And that’s when I see the door to our walk-in closet crack open.

Gertie.

I watch in horror as she ventures out and sees all the blood on the floor. She probably has no idea it’s all Sam’s. I see the panic growing on her face. She’s going to try to get Sam off Monica. If she gets involved, it will be two against one. And Monica still has the gun in a death grip in her right hand.

I don’t care if I have only one ounce of strength left in my body. I can’t let Gertie and Monica win. I’ve got to stop this.

Move, Abby. Move!

My body obeys. Reluctantly at first, but then I’m propelling myself across the room, at Gertie. I feel like I don’t even entirely have control over my arms and legs anymore, but against all odds, they’re doing what I want them to do. I lunge at Gertie, knocking her against the wall. And just before I do, my eyes lock with Monica’s for a split second, and she lifts the gun in her hand…

The sound of gunfire echoes through the room for the second time. My heart pounds as the same crimson on Sam’s shirt leaks from a hole in Gertie’s left temple. Gertie’s lips form a shocked O, two seconds before she collapses to the ground.

“Mom!” Monica screams.

Sam, startled by the gunshot, somehow allows Monica to scramble out from under him. We both watch in silence as Monica rushes to Gertie’s side, as fast as she can, given the load she’s carrying. She bends down beside her mother, the tears forming in her eyes. “Mommy…”

Sam looks shell-shocked—he’s as pale as I’ve ever seen him. He lifts his left hand to touch his forehead, and he’s shaking badly. His shirt sleeve is drenched in blood. “Holy shit,” he breathes.

“Sam,” I manage.

My head spins seconds before I collapse like a rag doll against the floor. I’m so out of it that I don’t even realize it’s happening until I’m on the floor. I can’t keep my eyes open much longer.

“Abby?” He drags himself across the room to me in a half-crawl. He grabs my clammy hand in his. “You’re awake.”

“Yes,” I manage. “Barely.”

“Hang in there,” he says, “we’re going to get you to the hospital.” He brushes a few sweaty strands of hair from my face. He looks white as a sheet—I wonder how much blood he’s lost. “I promise. I just need to go to the living room and get my phone. Okay?”

“Don’t leave me alone,” I whisper.

“It’ll be for only half a minute. I’ll be right back.”

“No,” Monica’s voice interrupts us. “You won’t.”