The Wrong Family(71)
Her finger found the place behind her ear, but she pulled her hand back, shaking. He’d come up here next; he was probably already on his way up the stairs. She cast a glance over her shoulder, to the window Sam had climbed out of not twenty minutes ago. She’d probably break her neck falling from the roof.
But at least Dakota won’t break your neck. Don’t you want to die on your own terms? But she’d been wrong about all of it. Samuel—Sam—he’d lost Nigel tonight, and maybe he didn’t even know it yet; could she die in peace knowing she was responsible for him losing his mother, as well? She didn’t look at the window again, the window that would no doubt save her life. She left it open and hid instead, returning to the spot under the en suite sink.
Nigel had taken most of his toiletries to the downstairs bathroom and had yet to bring them back up. This had cleared out a space where she curled in a tight ball. Dakota stood nearby as Juno held her breath, her back curled against the space. Then she heard him close the window in a whoosh, and the snap of the lock. He did a quick tour of Sam’s room, the bathroom, the closet, and then his footsteps receded to the lower level. There was some commotion downstairs; she heard things slamming around. She braced herself to hear another gunshot, but none came. When Dakota’s clangs and bangs sounded far enough away, she pushed open the cabinet door and peered around nervously.
She had to stop him from killing Winnie; she was the only mother Sam had, even if she wasn’t Sam’s biological mother. She’d made a mistake in getting involved; she’d done the wrong thing, and now she had to do the right thing. Juno unfolded herself with the grace of her former years and the pain of her latter. She didn’t hesitate. She headed for the stairs with a rough plan forming in her mind.
Downstairs, Dakota was barricading the doors like he was preparing for some type of siege. When Juno reached the bottom of the stairs, she saw that he’d pushed the foyer chair in front of the door and had reactivated the alarm, the red light glaring like an eye.
He didn’t want anyone else getting out. But where was he now?
Juno ducked around the corner, grateful for the hundredth time that Sam wasn’t here, and headed for the kitchen. As her feet crept over the black-and-white-checkered floor, she heard Winnie’s guttural scream from the apartment. “What are you doing? You killed her! Dakota...!”
She could hear them struggling as she reached the junk drawer, yanking it open and sticking her hand all the way to the back. She found what she was looking for. As her hand closed around it, and she tucked it into the back of her pants, she heard Dakota howling like a wounded animal, followed by an incredulous “You bit me!”
Even in the midst of everything, Juno found that ludicrous. How dare you bite me after I shot and killed your husband! What she also found more than ludicrous was that none of the neighbors had called the cops. How was that possible? Where was Mr. Nevins? Something thumped heavily, and Juno ran toward the sound. He was going to shoot Winnie, she was certain of it. He didn’t just want to hurt the elusive Manda, who had wounded his pride by not taking him back, he wanted to show his family what would happen when they didn’t prioritize him. Juno realized something else as well: he was going to kill himself. She could see now that Dakota had planned this out; she’d seen his truck circling the house and had thought nothing of it. And for Dakota’s final act of power, he needed to hurt everyone who’d hurt him.
She took a resigned peace in her final evaluation as a therapist—even one who had lost her license—as she moved toward her destination, the mantel. Winnie’s garish decorating provided five-pound weights; the busts and the statue of David Juno hated were expensively heavy. The orange one was dead center—the one that reminded her of Joe and his orange juice. She ran for it, darting past the open door of the den and grabbing it by the neck. Beyond the den, in the apartment, Dakota was pulling his twin to her feet. She had a brief glimpse of Winnie’s back, and then the fireplace was in front of her. Juno wasn’t sure if he’d seen her. The weight of orange David made her knees dip; as she straightened up, she moved out of sight, hiding behind the open door to Nigel’s den.
Juno closed her eyes and said a silent prayer, her heart hammering so hard it hurt.
Dakota stepped out with Winnie held against his front, walking slowly, the gun to her head. Her hands were bound and the gag was back in her mouth. But as soon as Dakota stepped across the threshold and into Juno’s sight line, it was already too late for him. Juno, concealed behind the open door, was already behind him. She stepped forward from behind the door and swung the base in an arc like she was holding a baseball bat. The orange David hit Dakota’s head with a dull thud, and she dropped it as pain exploded down her arm from the impact. Dakota let go of Winnie, who looked like she was barely conscious, and lurched forward. Winnie fell face-first onto the carpet and stayed there; Juno didn’t know if she’d passed out or was playing dead. Both were an excellent idea on her part. Juno stared at Dakota, who had fallen onto his knees, roaring in pain, an ugly grimace on his face. She didn’t wait to see what he’d do next. Juno ran again.
She held her arm cradled to her chest, legs pumping with the last of her adrenaline. When she got to the front door, she saw again the heavy chair Dakota had pushed under the door handle. The time it would take her to move it... If she went back now and ran for the kitchen, she’d most likely run directly into him. She managed to unlock the deadbolt before she heard him in the hallway behind her, but she couldn’t open the door without moving the chair, and Nigel’s body was between it and the door. God, Dakota wasn’t as dumb as he looked. She ran for the closet instead, opening the door and closing it behind her; she hauled up the trapdoor with her good hand. She was so distracted by the thought of Dakota finding her at any minute that she didn’t move her face out of the way; the corner of the trapdoor whacked her above her left eye, slicing through her eyebrow. Juno felt the sting and then the warm flow of blood. She didn’t wait for her vision to clear—as the closet door opened, she slipped into her cave.