so it would taint me too. There’s nothing you could give me that I would want. None of you,” he looked around the room.
“Then tell us what it is you do want,” Oz interjected, evenly.
Alex took the hand that was on the guy’s neck and pointed at Ana. “I came for her. I was rescuing her from these two.”
Ana shook her head frantically. “Don’t listen to him, he is crazy! Finn and Jonathan have not touched me,” she said and then blushed, as if that were only partly true. He looked over at the guy on the floor. Ah, the younger one. I thought you came out here to escape this, Ana?
Jonathan spoke up. “Stop trying, Ana, there is no reasoning with him. He’s lost his mind.”
“Stockholm Syndrome,” Alex said airily. Ana’s hands were balled into fists.
“Well, then that makes everything simple,” Oz said, resuming command. “We’re here now, so you are welcome to leave and we can take over.”
Nicolas could see this was not going to work. He wished more than ever that he was not a benign Deschanel. He would have given just about anything to blast this man off the face of the earth, but he would have happily settled for something simple like mind control.
He locked his eyes on Ana, and she looked back in childlike desperation. I want to hate you, but I can’t. I want to hate you so badly but the only thing I can think about is taking you in my arms and getting you out of here. Oh, Ana, why?
“Then I am sorry you wasted your time coming all the way out here, because that’s not going to happen. I’m the only one who can help her,” Alex said, as if it were obvious.
“Like fucking hell!” The man on the floor suddenly sprung to life, ending the temporary cease-fire.
Chapter Fifty-Five: Ana
Finn grew increasingly upset as Alex held the gun to him. Ana forced herself to ignore his tension because she feared she would lose her focus if she stopped to consider something bad could happen to him. Then he decided to fight back.
Finn shoved Alex back, and as he fell, the shotgun went off, hitting the large, stained glass skylight featured in the coved ceiling of the dining room. The shotgun blast tore into the colorful mosaic no differently than it would have a thin sheet of glass, obliterating it into pieces of various sizes spread in a surprisingly large, if irregular, diameter. One huge shard of glass hit her on the head. Ana fell, more in reflexive shock at the loud blast, than from actually being struck. More glass, sharper because of their smaller sizes, had shattered with the blast, raining around the old wood flooring. As she fell, her head hit the floor with a crack, while slivers of colored glass pierced all over her body. The pain didn’t register immediately with the adrenaline coursing through her.
Before Ana could move, she heard another gun go off, but this one was quieter than the shotgun blast that had left her ears ringing. Angus was barking in a panic, another dog going nuts beside him. Finn screamed, then Jonathan. One more gunshot, then silence.
Jonathan yelled, “Help me!” Which was immediately followed by the sound of wet boots on linoleum as Nicolas and Oz rushed over to where Alex and Finn had been. She struggled to sit up but felt like she was swimming; the floor was so slick. She tried to use her hands but they would slide out from under her, and she could get no traction. Lifting and turning one hand, she saw that it was covered in blood. My blood.
Not again, she thought. She started to feel queasy, then dizzy. The room moved in and out of focus. Her ears were still ringing so she didn’t hear Nicolas approach her, but when she looked and saw the look of horror on his face, panic overtook her.
Chapter Fifty-Six: Finnegan
Finn was tired of sitting back and letting the horror unfold around him.
Ana was in danger and he was left feeling useless beneath the cold barrel of a maniac’s gun, screaming inside. Finn desperately wanted to do as he would normally: take action, think later. He imagined dozens of scenarios that would disable Alex and resolve the matter, but in none of them could he completely eliminate the risk to Ana or Jonathan. He could reconcile himself to his own demise if it saved the two of them, but he would not risk their safety.
Finn watched as Ana tried, and failed, to do his job for him. She tried to reason, then negotiate, with Alex. Finn longed to tell her that she could talk until she was blue in the face, Alex was not going to change his focus. He was ashamed of his indecision, but glad for it at the same time if it kept them all safe a little longer.
Then those other two guys had shown up. He didn’t know who they were, but Ana sure did. She went all soft and teary-eyed at the one named Nicolas, and Finn’s heart sank clear to the floor, wondering if this situation could get any worse.
While everyone was attempting civility, Finn quickly shifted his body weight up and backward, catching Alex off balance. When the shotgun went off, his ears burned with the pain of the sound so close, but then another shot came and a different kind of pain rocked him when a fist of fire punched him in the abdomen.
“I’m hit,” he tried to say but what came out was a squeak. He heard Alex go down behind him as another shot was fired. He reached down to his side and his fingers came back blood-soaked; he didn’t have to be a doctor to know that this was very, very bad. There was only one other time in his life that he had felt himself in such mortal danger. His father wasn’t here to save him this time. Don’t forget Jon. He helped save me too.
Finn tried to sit up but he was overcome with a sudden rush of dizzy weakness. He lay back against the cold, bloody floor, and focused on willing his heart rate down to a more normal tempo. He knew from his father that a person would bleed out faster if their heart was racing, and so he needed to stay calm. Breathing purposefully, Finn rolled his head to the side and caught a glimpse of Ana lying in a pool of her own blood.
Not again. Please God, not again, not Ana.
I love you, he mouthed.
Finn closed his eyes.
Chapter Fifty-Seven: Oz
What was the expression about the smoke clearing?
Oz took a moment to take stock of all that had happened, but he would not allow emotion into it. He was still running high on adrenaline, and the moment he stopped to think about the potential losses of the night, he knew he would completely and totally lose it. His brief glance at Nicolas confirmed that he still needed him in control. Nicolas might hate me when it’s over, but he needs me now.
The smoke had, literally, cleared. Nicolas was kneeling next to Ana, crying by her side, while the dark-haired guy was hunched over the blonde one in a panic. Three people were down, one probably dead, and the other two were in no state of mind to be able to think clearly through to any kind of resolution.
So, what was his plan? Oz was no doctor, and could not assess the severity of either situation. He did know that they would have no way of reaching medical help in this weather. And even if they did, neither Ana nor the blonde guy were likely to survive the time, distance, and cold required for travel. He needed to think fast.
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