The Wright Way

Chapter 38 - The Wright Way

"Why kill him," I say, "if you want to punish me?"

"So that you could live with the knowledge that your bad choices have killed him, of course," says Uncle.

"It will still be you who kills me, not his choices," says Joshua from the sink, surprising both of us.

He turns around with a glass of water and looks at Uncle, his expression bitter but not particularly scared. "Go ahead and do it, but stop messing with his head. He did what he had to do. Whatever you choose to do is not his fault."

"Oh, look who's talking now. I was beginning to think you were mute." Uncle nods at the empty stool and Joshua returns to it, handing him the glass. "Have you thought of something to say in your defense?"

"I need no defense. Unlike you, I've never harmed anyone."

"Such a distorted view of reality." Uncle shakes his head and takes a sip. The gun wavers and I take a step forward, but Uncle points it back at Joshua, watching me over the rim of his glass. I stop and watch helplessly as he finishes the water and puts the glass on the table.

"You should have gotten water filters. It tastes awful. Yet, apparently, awful taste is a part of who you are." He nods at Joshua. "Just to think that you refused to marry Marianne to eventually fall for...this."

There is so much I could say to this—that I didn't fall for anyone, and that I didn't refuse to marry Marianne for any reason other than not wanting to marry her, and that I didn't really plan anything when I left the farms, surely not this kitchen standoff. Yet he would turn anything I say against me, so I just stand there, racking my brain for a solution, not finding one.

"Nothing to say?" Uncle burps, then covers his mouth. "Oh, sorry. Too much beer." He chuckles, the chuckle transforming into a cough. The gun wavers in the air, and it feels like Russian roulette for a moment, for if he pulls the trigger now, it could be either me or Joshua or himself who'll get shot.

"What the –" He rubs his chest, still coughing. The water must have gone the wrong way, but more importantly, the gun now points into space, and he's not focused enough to notice.

Apparently, Joshua sees that, too. He slides off his stool and backs away as I lash out and grab Uncle's hand with the gun, pushing its barrel down, pointing it at the table, trying to wrestle it out of his sinewy fingers.

There is a moment of startled resistance but then he lets go, surprisingly, and presses both hands to his chest. He rubs it, gasping for air in between coughs, looking in front of him, not seeing me. I watch him, puzzled, then glance at Joshua who stands with his back to the sink, his eyes on Uncle.

As I open my mouth to speak, Uncle moves. He slides off his chair as if his body has suddenly become boneless. I watch, stunned, as he curls into a ball on the floor, his hands still on his chest, gasping for air. I move towards him, then pause. This could be some kind of ruse, to make me come closer so that he could get the gun back. Yet the whizzing sounds and his convulsions seem pretty real. Is he having a heart attack? I've never seen one before, but I don't have any other explanation for what's going on.

I turn to go to the bedroom to call 911, then stop again, reluctant to leave Joshua behind.

"Hey," I call to him over the whizzing sounds, but he doesn't seem to hear, his eyes glued to the man on the floor. "Hey, come here. "

Slowly he shakes his head and nods down. As I follow his gaze, I become aware that the sounds are getting quieter.

On the floor, Uncle body unwraps gradually from the it's fetal position. He rolls slowly onto his back, his eyes squeezed shut. The back of his head hits the floor with a thud. His hands fall limply to the sides of his body. His knees, half bent, tilt to the side at an uncomfortable angle.

"Crap." I step over to Joshua, push the gun into his hands and bend over the lying man. "Uncle? Can you hear me?" I press my fingers to his neck, my own blood deafening in my ears in the suddenly quiet kitchen. I search for pulse but can't find it.

"Crap." I look up at Joshua. "He must have had a heart attack."

"No," he says. "He didn't."

I blink, unsure that I heard him right. "What?"

Slowly, he looks down at the gun, as if surprised by its presence in his hand, then places it on the counter, slowly and reverently, as if the thing could go off by itself. The silence presses upon me like a weight.

"It was...the pill." He turns to me, his face wiped clear off all expressions. "The blue pill he wanted to give me when they came here first? When you hit his hand and he dropped it, and they couldn't find it? I saw where it went, between the mattress and the bedframe. Before I went to bed today, I found it. I thought I'd give it to police tomorrow, the weapon they wanted to kill me with." He looks down at Uncle and lets out a dry chuckle. "I found a better use for it, as you can see." 

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*** Note: Three more chapters left in this book! ***