Andrew Klavan - The long way home

"The window!" I said. "Can you get out the window?"

She shook her head frantically. "Too high. I'll break my leg. They'll catch me."

She jumped as a loud bang came through the door. They were going to kick it in.

"A weapon, Beth. Find a weapon. A baseball bat. A hockey stick."

"I don't have any…"

"A shoe. A high-heeled shoe. Anything. Hold them off. I'm almost there."

Beth cried out in fear again as, again, the killers kicked the door.

"A weapon!" I said.

But I had to face forward, had to steer the car as it raced through the darkness under a canopy of trees.

There was Washington Street up ahead. Madison Street was next.

"Oh please!" I whispered-and pressed down on the gas, pushing the car at speed through the empty intersection.

There was another bang against Beth's door just as I glanced back at the monitor. I saw the door jolt in its frame. It was breaking. They were getting through.

But now, Beth forced herself out of her frozen terror. She rushed to the closet. She shoved aside some clothes. She reached in deeper and when she came out, I saw she had an iron in her hand-a regular old iron for pressing clothes.

"Oh yes!" I said.

Beth was slender. She wasn't athletic. She wasn't strong. But an iron-that'll stop a man. And I was almost there.

"Get to where the door opens," I said. "Get to where they'll come through. Swing for the head the second you see them. Don't hesitate."

Beth was so scared now she was crying, trembling, sobbing. But she found the courage to do what I said. She moved to the door just as the killers kicked it again. She flinched at the sound, but all the same, she positioned herself at the place where the door would open. She gripped the handle of the iron with one hand and gripped her wrist with the other, holding the iron down low at her side, ready to swing.

And just then, before I could see what happened next, I reached the house.

I hit the Beamer's brakes hard, turned the wheel hard, and the car swerved to the curb and screeched to a halt.

The next second, I was out the door, running like a madman up the path to Beth's front door.

The killers had left the door unlatched, but it wouldn't have mattered. If it had been locked, I'd've smashed right through.

Now I was in the house. I was bounding up the stairs, two at a time. I was in the upstairs hallway…

And there was another loud bang, a rending crash. I crested the stairs just in time to see the killers break through Beth's door.

There were two of them. Big men dressed in black. The one who'd kicked the door in rushed through before I could get there. The other was already crowding in behind him.

I heard Beth scream-and I saw her as she stepped into the doorway, as she swung the iron at the lead man with all the strength she had.

The blow hit the killer smack in the side of the head. His mouth flew open. He toppled to the floor, falling forward with his own onrushing force.

But the second killer didn't hesitate. He had Beth in an instant. He grabbed her arm, twisted it, forcing her to drop the iron. With the other hand he slapped her hard across the face, once and then again.

I was running toward him down the hall. I saw him shift his grip to grab Beth by the front of her sweater. I saw his other hand go to his waist. It all happened so fast, while Beth was still dazed by his blows.

The killer's hand came up in the air. I saw the knife raised above Beth's face.

A sound came out of me then-a sound I'd never heard myself make before. It wasn't a karate kee-yai or a shout or a scream or anything like that. It was a wild, enormous, guttural roar of pure animal fury.

Before the killer struck, I had him. I grabbed him by the belt and by the collar. I'd heard stories like this-stories about someone who became so desperate or so angry or so afraid, they did something superhuman: lifted a bus to save a child or outraced an avalanche or something amazing like that.

I tore the killer off Beth by main strength and hoisted him in the air-hoisted him clear above my head as if he were nothing more than a stuffed dummy.

Roaring, I threw him, just that easily. I hurled him headlong down the hall.

The killer's body went spinning through the air. He landed with a thud that shook the floor, just a few yards away from me. The jar of the fall made him lose his hold on the knife, but he quickly grabbed it again. He scrambled to his feet right away.

But not fast enough. Not fast enough by a long shot.

I was already there. I don't even remember moving. It was that quick. I was there in front of him.

He slashed at me with the knife, backhand. I dodged away. The blade went past. I stepped in quickly and blocked his arm as it came swinging back toward me. At the same time, I punched him in the throat. His eyes bulged. His tongue came out. He gagged. I grabbed his wrist-the hand holding the knife. I twisted it around and brought my arm down on his elbow as hard as I could. The killer's arm broke with a loud, sickening snap. He let out a single strangled scream and dropped to the floor, unconscious.

His knife lay beside him, just beyond his fingertips. I swept it up. I dropped to one knee. I grabbed the unconscious man by the shirtfront, hauled him up off the floor. I raised the knife over my head, ready to plunge it into his body as he lay there helpless.

Oh, and I wanted to do it too. I have to be honest. I really did want to. I was thinking about the way he'd slapped Beth, the way he'd grabbed her and was going to kill her. The rage was inside me, filling me, pushing me, as if I were a puppet being worked by a giant hand.

But I wasn't a puppet. I had a choice. Sensei Mike wasn't there to stop me anymore, but he was there, and God was there, and I had a choice.

My hand, holding the knife, trembled in the air, but I didn't bring it down. I wouldn't bring it down.

I let out a noise of frustration and threw the knife down the hall. I released my hold on the unconscious killer and let him fall with a thud to the floor.

The whole thing took a second, maybe two. Then I was on my feet, rushing back to Beth where she slumped against the doorframe. She was holding her jaw where the killer had slapped her, blinking hard, trying to fight her way out of her daze.

I glanced down at the floor, at the first killer, the one she'd hit with the iron. He was out cold. I smiled. Nice one, Beth.

I took her gently by the shoulders, lifted her away from the doorframe.

"Come on," I said. "Let's get out of here."

And now-again-I heard the sirens.

Into the Night I took Beth by the hand and led her around the fallen body of the killer, led her to the stairs and down to the front door.

"You're hurt," I heard her say softly behind me.

I glanced at my arm. She was right. The killer had cut me when he slashed with the knife. There was blood soaking through the sleeve of my fleece.

"It'll be okay," I told her.

We pushed out into the fresh air of the autumn night. The sirens sounded louder outside. They were close, though I still couldn't see the lights.

I turned to face Beth, holding her hand. She lifted her face to me. Her eyes were clear now, clear and soft and kind. She was the Beth I knew.

"I have to go," I told her.

"Don't," she said. "You can't. You're hurt. You need a doctor."

She gripped my hand tighter and took my other hand too. I raised her hands to my lips and kissed them.

"I have to. The police. You hear them?" The sirens grew louder in the night. I looked into her eyes. "Tell them, Beth. Tell them it was Sherman. Tell them he's the one who killed Alex, who sent these men. Tell them to go to the Ghost Mansion. I left him there. Tell them what happened tonight."