The Bodyguard (90)

The gunman stared in horror. “Jesus!” he shouted. “You scared me!”

The irony.

I put my hands out. “I’m sorry,” I said.

“Don’t slam the door at somebody when they’re holding a gun, okay?”

“I didn’t mean to,” I said. “It was the wind.”

His voice was all frustration. “Now you made me shoot you.”

My neck was warm and wet with blood, running down to soak into the fabric of my dress. So much for being Jack’s personal blood bank. “You didn’t shoot me.”

“Um. All that blood says otherwise.”

“Just a scratch,” I said. “Just a graze. I’m completely fine.”

“Well, you look like hell,” the gunman said.

“Head wounds bleed a lot,” I said, like No big deal. “It barely even stings.”

Beyond him, Jack looked utterly appalled to see me. He was crouched for action now, as if he’d forgotten that his wrists and ankles were bound, and he might—what? Hop over to save me? As soon as he realized he couldn’t really move, he did the next best thing. “What are you doing here?” he demanded.

“Um. Helping you?”

“Didn’t I just tell you to leave?” he said. “Didn’t I just say there’s nothing between us that’s real?”

“Yeah. I didn’t believe you.”

Jack stared at me, like that made no sense.

So I added, “You aren’t that great of an actor.”

Not even a courtesy chuckle. “I sent you away,” Jack said. “In no uncertain terms.”

I nodded. “Yeah. But then I checked the security footage.”

“Go home,” Jack said, moving his eyes back to the stalker. “This is not about you.”

“Well. It kind of is now.”

The gunman was looking panicked now. Never good.

His hands were shaking so bad, I could see the gun vibrating. He’d lowered his aim—forgetting about the pistol for a minute, it seemed—and he was looking back and forth between me and Jack. “This wasn’t how this was supposed to go.”

He sounded disappointed.

I tried to think back over my hostage negotiations protocols. I was a little rusty. Establish a relationship came to mind, and so I said, “Hey, friend, can you tell me your name?”

No resistance at all. “Wilbur,” he said.

“Wilbur?” I asked. “The Wilbur?”

Wilbur wasn’t sure what to say.

“WilburHatesYou321?”

That made him smile—a little flattered to be recognized. “You know my handle?”

“You’re very memorable. Mostly because of the book.”

“What book?”

What else could we be talking about? “Charlotte’s Web.”

Wilbur just looked at me like I was bananas.

Okay. Enough bonding.

“Hey, Wilbur?” I said then, like I’d had a fun idea. “Can you give me the gun?”

“I wasn’t trying to shoot you,” Wilbur said.

“I know,” I said, making my voice like velvet. “It was an accident. I’m really fine.”

“Somebody’s gonna die up here,” he said next, “but it’s not supposed to be you.” Then he gestured between himself and Jack. “Jack and I already decided. When you rang the bell, I said, ‘Who’s going to die tonight? You or the lady?’ And he didn’t even hesitate. He volunteered to die in a heartbeat.” Wilbur gave a little shrug. “Isn’t that sweet?”

I nodded, like Very.

Time to get that gun.

Slowly, I took a took a step forward.

But as Wilbur saw what I was doing, he shook his head. “You can’t have it,” he said. “I need it.”

That’s when he took several steps backward—and as he did, I could see that he was limping. He angled himself toward the ledge of the roof, and he used his good leg to step up onto it.

“What are you doing?” I asked.

“I bet you think that guy’s pretty great,” Wilbur said to me then. “Everybody thinks he’s so great.”

“He’s okay,” I said with a shrug.

“Everybody loves him. The Destroyer. They think he saved the universe. Right? They all thought that was really him.” Wilbur shook his head at Jack and pointed the pistol back at him. “But he’s no hero.”

“That’s right,” I said, all gentle. “He’s just a person. Just a regular person.” Emphasizing Jack’s humanity seemed like a good idea.

“But not regular,” Wilbur said. “Not like you and me. Because he has everything he wants.” He turned to Jack and lifted the gun, holding it straight out toward him. “Don’t ya, Destroyer? Don’t you have everything you want?”

Jack shook his head slowly. “Nobody gets everything they want.”

“But enough. Too much, even. And I don’t have anything anymore. So if you get to be The Destroyer, then I get to be The Punisher.”

You could feel the energy shift just then. Jack and I glanced at each other. Something was about to happen. It was almost like a click. We’d shifted to the next gear.