Aurora(82)

“I’m protecting you. Don’t fight!” he hissed in her ear, pulling her body tight against his and dragging her farther into the room.

Aubrey tried to scream but realized she couldn’t even breathe, with Rusty’s clammy fingers covering her nostrils. She sucked air hard and made as loud a noise as she could in her throat, hoping he’d get the message.

At the back of the house, she saw Celeste’s body slam up against the door frame outside, shoved by someone she couldn’t see. Celeste turned to object, more angry than frightened, but a man’s hand flashed into view and smacked her hard, across the face. Celeste shrieked and fell back again. Zielinski, her father, now rushed toward her, got a hand up under her arm like a vice-principal with a truant, kicked the back screen door open, and marched her into the house.

Scott, hearing the commotion, shouted from the kitchen and came running out, chopping knife in hand. “Get the fuck away from her!” he shouted, brandishing the knife toward Zielinski, but then he caught sight of Rusty, his hand suffocating Aubrey as he dragged her into the living room. Scott stared, wild-eyed, uncomprehending. “Rusty, what the fuck?!”

But no one had time to answer, as there was another bulky shape moving through the rear door. Espinoza took in the room quickly, eyes falling on the only exposed weapon, which was the knife in Scott’s hand. He swept toward him and Scott whirled, blade in front of him. Espinoza caught the boy’s wrist between his thumb and first two fingers and gave it a sharp twist.

Scott screamed, Aubrey heard his wrist snap, and the knife clattered to the floor.

One after another, Scott, Aubrey, and Celeste were thrown down on the couch, stunned and in pain. Aubrey gulped air and turned to the other two, to see if they were OK, while Rusty stood over them, shouting at them to calm down. It didn’t help.

Espinoza picked up the kitchen knife and moved quickly, closing curtains and locking the front door. The room turned dark.

Zielinski took a chair from the dining room table, set it across the coffee table from the sofa, and sat down opposite them.

Rusty, near the window, tried not to hyperventilate.

For a long, weird moment, nobody said anything.

Finally, Aubrey turned to Rusty and spoke in a low, angry voice. “What the fuck have you done now?”

Rusty looked away. Zielinski laughed, then turned back to the couch, his eyes falling on Celeste.

“Happy birthday, baby. Did you think I’d forget?”

Celeste spat in his direction. It fell short, but the message landed.

Zielinski shook his head and looked at the others. “Daughters.”

Aubrey, regaining her composure, sized up the three intruders, one after the other.

As calmly as she could muster, she asked the only question that mattered. “What do you want?”

Zielinski looked at her. A direct question deserved a straight answer. “Your brother’s money.”

Aubrey furrowed her brow. She looked back and forth from Rusty to Zielinski, but Rusty wouldn’t hold her eye. “I don’t have any money. And my brother isn’t here.”

“He will be. Let’s give him a minute.” He looked at Rusty. “He said twenty-four hours?”

Rusty nodded, furtively, not meeting anyone’s eye. Aubrey just looked at him, disgusted and enraged. She turned to Scott, who was holding his wrist in agony, his face white as paper. She looked up at Espinoza. “You broke his wrist. A teenager. You proud of yourself?”

Espinoza looked away, and Zielinski rolled his eyes.

“Let’s not play the blame game, OK?” he said. “This is very simple. We need money. You’ve got some on the way. You may not know it, but you do. When it gets here, we will take it and we will go. Celeste is going to come home with me where she belongs, and you’ll never see any of us again.”

Scott’s face flushed with anger, and he looked up. “She’s not going fucking anywhere with you, you piece of shit!”

For a short, fat man, Zielinski moved with remarkable speed. One second he was in his chair, across the coffee table from Scott, and the next he was on his feet, over the table, and had a knee in Scott’s chest. He punched down, cracking his fist into the boy’s face two, three, four times.

Celeste screamed and lunged to protect Scott. Zielinski turned on her, backhanding her away from him. He would have done more damage had Espinoza not run over and pulled him off.

Rusty stood inertly by the window, his back half-turned.

There was a knock at the door, and they all froze.

Zielinski, breathing hard, turned to the room and spoke in a hushed, urgent voice. “Not a fucking word, not one of you.” He turned to Rusty. He nodded toward the window, where there was a narrow crack in the drapes that Espinoza had pulled a few moments ago. “See if that’s him,” he said.

Rusty edged toward the crack in the drapes, peered outside, and stepped carefully back again. He shook his head from side to side and whispered. “Some asshole with a cake.”

Aubrey’s eyes whipped toward the door, praying that Phil would not take it upon himself to open the door.

He didn’t. He waited. He knocked again.

Zielinski held a hand out to all of them, palm down, warning them to stay exactly where they were. They waited. Phil knocked one or two more times, then called out, puzzled. After another agonizing sixty seconds, they heard him set something down and walk away, down the stone steps.