Part 106 (1/2)

”Okay,” he said softly, and pulled back on the hammer. ”We'll end you now.”

The door behind him flung open, and Pea.r.s.e turned, got off one round that blew a chunk out of Bubba's thigh.

But Bubba never stopped. He covered Pea.r.s.e's gun hand with his own and clamped his other arm around Pea.r.s.e's chest from behind.

Pea.r.s.e let loose a guttural scream and tried to twist his body out of Bubba's grasp, but Bubba squeezed tighter, and Pea.r.s.e began to gasp, began to make high-pitched keening yelps, as he saw his gun hand move against his will up toward the side of his head.

He tried to twist his head away, but Bubba reared back and b.u.t.ted his ma.s.sive forehead into the back of Pea.r.s.e's head so hard it sounded like a pool ball exploding.

Pea.r.s.e's eyes spun from the shock of impact.

”No,” he yelped. ”No, no, no, no.”

Bubba grunted with the effort, blood pouring down his leg as Angie scrambled out into the hallway on all fours and grabbed her .38.

She rose to one knee, pulled back on the hammer, and pointed it at Pea.r.s.e's chest.

”Don't you f.u.c.king do it, Ange!” Bubba screamed.

Angie froze, finger curled around the trigger.

”You're mine, Scott,” Bubba whispered hoa.r.s.ely in Pea.r.s.e's ear. ”You are all mine, sweetie.”

”Please,” Pea.r.s.e begged. ”Wait! No! Don't! Wait! Please!”

Bubba grunted again and slammed the muzzle of Pea.r.s.e's gun into Pea.r.s.e's temple, shoved his finger over Pea.r.s.e's and around the trigger.

”No!”

Bubba said, ”Feeling depressed, isolated, possibly suicidal?”

”Don't!” Pea.r.s.e batted at Bubba's head with his free hand.

”Well, call a hot line, but don't call me, Pea.r.s.e, 'cause I don't f.u.c.king care.”

Bubba shoved his knee into Pea.r.s.e's spine, lifted his feet off the floor.

”Please!” Pea.r.s.e kicked at the air, tears streaming down his cheeks.

”Yeah, yeah, sure, sure,” Bubba said.

”Oh, G.o.d!”

”Hey, a.s.shole? Say hi to the f.u.c.king dog for me, will you?” Bubba said, and then he blew Scott Pea.r.s.e's brains out the other side of his head.

36.

I was in the hospital for five weeks. The bullet had entered my upper left chest just below the collarbone and exited through my back, and I'd lost three and a half pints of blood before the EMTs reached the house. I was comatose for four days, and I woke to tubes in my chest, tubes in my neck, tubes in my arm, and tubes in my nostrils, hooked up to a respirator, so thirsty I would have signed over the contents of my savings account for a single ice cube.