CHAPTER 18

Shane is pushing the barrel of that gun under her chin. I can see the paleness of her face, strands of dark hair covering her sweated forehead. Her green eyes are dark and distant. I don’t know what she’s thinking. I can’t believe she really thinks that committing suicide will end this game. What about me? What am I going to do if she kills herself? For a second, I wonder why she isn’t aiming the gun at Jack Sanders. Then I remember that Shane is not familiar with weapons. She just shot once. She’s not a professional. Dante is, but he’s badly injured.

Honestly, I can’t believe that he’s still standing on his feet. An open wound on his calf and I guess it must be a deep slash. Another shotgun wound on his shoulder, and he is bleeding from his eyebrow, too. A trail of blood has drawn its way down from the right side of his head all along his ear and neck, soaking the collar of his olive green t-shirt. His leather jacket looks badly crumpled, even shredded.

I can hear the rhythmical drip of his blood. It must come from the wound on his shoulder. I imagine that red trail slipping down, under the sleeve of his jacket and all along his arm. It reaches his hand. It rolls down the gun, smoothly and silently. It creates small drops on the tip of the barrel. It remains suspended mid-air for some eternal seconds. Then it falls down on the wood floor.

And Shane is pushing the barrel of that gun under her chin and her forefinger is trembling against the trigger. She is serious and when she is so serious and desperate, she is dangerous. Shane can be very dangerous, above all for herself.

The whole scene looks dramatic, intense, and paradoxically motionless. Like in a movie, it’s like seeing a movie on TV and pushing the “pause” button on the remote. When everything freezes in place and you have time to see all the characters’ expression. You notice the look on their face, you try to read what lies beneath the surface, you do your best to catch the pure essence of the scene. Like observing a painting.