Marcus Sakey - Good People

He stepped onto the porch.

ANNA WATCHED HIM WALK AWAY, and every step cranked barbed wire around her heart. All this time they had been so caught up in chasing the things they thought they wanted, they had forgotten the things they already had. Never again . She thought it repeatedly, a mantra that would keep him safe and bring him back to her. That was all she wanted now.

And all she wouldn’t get. No matter what lies they had told each other, Jack wouldn’t let them live. No chance. But at least they’d save Sara and Julian.

With the phone in hand, she slid low in her seat until she could just barely see Tom climb the steps to Sara’s porch. As he reached the door, it swung inward. She couldn’t see inside, but she saw her beautiful husband hold up the key. He stood calm, strong, like trading his life for his family’s was the simplest choice in the world, and in the moment she most risked losing him she loved him more than she ever had.

A STRANGE SORT OF CALM settled on him. Facing the monster, the fear was still there, as much a part of the moment as the air he breathed. But it felt like something apart. He held the key in front of him, willing his hand not to shake.

Jack stood in the door frame with his arms crossed. White gauze stained with blood wrapped his left forearm. All the blinds were closed, and the light inside the house was dim, but not so dark that Tom couldn’t make out the shoulder holster, the way Jack’s fingers fell lightly, almost accidentally, on the handle of his gun. The moment stretched like a power line, so taut and charged it hummed.

Finally Jack said, “Where’s the missus?”

“Watching from somewhere safe, with 911 dialed into her cell phone and her thumb on the Send button.”

“Somewhere safe, huh?” Jack gave a bemused sort of smile. He leaned out the door, glancing left and right down the block. “You couldn’t just bring my money, could you? You people, always complicating things.”

“Nope. Simplifying them.” He took a breath, could taste the air. “You don’t want Sara or Julian. You’re willing to use them, but all you’re really after is the money, right?” He shrugged. “So swap us for them, and we’ll take you to the storage locker where we stowed it.”

“Let me get this straight. I walk out with you, hop in your car, and you take me to my money. And if I don’t, Anna calls 911. Is that it?”

Tom nodded.

“It can take ten, fifteen minutes for cops to respond to a 911 call,” Jack said. “You know how long that could feel?”

Tom’s mouth went dry, but he didn’t flinch. “That won’t get you what you want.” His hands were shaking, and he put them against his legs to hide it. This was the anchor everything hung on, the assumption that no matter how angry Jack might be, what he wanted more than anything was the cash. If that calculation turned out to be wrong, this would get uglier than he dared imagine. “Just let me make sure that Sara and Julian are okay, and then let’s go get your money.”

For a long moment, Jack just stared. Then he shrugged, stepped back inside the house. “Come on in.”

Stale light filtered through the closed blinds, making the familiarseem sinister. The air was thick with the smell of baby powder and something else, a faintly burned tang he couldn’t identify. Jack gestured toward the closed bedroom door. “In there.”

Tom walked ahead, back tingling with the knowledge that Jack was behind him. Easy. It’s working. There’s no reason for him to jump you. He knows Anna will call the police if he does, knows they’ll respond fast if she tells them who he is. So just do this and get out. Every step forward is one away from this house .

He put his hand on the bedroom door and pushed it open. The light was faint and dusty, and the smells stronger. He stood for a moment to let his eyes adjust, vague shapes resolving into a bed, the armoire he remembered hauling, the crib in the corner. He could see the outline of Julian lying within it.

A pair of legs stuck out from beside the bed.

Tom took the three steps to them without realizing he was moving. Sara lay facedown amid a pile of junk, postcards and books from the night table drawer yanked out of the frame. In the dim light, the mess of blood and tissue that used to be her back looked almost black.

Behind him, he heard the snick of metal against leather, the gun coming out, and then Jack said, “It was a nice plan, Tom. But I’ve got a different one in mind.”

ANNA HATED being helpless.

Sunlight danced on the dashboard. She watched Tom on the porch, saw Jack lean out the door, look in her direction. Fought the urge to duck lower, knowing the motion would catch his eye.

When she was a child, she’d pretended her eyes were laser beams, that they could cut and shear everything she saw. Now, pressed against the seat, powerless to do anything but wait and watch, she wished for those laser eyes. Imagined them blasting through the window, spearing into Jack, a beam of light that tore him open, cut him in half.

Her mind raced, thinking of all the ways this could fail. She had the windows half-open, but the porch was too far away for her to hear what Tom was saying. She stared, watched him rest his good hand against his thigh. After a long pause, he walked forward into the house.

She let herself breathe again. Good. They had agreed that if Jack pulled the gun, Tom would signal. The fact that he was walking in on his own meant it was working.

Still, this would be the worst part. Her palms were sweaty and her heart banged and her head hurt. A moment passed, then another. Tom wouldn’t dally, but he might have to calm Sara down, make sure she understood not to call the police. It could be a couple of minutes. On the other hand, if things were going wrong, every second she didn’t call was one more he might be getting hurt. She counted breaths, her thumb on the button.

She was just about to press it when there was a knock on her window, and she turned to stare down the barrel of a gun.

FOR A MOMENT, the world was just visual, nothing but images flashing against his eyes. The slippery ruin of Sara’s body, wet tissue exposed, the smell rising, an animal smell, copper and worse, and then he remembered the way she used to laugh, throwing her head back, and how she gave the best hugs, her arms tight around his back, and thought of what that would feel like now, and his stomach seized up. Something awful and bitter slid up his throat, in his mouth and nostrils, and he fought the urge to vomit. His eyes cataloged details he didn’t want: the pool of blood spilled across the cheap carpet, the wood of the drawer splintered and torn, a flash of metal, something shiny he couldn’t make out just beneath the bed.

“It’s hard, isn’t?” Jack spoke from behind. “To see what we really are. You can go your whole life knowing somebody, and then.” He sucked air through his teeth. “I’d say I’m sorry, but then, it’s not my fault, is it?”

Sara. Oh God, poor Sara . Then another thought hit, and he whirled, took a step toward the crib. Julian lay on his back. His eyes were open. Tom’s whole being shook, something inside him gathering itself into a howl that made no sound.

And then the boy blinked and gurgled, staring up at Tom.

“The kid is fine,” Jack said. “Your sister-in-law, well, she tried to run. Chose the wrong direction.”

Tom turned, started forward. He was going to beat this fucker to death with his bare hands if he had to, for what he’d done to Sara, to their lives.

Jack raised the gun faster than Tom would have thought possible, leveling it square on his forehead. Against his will, he froze. His good hand balled into a trembling fist. When he spoke, his voice came in tatters. “Anna is calling 911 right now.”