F Wilson - Deep as the Marrow

“Easy, Mac,” Paulie was saying.

“Goddamn!” Mac couldn’t seem to find what he was looking for in the living room so he stalked into the kitchen.

Finally Poppy could move. Paulie was looking in her direction with a stricken expression, motioning her to get Katie out of sight, but Poppy was already on her way.

She was just dragging Katie back when Mac reappeared.

His face was back to normal color but had lost all expression, and his eyes… his eyes were flat and cold, like everything human had gone out of them. He gripped something long and slim in his right hand. Sunlight flashed off its steely surface as he passed the window.

Oh, sweet Jesus, a knife—the big, foot-long Ginsu knife she’d seen in the utensil drawer.

Poppy whimpered as she pulled Katie close against her and cowered back into the room. Oh, no, he couldn’t… he wasn’t going to try and cut her toe off now, was he?

This couldn’t be happening.

“Paulie!” she cried. “Paulie, he’s got a knife!” But Paulie was way ahead of her. He stepped in front of the door and put his hands out.

“Stop right there, Mac. Don’t do anything crazy now. It’s not like it looks.”

Mac slowed but didn’t stop. “It’s not?” he said in a voice as cold as his eyes.

“We sent the persuader just like you told us,” Paulie said, rattling out the words like a machine gun. “A little kid’s toe. Only it just wasn’t this kid’s toe. And it worked, didn’t it? I mean, you said yourself the guy was ready to do anything after he opened that envelope. So there’s no harm done. Everything worked out okay, right? So what’s the point in cutting off her toe now? What’s that gonna get you?”

Finally Mac stopped. He stared at Paulie with this look of complete disgust. “You fucking idiot. What the fuck do I care about her toe now. She saw me! She’s seen us all!”

The words were spikes through Poppy’s heart. He’s gonna kill her! He’s gonna kill my little Katie!

“It’ll be okay,” Paulie said.

“Damn right it will,” Mac said, starting to move again.

“Just as soon as I’m finished with her.” He tried to get past but Paulie blocked his way.

“Hey, Mac. You can’t be serious. You’re not gonna off a little girl!”

“Out of the way, Paulie! I’m not getting sent up because some little brat can point the finger at me.”

Paulie shoved him back. “Time out, Mac. You’re not thinking.” Mac went wild then. His lips drew back from his teeth and he slashed with the knife.

Poppy screamed. “Paulie, look out!” Paulie jumped back, holding his arm. His hand came away wet and red.

“You son of a bitch! You cut me!” Poppy knew that tone. Now Paulie was pissed. He made a move toward Mac, dodged another slash, and then they were grappling, kicking, cursing, grunting, snorting like animals as each tried to get control of the knife.

Poppy pushed Katie back onto the bed. “You stay here! Don’t move!” She eased herself into the front room, pressing her back against the wall as Paulie and Mac rolled around on the floor. She had to find a way to stop Mac. But how?

And then she spotted her dumbbells by the coffee table.

Yes!

She grabbed one and raised it just as Paulie rolled on top of Mac. She crept closer, looking for an opening, waiting for a clear shot at Mac’s head.

And then she heard Paulie let out a loud, “Uhn!”—a cross between a strangled cry and an agonized grunt— and in that same awful, horror-filled instant saw the bright red point of the knife blade pop through the back of his shirt.

She screamed his name and rushed forward just as Mac was pushing Paulie off of him. She’d all but forgotten the dumbbell in her hand, but when she saw Mac getting up she let out a sound she’d never imagined she could make, a screech of rage and fear like a truck with bad brakes.

Mac looked up, and for an instant she cherished the look of sudden terror that filled his eyes when he saw her and realized what she had raised over her head.

He shouted, “No!” and tried to get a hand up but he was too late.

Poppy smashed him square between his cold, rotten little eyes with the end of the dumbbell, flattening his nose and spraying blood all over his face. His head slammed back against the floor and he didn’t move again.

Poppy immediately forgot about him and dropped the dumbbell. She turned to Paulie who was on his back now with the knife’s black handle sticking out of his stomach, right under the breast bone. His black shirt wasn’t showing the red of the blood, just looking blacker—and wet.

And he was all wet. His face was sugar white and, he looked like he was having trouble breathing and Poppy didn’t want to think it, didn’t want to believe it could happen, but she knew right then that her Paulie was dying.

“Paulie… ?” His eyes focused on her, then down to the handle sticking up from his shirt. His fingers trembled as he touched it. He tried a smile as he spoke in a wheezy whisper.

“It’s not as bad as it looks. I’ll be okay.”

Poppy tried to hold back the sobs but they broke through and she started crying. “Oh, Jesus, Paulie, it came out your back!”

He blinked. “It did? Oh.” He looked down at the handle and touched it again. “Help me get it out.”

“No! I can’t!”

“Poppy, it hurts so much. You gotta get it out. Please.”

“O-okay.” The last thing in the world she wanted to do was touch that handle, but if it was hurting Paulie…

She forced the fingers of both hands around the black plastic, squeezed tight, and gave a little pull.

Paulie stiffened and groaned.

“It’s stuck!” Her voice rose to a wail. “I can’t do this, Paulie!”

“It’s my only chance. Pull it out! Now!” Shaking, sobbing. Poppy tightened her grip and yanked the handle with everything she had. After some initial resistance, it suddenly came free and she almost fell backward.

When she straightened, Paulie was even whiter than before but smiling at her.

“Oh, that feels better.” But when Poppy looked at the wound she saw blood gurgling from the slit and running down Paulie’s sides.

Suddenly his whole body twitched and he looked at her. She could barely hear his voice.

“Maybe we should have left it in.”

And then he was gone. He didn’t move, didn’t make another sound; his eyes were still open and looking at her, but Paulie wasn’t there anymore.

No… that couldn’t be…

“Paulie?” she said. “Paulie?” Poppy dropped the knife and leaned toward him, arms out to hug him when something moved against her leg.

She turned. Mac was stirring. His nose was smashed to the side and he looked like he’d been hit in the face with a ripe tomato, but his eyelids were fluttering. He was coming to.

And right then Poppy knew she had to kill him. She couldn’t let the man who’d killed Paulie and wanted to kill Katie take another breath.

She looked around for her dumbbell and saw that it had rolled across the floor. She started to rise to retrieve it when she noticed the handle of the gun in Mac’s belt.

Yeah. With his own gun.

But as she began to pull it free, a hand grabbed her wrist.

Mac looked at her groggily. “No way, bitch.” Poppy got her other hand on the gun and yanked it free, but Mac still had hold of her wrist. And now he brought both of his hands into play, trying to twist it away from her. But Poppy wasn’t letting go. She knew her life and Katie’s depended on keeping it away from Mac.

Suddenly the gun went off and Poppy felt something whiz past her cheek. The sound was so deafening at such close range she jumped and almost lost her grip.

She glanced down and saw Mac’s finger against the trigger, then up to see him grinning at her, so sure he was going to win. Just to show him he wasn’t, Poppy gave the gun a vicious twist and it discharged again, the bullet nipping a lock of his hair as it went by.