“I’m on it,” I say, reaching for a knife from the wooden knife block. It has a black handle and long blade. Something about it catches at my brain, but I don’t have time to follow the thought. I cut some lengths of the twine, expecting it to be an awkward exercise with my arm, but the wickedly sharp blade slices through the twine as if it offers no resistance. What is awkward is trying to tie his hands. I don’t even want to touch him, but I force myself to reach out, to lift each hand in turn to loop the twine around it. I’m scared of him, even though we have the gun and he’s only half conscious. I hate that I’m scared. It belittles me in my own eyes.

“Should we swap? Can you hold the gun?” asks Fiona.

I shake my head. “It’s my right arm.” And I have no idea how to fire a gun. But it’s taking me too long; he’s starting to stir, faint movements at first. I just manage to tie a secure knot as he jerks against the bonds. I glance at his face, lit in macabre fashion from the pint glass of candles. I see the situation dawning on him, as Fiona places the barrel of the gun very deliberately at his throat. Slowly he breaks out in a grin that’s chillingly manic. His teeth are smeared with black. It takes me a second to realize that it’s actually deep scarlet blood suspended in his own saliva—at some point he has cut his mouth, presumably in the fall. Perhaps my elbow was to blame.

“You willnae shoot me,” says Jamie to Fiona. I wonder how he can be so sure of his words. Ignoring the barrel at his throat, he turns his head and spits out a spray of scarlet. I see a tooth in it and I think of the teeth in my father’s skull upstairs. “If you shoot me, you’ll go to jail,” he says.

“I willnae,” she says steadily, but there’s a flicker in her face.

“You will. Disproportionate response. It’s murder.” An icy leaden mass starts to form in my belly. This is what I was afraid of. How can it be that we have the weapon but he’s in charge? “The police will be all too ready to believe it with your record.”

“So what do you think is going to happen, wee brother?” she asks. The stress on wee brother makes him grin once again.

“You’ll let me go.”

“You’ve got to be kidding. Why on earth would I do that?” says Fiona, at the same time as I say, “The police are already on their way.” I really hope I’m telling the truth.