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"You're full of shit, Red," he finally pronounced.
Damn me and my glass face.
"I don't know..." I tried again, shuffling further. "Haven't you ever heard of Stockholm Syndrome?"
Messina laughed, a long low creak that seemed to echo around the neighborhood. I glanced around. Were there seriously no people around who were hearing this?
"You got jokes," Messina pronounced with a slow nod. "You think you're funny? Well, Raggedy Ann, let's see how funny you are when you're dead. First you, then him. Then I'll go after your precious grandma and your daddy. Then we'll see just how fuckin' funny you are!"
At that, I heard the telltale click of the loading chamber echoing down the block.
"No!" As if the gun set off the start of a race, Brandon sprang forward with a roar, tackling Messina to the ground and sending the weapon skidding across the pavement.
"Brandon!" I yelped.
"What the fuck!" Messina yowled as Brandon tried to wrestle him down to the ground.
But despite the fact that Brandon had several inches and much more muscle on him, Messina was scrappy and desperate, a dangerous combination in this kind of fight. I watched in horror as they rolled across the pavement, a mass of elbows, knees, grunts, and punches.
"Help!" I shouted, finally finding the presence of mind to pull out my phone and shout my location to the operator. "Hi––Hello? Oh, thank God you're there...We're in Field's Corner...on..." I looked around frantically toward the street signs at the end of the block. "Leonard. Off... Clayton––Hey!"
My phone was knocked out of my hand when I was knocked over by the writhing mass of limbs. Both Messina and Brandon were going at each other with everything they had. My heart skipped a few beats as Brandon endured a nasty punch to his kidney, but he managed to roll Messina over with just enough time to land a right jab to his swollen neck.
I scrambled around, looking for my phone, but in the distance, I could already hear sirens. That was the good thing about being in a shitty neighborhood––there were always cops nearby.
"Give it up, you piece of shit! It's...over!" Brandon shouted as he toppled over Messina one last time only to be tripped once more.
"Fuck...you!" Messina heaved, as he twisted over Brandon and threw his entire body around him. He was weak and tired, but desperation will make men strong.
"The gun, Skylar!" Brandon shouted as he fought off Messina. "Get the gu––AH!"
I watched in horror as Messina rolled off a suddenly limp Brandon, his dank shirt dark with sweat and blood. And not his blood, I realized in horror as I saw Brandon curled onto the pavement, clutching his side. His coat lay open to reveal a bright red stain seeping into the white of his T-shirt.
Brandon looked up, his bright blue eyes clouded with pain. His face looked gray.
"Brandon!" I cried as I crouched down to him. "Oh shit, oh my God!" The words came out like whimpers as I hovered over him. "What do I do? What do I do? Pressure, right? We need to put pressure on the wound."
I continued to babble while I tried to staunch the blood. But Brandon managed to shake his head, even as he pushed his own hands tightly over the bloody spot.
"Knife," he managed to choke out. "Still. Has it."
I twisted to where Messina lay on the ground, cradling his own arm. Torqued in an unnatural position, I guessed it was dislocated, and his face bore the marks of the fight with a gash on his forehead and a nasty scrape across one cheek. But there was no blood pooling from his side. A knife was in his hand, the fresh blood on the silvery edge already darkening.
A police siren sounded from a few blocks away, partially blocked by the din of the street just beyond us.
"Skylar." Brandon breathed hoarsely as he struggled to retain consciousness. "Get the gun."
Heaving a few feet away, Messina stilled at the words. Brandon gripped my hand.
"Get it," he whispered. "Before he does."
The siren in the distance grew closer, over the cars that rushed down Dorchester Avenue. Messina's and my eyes locked on the gun, only a few feet away, and all at once we were both lurching over the pavement.
Messina was bigger, had the adrenaline of someone with the instincts to fight or flee at the same time. But I was smaller, faster. I wasn't hurt. And I needed to save the love of my life.
I lunged over Brandon's fallen form and grabbed for the gun at the same time Messina tumbled over me.
"I don't think so, Red!" he yelled as he pushed me over.
