A man stood in the doorway, the lock blown apart by gunfire. Smoke curled from the barrel of his pistol. Rain streamed from his heavy leather jacket, pooling at his feet as he stepped inside—each bootstep echoing ominously through the dim room. He raised his handgun, sweeping it across the room until it was aimed at all of us in turn.
My father instinctively reached for the pistol tucked behind his back.
"Don't you fucking move, or I'll blow your head off!" the man barked, his voice dripping with venom.
He looked to be in his forties, weathered face, eyes burning with fury. I could feel it in my gut: if any of us so much as twitched, he'd shoot.
My father froze, then slowly raised his hands in surrender. The intruder moved closer, water dripping from his coat and boots, soaking the wooden floor. Outside, the rain poured harder, pounding in rhythm with my racing heartbeat.
He stopped only a few feet away. I was frozen—terrified. The sheer helplessness of having your life in someone else's hands was unbearable. I didn't know what to do except stay perfectly still.
"Listen, man, I don't know who you are or what you want," Matthew said carefully. "Just take whatever you need and go. We don't want any trouble."
Ava quickly pulled me behind her, shielding me with her body. The man's aim snapped toward her.
"Move again and I swear to God, I'll shoot," he growled.
"Please, calm down," Matthew urged, his voice steady but his eyes darting, searching for any opening. "We're not your enemies."
"You can take anything from this house," my father added quietly, trying to defuse him. "Just leave us alone."
The man let out a bitter laugh, shaking his head. "No… no, no. I'm not here to steal. I just came to talk—before I kill you all."
He waved the gun erratically, his movements jerky and unstable. Then he stopped and fixed his gaze on my father.
"Especially you, you motherfucking thief."
Everyone froze. Ava trembled, clutching me tighter. I could hear her heart pounding rapidly, yet she didn't move an inch, still shielding me from danger.
"Throw your gun—slowly," the man ordered. "Do anything stupid and I'll blow her head off. Understand?"
My father nodded, pulled his pistol from behind his back, and tossed it gently to the floor near Matthew's feet.
"So," the man said, pacing the room with slow, heavy steps, "having a nice little family dinner, huh? Sit down—all of you."
We hesitated, but one glare from him was enough. We sat. My hands trembled under the table. The same dining room that had felt so warm moments ago now felt suffocating.
He began circling the table. "Now, let's talk like adults. My name is Henry Moore. I used to work as a janitor at a school. I had a wife and three kids—two boys and a little girl."
My father exchanged a subtle glance with Matthew. Matthew's eyes flicked toward the pistol on the floor.
Henry's voice cracked, trembling with rage and grief. "I lost my two boys trying to escape town. All I had left was my wife and daughter."
My father tried to keep him talking. "What… what does that have to do with us?"
Henry's expression twisted. He lunged forward and smashed the butt of his gun into my father's head.
"Everything, you son of a bitch!" He shouted, striking him again. "Everything!"
Blood ran down my father's temple as he grunted in pain. Ava screamed, tears streaming down her face as she tried to stand, but fear rooted her in place. My body wouldn't listen. My heart thrashed in my chest like it wanted out. Every creak of the floorboards sounded like a gunshot waiting to happen.
John lifted his head, blood trickling down his cheek. "We don't even know you! Why are you doing this?"
Henry pressed the barrel of his gun to John's forehead. "But I know you, John Walker. I've been tracking you for weeks." His voice trembled with fury. "Two weeks ago, you stole medical supplies—antibiotics, painkillers—from a woman with a cane. She begged you not to take them, but you didn't listen. You didn't hear her cries…" He glared down at him. "That woman was my wife."
John's eyes widened as realization hit him. "I… I didn't know— I was desperate. My son was dying. I'm sorry," he stammered.
Henry struck him again, a vicious punch that sent blood splattering across the table. "You thought you were the only one desperate? My family needed that medicine too! Do you know how hard we worked to get it? And you just took it!"
His voice grew louder, shaking with grief and rage. His hands trembled as he paced. My heart pounded so hard I could barely hear over it.
He stopped behind my chair. I felt the cold metal of the gun press against the back of my head. Ava let out a broken cry. "Please… don't."
"My daughter was about the same age as your son," Henry said quietly, his tone twisted with sorrow. "She needed that medicine. Because of you, she died. I was the one who had to put a bullet in her head before she turned."
Tap. Tap. Tap.
He began tapping the gun against my skull, each tap making my body flinch. Ava sobbed uncontrollably.
"Don't you dare hurt my son! You have a problem with me, take it out on me!" my father shouted, panic edging every word.
BANG! Henry fired. The shot tore through the air, splintering the silence.
"Aaaaaah!" Ava screamed, her voice shattering the air. My father froze, face pale as death.
"Don't move!" Henry barked, aiming his smoking pistol toward Matthew, who was trying to reach for the gun on the floor. "Sit down—we're still talking!"
Matthew clenched his fists but obeyed, rage burning behind his eyes.
Henry's voice cracked again as he continued, "After my daughter died, my wife… she couldn't live with it. She killed herself." His breathing was ragged. "You took everything from me, John. So now, I'll take everything from you."
"Please!" Ava cried, clasping her hands together. "Please, don't hurt my son! Take my life instead!"
"Don't you dare hurt them!" Matthew growled.
"They're innocent! I'm the one who stole the medicine!" My father shouted desperately. "Kill me if you have to—but leave them alone!"
Henry let out a hollow, broken laugh. "Why do you get to live with your family while mine rots in the ground!? Why does your son get to survive?"
John's eyes filled with tears. "You're right… you have every right to be angry," he said shakily. "If I'd known you had a daughter, I never would've taken it. Please… let them go. I'm the sinner here. Kill me if you have to—but don't hurt them."
Henry's hand trembled violently. His breathing grew ragged, each inhale sounding more like a sob than a breath. Fury and grief twisted across his face as he stared down at John, who was begging for his family's life.
"We're done talking," Henry said at last, his voice low and broken. "I've got nothing left."
BANG!
The gunshot echoed like thunder.
I froze, unable to move or even think. Warm liquid splattered across my face.
"Aaaaaaahhh!" Ava's horrified scream tore through the silence as pieces of flesh and blood hit the table.
Slowly, I looked up, only to see Henry's head blown open, his body collapsing lifelessly to the floor.
He'd shot himself.