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There! The tin roof line with its lightning rods appeared above the treetops. Rather than letting up, having her destination in sight spurred her on. She was heaving each breath when the trash-strewn drive came into view. Then she saw his pickup. And saw him.
Her breath stopped, trapped between her lungs and her throat, which froze up with dread, so much so that she couldn’t even call out to him as he took the porch steps two at a time, practically ripped the screened door from its hinges when he pulled it open, then kicked the front door so hard it swung wide into the room and banged against the inside wall. He disappeared into the house.
Seconds later Norman was hurled out of the house with such force that the screened door didn’t impede his headlong plunge across the porch and down the front steps. He somersaulted and wound up on his back only a few yards away from her.
He clambered to regain his footing and defend himself against the man who followed him out of the house. He was carrying the familiar shotgun, but he tossed it aside and jumped the steps, bearing down on Norman and hitting him in the face with a fist that had the impact of a sledgehammer.
Bone and cartilage crunched as Norman’s nose was ground flat into his face. Tissue liquefied. Blood spurted. He yelled in pain but got several rapid punches to the gut before he fell to the ground.
Emory covered her cry of dismay with her hand.
The mistreated dog was running circles around the two men, barking maniacally.
“Sic him, you goddamn mutt!” Will shouted as he came crashing through the screened door wearing only his pants.
He lunged for the discarded shotgun but caught a boot in his crotch before he’d cleared the steps. He dropped to his knees, screaming and clutching his testicles, but he wasn’t spared another boot, this time to the face. It demolished his cheekbone. A slug to his jaw relocated his chin to beneath his ear and ruined his lupine leer forever.
He went over backward, his head landing on the lower step with a sound like clapping two-by-fours, but not so hard as to knock him unconscious. He howled in agony.
Norman wasn’t finished. By now he’d regained some of his wits. Despite the blood running down into his beard from the mess that used to be the center of his face, he somehow staggered to his feet and took two wild swings that were easily ducked. His right fist was caught in midswipe and used to whip him around.
Placing his lips a breath away from Norman’s ear, he said, “You only thought you missed all the excitement of Virginia.”
Then he shoved Norman’s hand up between his shoulder blades. Emory heard the sickening sound when the ball joint popped from his shoulder socket. His scream became a strangled whine as he took a blow to the kidney. When his dangling arm was released, he fell like a ragdoll.
“This one’s for the dog, you cock-sucking son of a bitch.”
Emory was certain that the kick he gave Norman’s ribs left several of them broken.
The victor was seemingly unaffected except for being slightly winded. He backed away from Norman, walked over to Will, and surveyed the damage, apparently finding it sufficient because he didn’t touch him, only said, “If you lay a hand on Lisa again, I’ll come back and break your neck.”
He picked up the shotgun, removed the shells, then carried it over to a stout tree, and swung it at the trunk again and again until the stock broke away from the barrels. He collected the two pieces from off the ground and tossed them into the bed of his pickup.
The dog came over to him, tongue lolling, tail wagging. After getting a pat on the head and a scratch under the chin, the animal went over to its place beneath the tree and plopped down with a sigh of canine gratification.
Emory ran over to Norman.
Or tried. Her arm was hooked, and she was jerked to a stop. “Don’t touch him.”
“We can’t just leave them like this.”
“Hell we can’t,” he said and propelled her toward the truck.
“I can’t.” She dug her heels in.
“You are.”
Before she could protest again, she noticed that Pauline, huddled inside a moth-eaten cardigan, had come out onto the porch. He turned to see what had drawn her attention, then went around to the driver’s side of the pickup and took a brown paper sack from the floorboard.
He walked back to the house and leaned forward over Will to pass the sack up to Pauline. “There’s a coffee cup inside to replace the one I broke. The cash should cover the cost of a new television.”
Looking baffled, she said, “Thanky.”
“How is Lisa this morning?”
“Good. Sleepin’ sound.” Looking down at Will, who was loudly moaning, she added, “Was, anyhow.”
“Pack up her things, and yours. I’ll come back for you later.”
