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The Gate House :: Demille Nelson
Страница: 477 из 490I said to her, “I did the right thing.”
“It was the wrong thing.”
I looked at her and asked, “Did you think so at the time?”
She didn’t reply for a few seconds, then said, “No. But afterwards… I wished you’d let him die. And now… we’re not going to make that same mistake.”
I put out my hand and said, “Give me the gun.”
She pushed the shotgun toward me and said, “He threatened our children. So you take care of it.”
I hesitated, then took the shotgun from her. We made eye contact, and she said, “Do this for Edward and Carolyn.”
I’d thought about killing Anthony, and I would have without a second thought when he was a threat to us. But killing a wounded man in cold blood was not the same. And yet… if he lived… there would be an investigation, a public trial, testimony about what happened here… and there’d always be that threat hanging over us… but if he was dead… well, dead was dead. Dead was simple.
I took a deep breath and said, “I’ll check on him.”
I carried the shotgun into the foyer and up the staircase, then stopped at our bedroom door. I checked to see that the selector switch was set to the left barrel – the one that held the heavy-load buckshot, then I opened the door.
I could see him on the floor, and his chest was still heaving.
I moved closer, then I knelt beside him.
His arms were at his sides now, and the blood coming out of his wound had slowed and was no longer frothy with air.
I looked at his face, which was so white that the stubble on his cheeks looked like black paint. I felt his pulse, then his heart, which was beating very rapidly to compensate for the loss of blood pressure.
I leaned closer to him and said, “Anthony.”
His eyelids fluttered.
“Anthony!” I slapped his face, and his eyes opened.
We looked at each other. His lips moved, but I couldn’t hear anything except a gurgling sound.
I said to him, “When you get to hell, and you see your father, tell him how you got there, and tell him who shot you. And ask your father for the truth about him leaving his family for Susan. Anthony?” I slapped him again and said, “Can you hear me?”
His eyes still had some life in them, but I didn’t know if he could hear me over the sound of the rushing in his ears, which happens when the heart is trying to pump the last of the blood through the veins and arteries.
I said loudly, “And tell your father thanks for doing me that last favor.
“It was the wrong thing.”
I looked at her and asked, “Did you think so at the time?”
She didn’t reply for a few seconds, then said, “No. But afterwards… I wished you’d let him die. And now… we’re not going to make that same mistake.”
I put out my hand and said, “Give me the gun.”
She pushed the shotgun toward me and said, “He threatened our children. So you take care of it.”
I hesitated, then took the shotgun from her. We made eye contact, and she said, “Do this for Edward and Carolyn.”
I’d thought about killing Anthony, and I would have without a second thought when he was a threat to us. But killing a wounded man in cold blood was not the same. And yet… if he lived… there would be an investigation, a public trial, testimony about what happened here… and there’d always be that threat hanging over us… but if he was dead… well, dead was dead. Dead was simple.
I took a deep breath and said, “I’ll check on him.”
I carried the shotgun into the foyer and up the staircase, then stopped at our bedroom door. I checked to see that the selector switch was set to the left barrel – the one that held the heavy-load buckshot, then I opened the door.
I could see him on the floor, and his chest was still heaving.
I moved closer, then I knelt beside him.
His arms were at his sides now, and the blood coming out of his wound had slowed and was no longer frothy with air.
I looked at his face, which was so white that the stubble on his cheeks looked like black paint. I felt his pulse, then his heart, which was beating very rapidly to compensate for the loss of blood pressure.
I leaned closer to him and said, “Anthony.”
His eyelids fluttered.
“Anthony!” I slapped his face, and his eyes opened.
We looked at each other. His lips moved, but I couldn’t hear anything except a gurgling sound.
I said to him, “When you get to hell, and you see your father, tell him how you got there, and tell him who shot you. And ask your father for the truth about him leaving his family for Susan. Anthony?” I slapped him again and said, “Can you hear me?”
His eyes still had some life in them, but I didn’t know if he could hear me over the sound of the rushing in his ears, which happens when the heart is trying to pump the last of the blood through the veins and arteries.
I said loudly, “And tell your father thanks for doing me that last favor.