Page 49 of Rich Little Liars

I can’t get enough grip to twist it properly.

The figure takes another step.

‘Please.’ Who knows what I’m begging for? Mercy? Time? Understanding, perhaps. ‘Please don’t.’

Then Richard’s voice cuts through the darkness.

‘Kelly?’

He’s at the top of the stairs. Sleep-rumpled, wearing only the T-shirt and boxers he’d worn to bed. He must have woken to the crash, or to my absence beside him.

The intruder’s head snaps towards the stairs.

‘Richard, no!’ I scream. ‘Get out!’

But he’s already moving. Running down the stairs towards the person in my hall. Towards the danger I’ve brought into both our lives.

‘Get away from her!’ Richard shouts.

Everything happens too fast.

Richard reaches the bottom of the stairs. The intruder turns fully towards him. There’s something in the figure’s hand – something that glints dully in the dim light from the living room. Metal. Heavy. A flashlight, maybe. Or a pipe.

Or something worse.

Richard doesn’t stop or hesitate. Just launches himself at the intruder with the kind of desperate bravery that comes from protecting someone you care about. They collide hard. Both of them stumbling sideways into the wall. I hear Richard grunt with effort, hear the intruder’s breathing harsh behind whatever is covering the face.

‘Run!’ Richard gasps at me. ‘Kelly, run!’

But I can’t. My feet have turned to concrete. My whole body locked in place by terror and the surreal horror of watching this unfold. This violence in my hallway. This man I care about fighting someone who wants to hurt me.

Who might hurt him instead.

The thought jolts through me like electricity. I need to do something. Need to help. Need to be more than a frozen witness to this assault. I look around frantically for anything I can use. A vase on the console table. Heavy. Ceramic. I grab it with both hands, the phone clattering to the floor, and take a step towards them.

But they’re moving too fast. Grappling and spinning and I can’t get a clear angle without risking hitting Richard. Can’t do anything except stand here holding this stupid vase while they fight.

Richard manages to shove the intruder backwards. Gains a second of space. His face is flushed with effort, his breathing ragged, but his eyes are focused. Determined.

He’s winning, I think. He’s going to win this.

Relief floods through me. Premature. Stupid. But I let myself believe it for just a second. That Richard will overpower this person and hold them until the police come and everything will be fine.

The intruder regains balance. Plants their feet. And I see it then – the shift in posture. The way they adjust their grip on their weapon. The purposeful angle of their shoulder. They’re about to strike.

‘Richard!’ I scream. ‘Watch out!’

He hears me. Turns his head just slightly. Distracted for half a second.

Half a second is all it takes.

The intruder swings.

That object in their hand – the metal thing – arcs through the air with terrible speed. Richard tries to dodge but he’s off-balance now, turning back towards the threat too late, his arms coming up to block but not fast enough.

Not nearly fast enough.

It connects with his temple.