I looked down at my body in the dim light. I saw no injuries. No blood, no torn clothing. And I felt no pain.

But next to me, a struggle raged. Blake had landed on top of Aaron, and the two men grappled for control of the gun. Aaron’s arm was extended toward the ceiling, his hand gripping the weapon. And Blake reached for it, trying to stop his movement and keep another shot from being fired.

But Aaron proved to be stronger. He managed to work the gun around so that it pointed toward Blake. Blake’s efforts momentarily kept him from firing, but it was only a matter of time.

I scrambled across the floor and reached for the bat. I wrapped my hand around the handle and drew it to my body. If I thought I’d had more time, I would have stood up, measured the distance, and swung the bat in an efficient, focused manner.

But I didn’t have time.

With one hand I swung, aiming—I hoped—at Aaron’s hand. The one that held the gun.

I missed my target but managed to bring the bat down against Aaron’s forearm. He held on to the gun, despite my efforts, and worked his finger free. He squeezed the trigger, causing another loud boom in the hollow space. The bullet ricocheted off the concrete wall across from us.

I swung again. This time the bat connected with the back of Aaron’s hand, but on my follow-through, the bat hit the concrete floor and came out of my hand and rolled away.

Blake repositioned his body. He raised his fist and swung it at Aaron’s face. Once. Twice. He did it again, scoring direct hits that landed with sickening thuds. Aaron grunted the first two times. Then the third time, he made a low groaning noise.

His hand loosened its grip. I pried his fingers off the gun one at a time until I could take it away. I held the strangely heavy, unfamiliar object. It was like I’d picked up a bizarre, unrecognizable sea creature off the beach. I wasn’t sure what to do with it.

Blake delivered one more blow to Aaron’s face, and that time Aaron made no noise at all.

“Stop it, Blake,” I said.

He reared back again.

“Just stop it.” I grabbed his fist with my free hand and looked down at Aaron, who wasn’t moving. “He’s had it. Just stop.”

“He tried to kill me.”

“He tried to kill both of us. And he did kill Jennifer. But let someone else sort that out.” I took the gun across the room and placed it on top of the water heater. Then I took out my phone and called 911. “I’m calling the police now. They can cuff him and take him where he needs to go.”