Page 99 of The Woman I’ve Become

Something flies past my arm, tearing through the fabric of my sweater. My skin beneath it burns. I freeze.

Someone is screaming. I glance back, but then I hear Rick shouting, and I jerk my attention back to the front door. He is hovering over Phillip, who has slumped to the floor.

Another blast rattles the air. I’m suddenly running, but I don’t seem to be moving fast enough. I don’t even know when I started moving, but I have to get to Olivia.

I feel a bullet whiz by my head, and I duck.

I hear Julia shouting, but I don’t turn around. I’m on the stairs now. Olivia! I have to get to her. Phillip has been shot, and I’m sorry, but I must protect our child.

Behind me a man is shouting at me, but the words won’t assimilate in my brain. His heavy footfalls thump, thump against the stair treads. The idea that this is Brian, the boyfriend, registers briefly in my brain.

Why is he chasing me?

There are more gun blasts, but I don’t turn around . . . don’t stop running.

I reach the top of the stairs, and Helen is suddenly there. She shoves me toward the floor, and I roll, falling onto my side. I watch as she levels her rifle. A blast makes her shoulder twitch.

The man’s body jerks and sails backward through the air, a rifle or shotgun falling free of his hands as he plummets to the bottom of the staircase.

Then there is silence. Except for the hammering of my heart.

Just as suddenly everything is in motion again. Helen is rushing down the stairs, her weapon still held at the ready. Phillip is moaning. Someone is shouting . . . Alicia, I think.

I clamber onto all fours and scramble toward Olivia’s room. I crawl to my baby’s bed. Mercifully she is still sleeping. I quickly examine her, checking the sheets for blood, then wilt with relief. I kiss her forehead, only then realizing tears are streaming down my face. My body is trembling.

Certain my child is unharmed and remains asleep, I scramble to my feet. I ignore the pain now pulsing through my damaged body, exit the room, and close the door. All is eerily quiet once more.

I take a breath and dare to descend the stairs. I step over the man’s, presumably Brian’s, motionless body. His eyes stare unblinking at the ceiling. He’s dead.

A groan from Phillip has me rushing toward him. Helen kneels next to him. I join her there. “Where are you injured?” Before he can answer, I see the widening spread of blood soaking his shirt, and I know this is bad. Shit. Fear squeezes my chest, making a breath near impossible. I caress his jaw. There are things I want to say, but the words won’t budge past the thick lump in my throat.

“I’ve called nine-one-one. Help is on the way,” Helen explains. Her bloody hands are pressed against the wound. “The pressure is slowing the bleeding,” she explains.

“Thank you,” I manage to murmur. I need to know what the others are doing. Rick . . . Julia. Alicia. Renewed urgency sends another blast of terror through my veins. They could be plotting on how to finish us off . . . they could be doing anything!

“Stay with him, please,” I urge Helen.

“Mr. Howard is in the dining room with the others,” she says quietly, reading my mind, “I’m not sure you should go in there just yet.”

But I have to.

I squeeze her arm and push to my feet. As quietly as I can, I make my way toward the dining room. I can hear Rick’s voice, but he’s speaking so softly, I can’t make out the words.

At the door I pause and stare at the scene playing out. Alicia stands on one side of the table, the rifle she holds pointed at . . . Julia? Rick has his weapon drawn and leveled on Alicia. Julia hovers at the far end of the table, her hands raised in surrender. What the hell is going on?

I take a breath and reach for the weapon at the small of my back.

“Stay back,” Rick warns.

I jerk when all eyes shift to me. Fuck.

My hands go up in surrender as well. “What’s happening?”

“This is happening.” Alicia swings her aim toward me.

A sudden blast of icy panic gushes through me.

“All this time she told us what a monster you are,” Alicia says, her voice shaking with anger. “She made us do things . . . bad things.”