Like Gravity(102)

I couldn’t save my mother, but I would save him.

“Is this really the best you could do?” I mocked Skinner. His ego was at the heart of every decision he made – maybe, if I pushed the right buttons, he’d lose all restraint and turn his rage on me. “You had fifteen years to plan tonight, and this was all you came up with?” I forced a laugh and got shakily to my feet.

I watched his spine stiffen, his muscles tense; it was working. I was getting to him.

“I thought you’d do better, Ernie.” I made a disapproving tsk sound, as he’d done earlier – purposefully baiting him. He spun to look at me, red faced and panting with anger.

I could hear sirens approaching now. A glance at the monitors showed Finn making his way back through the apartment, heading for the front door so he could greet the arriving officers.

“What did you say to me, little girl?” Skinner snarled.

“Don’t forget it was this little girl who sent you to prison, Ernie. It was this little girl who caused that car to crash and steered us straight into the arms of the police,” I said, desperately trying to keep my voice steady and hold my tears at bay.

He took a step toward me, holding out the knife.

“Shut up, bitch,” he screamed. “I know what you’re trying to do.”

“It’s me you want,” I reminded him. “It’s me you’ve watched all these years, obsessed over, fantasized about. It’s me you’ve tried to frighten, to destroy. But you know something, Ernie?” I asked, backing away from him so the table was between us. “You failed. I lived, and loved, in spite of you. I’m happy. And that’s certainly more than I can say for you, old man.”

That did it.

He launched himself at me with a primitive scream, the knife held high over his head as he prepared to strike me. Anticipating his attack, I threw out my taped hands, grabbed the top of the chair in front of me, and threw it in his direction. It didn’t go very far but it did land in his path, slowing him down.

He chased me in circles around the perimeter of the table – a deadly game of cat and mouse. On one of my passes, I managed to grasp a dangling edge of the tablecloth and yank it roughly. The abrupt movement sent the dishes and platters flying, clattering to the floor loud enough that the noise hurt my ears. The vase of roses fell and shattered, sending millions of razor-sharp shards of glass exploding in every direction. I heard Skinner yelp as they sliced at his feet and lower legs.

I turned in time to see him trip over one of the loosed serving dishes and fall to the ground, his knife clattering across the hardwood floors and coming to a stop beneath the desk on the other side of the room.

I looked frantically to the door, hoping I could run to safety, but immediately discarded that plan when I saw that Skinner was clamoring to his feet in the space between me and the exit. Even in his unarmed state, I couldn’t fight him with my hands bound.

Out of ideas, out of options, out of time – I dove for the knife.

As I fell to my knees, arms outstretched and reaching for the handle, time seemed to slow down, as if everything had suddenly shifted into slow motion. I heard Skinner yell, his footsteps loud as they pounded across the room to reach me.

My fingers closed around the handle, and I gripped it tightly between both hands. It was uncomfortable with my wrists still taped together, but it was the best I could do at the moment.

Everything happened at once.

I flipped over onto my back at the exact moment Skinner jumped into the air, hoping to tackle me from behind. I think he knew, as soon as his feet left the ground, that he was going to die. It was there in his eyes when he saw the knife in my hands, suspended over my stomach and pointing up toward the ceiling.

He tried to pull back, to change his course midair, but it was too late. His weight landed on me, knocking the breath from my lungs, and I felt the pressure of the knife as it slid into the soft flesh of his abdomen, slashing deep into his vital organs.

He gasped at the pain, his face inches from my own. His eyes bored into mine, burning with hatred, and when he opened his mouth to speak, a foamy red spittle flew between his lips and landed on my cheeks.

“You f*cking bitch!” he screamed, lifting his hands up to close around my throat. He was dying, his strength waning as the lifeblood slipped from his veins, but he was going to use the last of his energy to take me with him. His hands grew dangerously tight as he choked the life out of me, cutting off my air supply completely. My hands, bound and trapped uselessly between our bodies, were helpless to stop him.

Things started to go dark. Skinner’s face was fading in and out of focus as I stared up at him, at times unable to make out his features. I thought I heard the distant sounds of a door crashing open, a man’s voice yelling, and footsteps thundering across floorboards, but my mind was too hazy to be sure of anything.

I thought about Finn, in those last moments. I closed my eyes so I didn’t have to look at the dying man above me, and instead focused my thoughts on the man I’d do anything for.

There he was – one dimple popping out in his right cheek, as he threw his head back and laughed at something I’d said; his dark hair disheveled, and the beginnings of a scruffy beard darkening his jawline. Those eyes, so blue and full of emotion, staring at me – seeing straight into my soul.

My head was swimming with the lack of oxygen, and I knew I had only a minute left – maybe less – before I lost consciousness. I used those precious seconds to live the life we should have had together.