A List of Cages(71)

Russell pulls an object from his waist, one I recognize from the same cabinet that holds the switch. “This is my father’s gun,” he says.

“I—I’m sorry about your father. I miss my father too.”

He starts to laugh, and turns his head just enough for the moon to shine against his face. It’s the clown mouth, a smile around a sneer. “You think I miss my father? I hated him.”

“I—I—”

Russell laughs again and holds the gun out in his palm in front of me like an offering. “He used to talk so much about what it meant to be a man, but I always thought there was something small about using one of these. A man should rely on his own power, not tiny pieces of metal you can’t even see coming.” He pulls the gun back in his tight grip. “But they’re quick, and sometimes you need things done quick. Isn’t that true?”

I try to nod.

“Adam is something that could be done quick.”

I try to speak, but Russell squeezes my face so hard with one hand that my teeth catch against the inside of my cheek and I taste blood.

“You know how quickly it can happen. One minute you have them. Then, in an instant…” He releases my face and snaps his long fingers. “…they’re gone.” I go cold and sweaty at the same time. “All of them. Gone.”

This time when he drags me, I go limp. I don’t walk, but I don’t fight, letting him pull me farther from the house to the gate, where he could take me anywhere.




Lately I’ve been wondering if anytime I get nervous or worried or whatever, I’ll think it’s a bad feeling. Because this could just be stress, or it could be an actual premonition when Julian’s not in his room or in the kitchen or anywhere else in the house.

I open the back door, and the porch light illuminates two figures: Julian—and Russell. His giant arm is wrapped around Julian’s neck. He’s pulling him toward the gate.

I break into a run, shouting, “Stop!”

They freeze, and there’s this expression on Russell’s face, a terrifying kind of hatred that’s never been directed at me before. Slowly he raises his arm, and the expression becomes one of immense satisfaction.

I’ve always thought if a gun was pointed at me, I’d know what to do. If you’ve seen a million superhero movies like I have, you think you’d throw out a smart-ass comment, then maybe spin-kick it from the bad guy’s hands.

Instead it’s just white and so much fear I can’t think, and I’m stammering and doing what stupid people do in movies—trying to reason with the crazy person holding the gun and you can’t do that. You can’t.

“It’s okay, Russell,” Julian’s saying. “I’ll go. I want to go with you.”

I hear the door open behind me. “Adam, are you—?” Emerald. She screams, then there’s a smattering of terrified voices.

My mother pleading.

Someone crying.

Someone running.

These are all the wrong things to do. They’re going to make him panic.

Russell’s arm—choking.

Julian’s face—crying.

The gun—closer, closer, till it’s resting cold against my forehead.

I can’t see anything now. I know to stop him I need to be able to see, but everything’s blurry because my eyes are full of tears. I squeeze them shut, feel the tears spill over.

A sudden sound and smell that reminds me of fireworks.





CHARLIE AND RUSSELL are rolling across the grass. Charlie’s taller, but Russell’s bigger and looks a hell of a lot stronger. Somehow, in the seconds my eyes were closed, Charlie must’ve tackled him. The gun must’ve fallen, must’ve gone off.

Where is it?

Julian’s on the ground, scrambling backward while they twist and grapple.

I don’t see the gun.

I don’t know how, but Charlie’s gotten the better of Russell. Digging his knees into the bigger man’s chest, he brings his fist high into the air, and smashes it right into Russell’s face. I see the exact moment when he breaks Russell’s nose, a wet crunching sound and flood of blood.

Russell roars, links his huge hands together, then slams them like a battering ram into the side of Charlie’s head. Charlie topples over onto the grass with a heavy thud beside a still-stunned Julian.

I see the gun.

Charlie and Russell and I all move at the same time—but Russell’s faster. Charlie tackles him like a linebacker and there’s another firecracker blast. It’s still echoing in my ears when Charlie and Russell fall. Now both of them lie still, the front of their shirts blooming blood.


Arms tighten around me. I try to get away.

“It’s okay, baby. It’s okay, you’re okay,” my mom is saying over and over. I half-hear, half-see the yard full of friends, most of them crying, some of them placing panicked phone calls.

I pull away from my mom and drop to the grass. “Charlie?”

He doesn’t move.

Julian’s sitting completely still, like a photograph of a painting. Julian, twice removed.

“Charlie!” I yell.

He grunts and sits up.

“Jesus!” I take in a huge breath. “Are you okay?”

He looks down, touching his blood-soaked chest, confused and scared. “I’m not hurt,” he says. “Unless it’s shock. Am I in shock?”