‘Not smart, not smart,’ Brendan said as he stepped towards her.

The sound of a bullet striking the wall made him stop once more. Unaccustomed to gunfire, Penelope slumped back to the ground. She looked up to see the administrative lady pointing a gun at Brendan, her fingers trembling, her mouth slightly open. The bullet had gone right through the plaster and a beam of light streamed in through the hole and struck the floor, dust motes floating within.

The young woman said nothing, just stood there holding the gun out in front of her. Brendan hadn’t moved, was suspended with the bat upright, threatening the swing. He slowly lowered it.

‘You don’t know what you’re doing,’ he said.

‘Get out,’ the woman said. Without the gun in her shaking hands she would have seemed no bigger than a mouse.

‘Or what?’ he sneered.

For a moment the entire room felt electric. Even the dust motes seemed to have paused in the air. He took a step towards her, then another, then stopped again. He was grinning.

‘You won’t shoot me.’

The woman’s hands were still shaking and her eyes were moving over each of them in quick succession. She opened her mouth to speak, shut it again. Then, nervously, ‘You take another step forward and I will shoot you.’

His grin only widened. ‘I gotta step that way if you want me to leave. You’re blocking the door, sweetheart.’

If his hope had been to wrongfoot her he wound up disappointed. Her eyes became focused and clear.

‘Well, you going to let me pass, or not?’

‘You should feel horrible about yourself for hurting these people.’

Brendan surveyed the room. His eyes fell on Margie. ‘Her I feel sorry for,’ he said, motioning with the cricket bat. ‘The other two bloody deserved it. You alright, sweetheart?’ he called.

Margie moaned in response, shuffled on her side, holding her gut. Her eyes were shut fast and she kept shaking her head.

‘I’m sorry, you hear me?’ Then speaking to the woman again he said, ‘Shouldn’t have hit her. Old thing.’

‘You shouldn’t have hit any of them.’

He looked at Penelope, still huddled on the floor, still holding her wrist, and she stared up at him with as much defiance as she could muster. There was nothing in his eyes that made him seem human. ‘You know what he did?’ he said, gesturing at Caleb.

Her son lay on the floor, rolled onto his back. His face was a mirror of Margie’s.

‘You know what you’ve done?’ the woman said. Her adrenaline seemed to have ebbed a little, though her hands were just as shaky on the gun. ‘You’ve beaten two old women. How’s that any better than what he did?’

Brendan appeared to have nothing to say to this. He avoided their eyes. Then he looked at Penelope and said, ‘You know what he did. You know he deserves this.’

‘Only God gets to decide that,’ the woman said.