There was a man standing on the bridge over the snye, squinting into the light of the Mini Cooper’s headlights, holding up his hands to shade his eyes. His shoulders were hunched, pelted by the rain. It wasn’t even six, but the storm clouds made it seem like twilight. Jay switched off the lights but not the ignition. The guy was his age but looked huge somehow, standing like that alone on the crumbling bridge, muscular, his head shaved, dressed only in a T-shirt and black jeans. Cramer.
He wiped his face with both hands, squinting from the rain. It was still coming down hard. He waved his arm urgently, then made his way toward the car. Instinctively, Jay locked the doors. What was going on? Where was Mimi? But now Cramer was at his window, his hands pressed against the glass, framing his face, and his face was filled with earnestness and fear. His mouth was moving. He was saying something. Jay turned off the engine. “Mimi!” he said, pointing toward the house. “Hurry!” Jay nodded and Cramer stepped back to let him out. Jay opened the door.
“It’s Mimi,” said Cramer. “She’s in trouble.”
“What did you do to her?”
Cramer looked exhausted. He shook his head. “Have you got a cell phone?” Jay nodded. “Call the cops. And you’d better call for an ambulance, too.”
“What the hell-”
“Just do it!” said Cramer, his voice urgent but not much above a whisper. Jay climbed back in the car, to make the call out of the rain. He punched in 911. Cramer was looking back toward the house, his fists coiled, his face filled with a gravity that frightened Jay. He made the connection, gave the directions.
“Tell them she’s got a gun!”
“What?”
Cramer swore and grabbed the phone from Jay. “There’s a crazy woman with a gun,” he said. “Hurry!” Then he handed the phone back to Jay.
“You get that?” said Jay. The dispatcher did.
“Do not attempt a rescue,” she said. He flipped the phone shut and jumped out of the vehicle, because Cramer was already hotfooting it back toward the bridge.
“They said not to try anything.”
Cramer turned and cried out in a harsh whisper, “Don’t slam the door!”
Jay caught the door in midflight and closed it quietly. Then he ran to catch up.
“They said not to try rescuing her,” he said.
“Shhh,” said Cramer. “Keep it down.”
“But-”
Cramer turned to him, his face stern. “I heard you. I just don’t know if we’ve got that option.”
They had to cross the plank portion of the bridge single file, but as soon as they were on the other side, Jay caught up with Cramer. “For God’s sake, tell me something!”
Cramer took Jay by the arm. “It’s so fucked up.”
“But-”
Cramer’s hold on his arm tightened painfully. “Just stay with me,” he said. “We can do this, right?” Then he was moving again, without waiting for an answer, moving in a crouch as if someone in the house might see them. There was a bag attached to his belt and banging against his hip. They moved swiftly up the wet lawn to the house and stopped, near the shed.
“What do we do?” whispered Jay.
Cramer was breathing hard. His face was filled with consternation, but his eyes were quick with possibility, and Jay stopped pressing him. Under the shed roof, the noise was deafening from the rain on the tin. “They’re in the bedroom,” he said. “I’m going to go in through the storm door-”
“You can’t,” said Jay. “I locked it.”
Cramer shook his head. “I know,” he said. “I can get in.” His eyes slid away from Jay’s, embarrassed, but Jay didn’t press it.
“So I’ll go in the back door,” said Jay. “The noise of the rain will cover any noise.” Cramer nodded, then looked down.
“Take off your shoes,” he said. “Get as close to the bedroom door as you can. I could see through a crack in the curtains; the bedroom door’s open. Be ready, okay?”
“For what?”
“I don’t know,” said Cramer. “I don’t the fuck know!” His eyes were filled with pain. He swallowed.
“So, be ready for anything,” said Jay. “Any opportunity.”
“Right,” said Cramer. His eyes widened. He nodded. “Yeah.”
So it was half a plan, but at least it was something. Then Cramer punched Jay on the arm-comrades-and disappeared around the shed.
It was like some nightmarish game. For all Jay knew, Cramer was nuts! But he didn’t look nuts. He looked scared shitless. And, anyway, it was Cramer who’d suggested calling the cops.
As soon as he opened the kitchen door, he heard voices: Mimi’s voice and the voice of another woman. There was an edge to her voice that confirmed the panic Jay had seen in Cramer’s eyes. He crept through the kitchen in his stocking feet, turned left, and slid along the wall toward the open bedroom door.
The woman’s voice grew louder, more strident, more threatening. They were talking about Marc, about a phone call. Jay hardly dared to breathe. He tried to place the figures in the room by the sound of their voices. Mimi was facing his direction; the stranger must have her back to the door. It would be safe to look, he thought, unless Mimi saw him and the woman noticed. But if she did-if she turned-maybe Mimi could hit her or something. No, it was too dangerous. And then suddenly nothing was as dangerous as what the woman was saying.
“Do what?”
“It. You. Shoot you.”
Jay hurled himself into the room just as the trapdoor flew open, and Cramer exploded up out of the hole like a jack-in-the-box. The woman crashed to the floor. Her hand flew out as she fell and hit Mimi’s hand, sending her mace canister flying.
“Run!” shouted Cramer.
“Mimi!” shouted Jay.
And then everything was happening too fast.
Jay dragged Mimi out of the room and there was a gunshot and Cramer howled with pain and the woman screamed.
“He’s hit!” cried Mimi, and Jay clamped her hard around the waist to stop her from going back in there.
Then the gun went off again, and Mimi didn’t need any urging to leave. They skittered through the kitchen and out the door into the shed.
“I called 911 fifteen minutes ago,” he yelled into her ear. “The cops are on their way.”
“He’s hit!” yelled Mimi. “She killed him.”
“They’re sending an ambulance, too. Come on. There’s nothing we can do!”
She was sobbing. She turned to him, looking lost and small, and he threw his arm around her, glancing over her shoulder, nervously, at the kitchen door, expecting to see the madwoman any minute. “Come,” he said. “Quick.”
They ran, hand in hand, down through the sopping grass toward the snye and were halfway there when they heard the third shot. They were far enough away now to stop and look back through the drifting veils of rain at the little house. And then they heard the sirens.