CHARLIE WENT FOR HIS DUFFEL BAG. The scalpel most likely. But then his hand found the small bottle of chloroform. Without a second thought, he smashed it into the waiting rag, then grabbed the whole pile and slammed his fist toward Shana’s head.

He caught her in the side. The carbon monoxide still poisoning her system had dulled her reflexes. She staggered, went down on one knee. He seized the opportunity to grind the glass- and chloroform-drenched rag into her face.

His ferocity surprised me. I could tell from Shana’s face, his sure-footed attack had caught her off guard as well. Maybe once upon a time Charlie had been an aspiring thug, but sometime in the past thirty years he’d transitioned to the real deal.

I worked on rolling to my knees. Time to get up, time to help out.

But I’d gone down in the bedroom, closer to the tampered-with electrical unit, where no doubt the density of carbon monoxide was higher. I couldn’t seem to get my feet beneath me, to rise to standing.

I looked over in time to watch my sister grab Charlie’s crotch with her right hand. She twisted. He howled, releasing the rag with one hand, as he instinctively cupped himself with his other. One knee down. Then he snarled and popped Shana in the nose. Her head snapped back. I heard a crunching sound, most likely her nose exploding. But she recovered quickly, going for his throat, her fingers squeezed together to form a human blade.

Up, up. Come on, Adeline, time to stand up.

Shana hit him. Three, four times. Her speed seemed to be returning, her system clearing. But she remained a bantamweight, a thin, wiry female taking on a larger, stronger male.

Charlie nailed her hard. Jab, jab, uppercut. She stumbled back; then he slugged her again in the eye, hard, fierce shots. A man who’d clearly spent some time in a boxing ring. A man who relished pain.

Scalpel. In the duffel bag. On my feet now. I found it. Hair strands fell to the floor. Smooth silver handle took their place.

One step forward, then another, the blade held tightly at my side.

Shana trapped in a corner, Charlie pounding on her mercilessly. She didn’t appear desperate, however. In the spare moments when I could see her face, I saw nothing but pure determination. She’d come to kill this man. And apparently, she wasn’t stopping till she died trying.

Charlie didn’t notice me. Locked on my sister, grunting with the force behind each explosive blow, he existed in his own world. One where he was finally strong enough, smart enough, tough enough, to take down the legendary Shana Day.

Another step, then I stood directly behind him. Scalpel raised. One last breath:

I am my father. I am my mother.

I am the family conscience.