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Gerard watched me carefully for a moment, examining me for any signs that I might break into a murderous rampage. He looked at Marylou’s pipe, which was now on the bench next to the table. Then he smiled, pure relief flooding his features.
“Yes,” he said. “Eef you did not kill her when you could, eef she is acting odd…yes. I believe you are right. Eet is your sister. We will lock her up then we will all be safe. We will all be safe, Charlie!”
With that he pulled me close. I don’t know what it was—maybe the mad excitement—but he kissed me. I mean a passionate, full-on, total-body-contact kiss in the true French fashion, done only as a tall village boy who was massively glad to be alive could kiss.
Which, if you are interested, is pretty good stuff. I was pretty glad to be alive myself, and the moment just swelled in that blood-splattered, onion-reeking kitchen with the rain driving away outside. Gerard paused to laugh, his lips close to mine, then picked me up giddily. I wrapped my legs around his hips for support, and we kissed again.
Neither of us heard Marylou come in, or noticed her quietly pick up the rifle.
“What have you done?” she said.
She really didn’t look good. The blood had smeared on her face, and there were shadowy bruises all along her jaw and cheek. Her eyes were red and teary, and her teeth were set together.
And we were, you know, making out over a dead body with half a head, so I could see how this was going to be a tricky one.
Gerard lowered me slowly, and I tried to smile. A calm, it’s-all-okay-now smile.
“You don’t understand….” I said.
“That is the biggest understatement of all time.”
Marylou backed up to the doorway and swung the gun between the two of us.
“You killed him,” she said to Gerard.
“No,” I said quickly. “He killed himself. Because he killed his wife. Just like I said.”
“You mean before you beat me over the head?”
She started to laugh—a high, very crazy laugh that could have been an audio sample that played when you opened the DSM-IV, like one of those chips in a musical greeting card. It was a fair point. I had a good reason for beating her over the head, of course, but I thought maybe Marylou needed a moment before I launched into my explanation. She needed to own her anger, as she herself would have said if she hadn’t been going bat-shit crazy and waving a gun at us.
“Do you even know how to use that?” Gerard asked calmly.
“Oh, I think I could figure it out,” she said, spitting out a few tears as she spoke.
The tip of the rifle began to shake up and down a little.
“Marylou,” I said, trying to keep myself under control, “put the gun down. Gerard isn’t going to hurt us. He was defending us.”
“You,” she said, trying to bring her voice under control. “Sit. Both of you. Sit.”
Gerard slowly lowered himself back into the chair where he’d been bound, and I sat near the television. Marylou kept the rifle high, pointed at Gerard. Large sweat marks had appeared under his arms and on his chest. We were all sweating. It was stupidly humid.
“The Law of Suspects,” he said in a low voice. “My god. This is how eet happens.”
“Shut up,” Marylou said. “You shot him.”
“And now you,” Gerard said. “Eet’s taken you. Do not hurt your sister. You must fight eet.”
“I said shut up!”
She stepped right up to him and stuck the gun in his face. For the second time that night Gerard squarely faced death. This time he seemed calm. Maybe he was just getting used to it.
He stood, placing himself so that the barrel was pointed right at his heart.
“Shoot me,” he said, “not your sister. Let eet end here. Shoot me. Shoot me, Marylou.”
Gerard…this boy I’d only known for a few massively confusing hours, who’d tried to save me more than once…was now putting his life out for mine. Marylou had stopped shaking, and there were no more tears.
