Let's get on thing straight, right off the bat; guns in real life, sound nothing like they do in the movies. Sure, we see spies deftly screw on silencers in the dark or see muscle bound action heroes fire off thousands of rounds in the middle of the jungle but the sound is adjusted by engineers wearing headphones in darkened rooms for the pleasure of the viewing audience.
When you wake up and there is a gun pointed right between your eyes it is altogether different. Gun powder is both acrid and sweet at the same time and even if the gun has not been fired for while, the smell lingers.
This was a revolver. When the gun is this close, you can't tell how many rounds are in the chamber because your eyes cross and all you can focus on is the barrel. The smell gets stronger when the hammer is cocked back and time slows down as you think to make your move. You have to move.
"They weren't trying to kill you," Mary said as she poured the coffee.
He was sitting there in her kitchen, in his underwear, about a mile away from his apartment. He heard the shot. He knew he heard the shot as he rolled over and dove out of the window. He only heard one shot. He was nearly certain that he had heard just one shot. What was she talking about?
Later, the police would confirm it after they had searched his apartment and the area and found nothing but the single round from a 9mm embedded in the stud in the wall behind his bed.
She was shuffling around in the bathrobe he bought for her many years ago for her birthday. She poured him some coffee and set the cream nearby right where he liked it; right where she knew he liked it.
"Yeah, I think Mary is right. Whoever it was, had you, sleeping, dead to rights eh, so to speak." Dave chimed in, making himself a cup of coffee and setting the sugar between them. She could never see what Amanda saw in Dave. Even his name was annoyingly monosyllabic. His brown hair was parted right down the middle above his brown eyes and his chin was covered with morning stubble that would soon be gone. This moment in time, on a Monday morning, was as disheveled as he would be all week. His bathrobe would soon be replaced by a brown suit and brown shoes.
Every so often, he would kidnap Mary and they would go to farmer's markets in the Asian and Hispanic outreaches of the Atlanta area and Dave did not seem to mind. He could stay at home and tie flies or rake leaves or something. He would return her to Dave and, as if she were an Iphone returning to her home computer, they would sync up again, becoming part of a network of man, wife, three kids.
"They were just trying to scare you," Mary said, finishing his thought as though they had both been sharing it. He wondered if he would visit one day and they would be speaking in unison or each saying every other word. He wondered if, when he was not there, if they even spoke. Nice as they were, they seemed mildly annoyed at the interruption to their Monday routine. He was sure that he was keeping them from getting ready for the day. The kids would be down any minute and ready to go to school. Perhaps they too sensed a change in air pressure with the presence of a new person in the house.
"So, what are you going to do now?" He had been staring straight ahead, watching the sun rise over their lawn, noting how each blade of grass, wet with spring dew, was exactly level;each the same height of the one next to it and the one next to that. He could not tell who had asked. Maybe they had asked in unison? In any event, it was a very good question and he did not know the answer.
