In the Still of the Night

by Charlotte Lamb

  Annie stopped firing and dropped the gun, almost falling out of the chair, to run shakily, stumbling, to where Johnny had fallen.

  She didn’t hear Tom Moor shouting, or hear the window implode as he smashed it with a spanner, she didn’t see him reach in and open the latch then leap through into the room over the showered broken glass littering the floor.

  He stood there, briefly taking in what had happened, trod carefully over to where the gun lay on the floor, wrapped a handkerchief round his hand and reached for the gun.

  Annie knelt down beside Johnny, sobbing hoarsely; she cradled his head in her arms and rocked him like a baby, kissing his face over and over again, telling him, ‘I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I had to, I couldn’t let you kill anyone else, you had to be stopped, I didn’t want to do it, God knows I didn’t want to do it.’

  Sean made angry, jerky movements at Tom, muffled sounds from under the scarf. Tom wrapped the gun entirely in the handkerchief and pushed it into his jacket pocket, then knelt beside Sean and untied him.

  ‘Man, I thought you’d had it when I heard that gun go off,’ he said, grimacing.

  ‘I thought I’d had it, too,’ said Sean, getting up stiffly, rubbing his wrists where the twine had bitten deeply, leaving a red bracelet.

  Tom walked over the tea-stained carpet to stare down at Annie, who was oblivious of him, still holding Johnny, rocking him against her like a sleeping child.

  Tom had been going to make quite sure that Johnny was dead, but, observing the red stain spreading across Johnny’s shirt, he knew there was no need to check the pulse; no one could live with a hole like that in him.

  It was clear to both Tom and Sean that Annie didn’t even remember they were there. All she could see was Johnny.

  ‘Bullseye,’ Tom said softly over his shoulder to Sean. ‘She shot him? Some shooting.’

  ‘Police trained,’ Sean said. ‘She’s good.’

  He was staring at her and Johnny, frowning. Tom discreetly turned his back, went over to the phone. ‘I’d better ring Chorley. He isn’t going to be too pleased about this.’

  Sean walked nearer to Annie and she looked up, her face wet with tears, her eyes dark with grief.

  ‘I had to stop him, it couldn’t go on – I couldn’t let him go on killing, I couldn’t let him kill you, but I couldn’t let them put him back in prison, he would never have got out again, he would have spent the rest of his life in a cell, and he had hated being in prison, he said it drove you mad … I couldn’t let that happen to him. You understand, don’t you, Sean?’

  ‘I understand,’ he gently said. ‘Let him go now, Annie. It’s over, let him go.’

  She looked at Johnny, drew a long, harsh breath, and laid his head carefully down on the carpet again.

  Sean lifted her to her feet, put his arms around her and held her shaking body until the police arrived.