Johnny’s favorite game had been hide-and-seek. He could contort his body into the tiniest spaces, and we couldn’t find him. One day, he wedged himself behind the water heater and couldn’t get out. Natalie laughed, but I could tell he was scared. I held his hand while my mother doused him in vegetable oil. Later, after he’d taken a bath, he shared his favorite comic book with me just to say thanks.

Andrew, charging. Six yards away, five, four …

My father, a crush of darkness roaring down upon me like a freight train.

… three, two …

“Evan!” a man cried behind Andrew. Michael Oliver, cresting the stairs.

“Michael, Michael, the police. They’re here, they’re here!” Victoria screamed from downstairs.

“Mommy!” Evan yelled from the bedroom closet. “Mommy, Daddy!”

And then Andrew was upon me.

“Look out!” Michael roared.

A crash of breaking glass from the entryway.

“Daddy, Daddy, Daddy!”

Love and light. Light and love. A family’s last stand.

“Die!” Andrew howled into my face, knife arcing down.

I thought of my mother’s love. I remembered my siblings’ goofy grins. And this time I didn’t hide.

I pulled the trigger.

The recoil snapped my arms up. The gun connected with Andrew’s chin, knocking him backwards. Did I hit him? Was he bleeding? I couldn’t tell. My ears were ringing, my eyes tearing from pain. My right hand throbbed, burnt from the ejecting brass.

Evan still screaming. Footsteps pounding up the stairs.

“Police, police! Drop your weapons!”

Andrew picking himself off the floor, shaking his head.

I noticed two things at once. His right side was bleeding, and he still held the knife.

He looked down at me and started to grin, just as Michael Oliver tackled him from behind.

“Son of a bitch. How dare you hurt my family. Son of a bitch!”

“Drop your weapon! For God’s sake, drop it!”

Sergeant D.D. Warren had topped the stairs, blonde curls flying. She had her drawn weapon pointed at me, and her gaze locked on the tangle of grown men. Her partner, and Victoria, poured into the hall behind her.

“The police, Michael,” Victoria was trying to say. “The police.”

“Mommy?” Evan cried from the closet.

“Drop your weapon!” D.D. screamed again.

I put down the gun, my gaze still on Andrew.

“Kick it away. Behind you,” D.D. ordered.

I did as I was told. Michael was on top of Andrew now, bashing Andrew’s forehead into the floor.

“Stop it!” D.D. yelled angrily. “Police! Get up, get away. Now!”

Her voice must have finally penetrated. Michael slowly released Andrew’s hair. He rose shakily, breath shallow, expression wild. D.D.’s partner stepped forward to assist.

“Evan’s in his closet,” I spoke up. “He needs help. Please?”