Page 57 of Savage Row
In the corner of our king-sized bed, Naomi and Blair are huddled up together. They cried on and off at first, but shock kicked in, and now they are simply silent. I’ve made a terrible mistake in not preparing them for this—for not teaching them how to get out, how to run for their lives while I stayed to fight.
I guess I hadn’t expected that Jack Mooney would appear in our bedroom like an apparition, out of thin air. We hadn’t had a chance. The alarm hadn’t sounded. There was nothing other than Greg’s warm hand tapping my thigh. “Wake up,” he said. “Amy, wake up.”
Through half-closed lids, I watched as Mooney forced him out of bed at gunpoint, and down the stairs. Meanwhile, I searched frantically for my cell and then for Greg’s. They were nowhere to be found. By the time I reached for the landline, I realized it was futile. This was not an accident, not some haphazard crime. Jack Mooney had planned this out. The line would surely be dead. And it was.
As I rushed to the girls’ bedroom—it was the first night Blair and I moved back upstairs—I heard the tussle between Greg and Mooney downstairs. I scooped up Blair and practically dragged Naomi, still half asleep, down the hall. When we reached my room, I locked the door and pushed the dresser in front of it. Then I combed through Greg’s drawers in search of the .357. I knew it would be there under his folded sweaters. I hid the pistol downstairs. It had been Greg’s idea to keep one on each floor, just in case, and I prayed that he would get to it.
I checked the clip and then flipped the safety, and I questioned my decision. Maybe I should have left the girls in their beds asleep. I’d thought about going downstairs, taking aim at Mooney, but I was afraid for my children. What if a stray bullet hit them as they slept in their beds? What if Mooney killed Greg and me both? Who would protect them? I was not that sure of a shot, anyhow. I only wanted to get them to safety. I hadn’t considered what a feat this would be, being on the second floor, with Blair in a cast.
It’s then that I remember the ladder Greg had bought in case of a fire. With the gun in one hand, I riffle through our closet and pull out the box. I’ve just gotten the window open and the ladder set up when the lock is blown off our bedroom door.
Mooney stands, caked in blood, his eyes scanning the room. “Please,” I say as he trains the gun on Naomi’s head. His eyes flit toward me, toward the window, but he does not lower his weapon. He wants me to suffer, I can see that. “Whatever you want—whatever—
anything — I’ll give it to you.” I suck in a deep breath. “If it’s money you need, I have a little. You can take it all. But please. Please don’t—they’re just children.”
“I’ve thought about this moment for so long,” he tells me with a smirk. “For so many years, I’ve dreamed that we would one day be together. And look, here we are.”
“Jack,” I say, thinking if I make this personal it might help. I have nothing left to lose. “Listen…”
“It’s hard to listen, darlin’, when you’ve got a gun pointed at my head.”
He smears blood from his hand onto his white T-shirt. “All those years in that tiny little cell, I imagined this moment. But I gotta say…” He nods in my direction. “I didn’t picture it like this.”
I grip the gun tighter, trying to steady my shaking hands.
“I’m sorry I have to do this,” he tells me, using his gun to motion toward the girls. “We could take them with us, but you know how that goes. Children just complicate things.”
“I’m not going anywhere with you.” My intention is to reassure the girls, but it’s clear I am trying to reason with a psychopath when I ought to just pull the trigger.
Briefly, I catch my reflection in the dresser mirror. I hear Greg’s voice in my head. Wake up. Amy, wake up.
I try to force myself to squeeze the trigger, but I am not sure I will be the faster shot.
In my periphery, I see Naomi stroking her sister’s hair. Wake up. Amy, wake up. He cannot kill us all. I have to make a choice, or it is very likely that we are all going to die in this room—and if not here, somewhere far worse.
I pull the trigger. Everything happens at once, and simultaneously, in slow motion, Jack Mooney slumps forward. Behind him, our neighbor holds a knife, though it drops from his hand. Surprise registers on his face. I haven’t shot Mooney. I shot Theo.
Jack Mooney kneels on the ground, his hand reaching for his back, and when he raises it to his face, it is covered in blood. He gropes for the gun that lies at his feet. And as his fingers brush it, I aim and then empty my clip.
Chapter Thirty-Nine
Outside, there’s a bevy of flashing red and blue lights. Police cars and emergency vehicles line the block. After some coaxing, the girls leave the house with a police officer, whose expression will forever be etched in my memory. I can still hear their stifled sobs as I assure them that everything is going to be okay. They know I am lying. Nothing is ever going to be okay again.
Someone wraps a blanket around my shoulders. They wheel Theo out on a stretcher. Police officers ask me to relay the events in detail, again and again. The questions keep coming. What had Jack Mooney said? What time had I first discovered him in the house? Had he touched me or the girls? How had the neighbor come to be involved?
He said he was going to kill my children. He said he’d thought about it for years.
10:48 p.m.
How did I know?
I looked at the clock on Greg’s bedside table.
He hadn’t touched us. I hadn’t given him the chance.
I had no idea why Theo was in the house or why he’d gotten involved. He’d seemed increasingly concerned about our family over the past several weeks. He’s strange. But he just saved our lives.
Even as I answer, they repeat the same questions over and over, as though I’m suddenly going to come up with a different response, something that I haven’t already stated. It feels repetitive and robotic, but I answer the best I can, which is matter-of-factly.