She waited until Kyle fixed his gaze on Hannah and began talking to her directly, as she knew he would. Then she began the maneuver, biting her lip to keep from letting any cry of pain escape.
“Hannah,” Kyle said in a mournful tone, “I’m truly sorry that you got caught up in this. It’s not your fault that you’re related to that messed-up bitch.”
“I’m glad to be related to her,” Hannah spat back at him. “She’s my sister and I’m proud of her. You’re the little bitch.”
Kyle laughed fleetingly before the pain in his collarbone made him stop.
“Now I see the family resemblance. Despite your nasty words, I want you to know that I’m not a monster. Okay, I am. But I’m not a complete monster. That’s why I’m going to make this quick for you. No knife to the chest, just a shot to the back of the head. You won’t see it coming. That’s my gift to you.”
Jessie had now managed her complicated maneuver. Her cuffed hands rested in her lap as she tried to decide how best to make her next move. She saw Hannah glance at her for a split second before turning her full attention to Kyle.
“I don’t need your gift,” the girl shouted at him in what was an obvious attempt to keep his focus only on her. “You’re just a coward who can’t look a teenage girl in the eyes while you murder her. I’m amazed you lasted two years in prison. I can just imagine the favors you had to do to survive.”
Jessie was on her feet right around the time Kyle responded.
“Last chance to turn around,” he growled at her sister.
Jessie was almost to him when he heard her footsteps. He spun around, aiming the gun in her direction just as she swung her arms over his neck. She heard the gun go off but didn’t feel any new source of pain, unaware that Hannah had flung her arm out, knocking Kyle’s elbow and making his shot fire errantly into a wall.
Jessie used her momentum to slam into Kyle. They toppled over, with her on top of him, and landed hard. As they hit the floor, she propelled her forearms into his chest, hoping to make solid contact with his clearly damaged clavicle.
The collision made them both bounce. Kyle hollered, indicating that she’d been successful in targeting his collarbone. She disregarded her own pounding shoulder as she clambered to her knees to get a better angle to twist the handcuffs around Kyle’s neck.
She saw him lift the gun, still in his left hand, in the direction of her head. But before he got it all the way up, two hands, Hannah’s, clasped his wrists. For several long seconds, the two of them engaged in a terrifying arm wrestling competition, as the teenage girl used her entire body weight to try to push Kyle’s arm down while he attempted to lift it, his vein-choked arm muscles bulging at the effort. Jessie flashed back to earlier that same evening, when another brave young woman desperately used all her strength to prevent a much larger man from hurting her.
Finally, he changed tactics, dropping his arm as he flailed about. As he did, the gun popped out of his sweaty hand and disappeared under the couch. He managed to roll over onto his front and knock Hannah away with one broad shoulder, sending her flying into the couch.
Jessie was now on top of him, squeezing the metal cuffs into his windpipe as she stared at the back of his head. She was just feeling him start to weaken when he threw his entire body up and backward, slamming down on top of her, leaving both of them splayed out on their backs, looking up at the ceiling.
Jessie felt his weight digging into her, trying to squash her into the floor. From her vantage point, she could see Ryan to her right, the knife protruding from his unmoving chest. To the left was Hannah, crumpled in a heap by the couch, dazed but frantically, valiantly trying to get her bearings. Jessie had a momentary flash of Garland Moses, struggling much as she was now, desperately try to escape the merciless crush of a man she’d once somehow loved.
The thought of it all produced an uncontainable fireball of fury in her gut. Setting aside all the pain in her shoulder and her back and her heart, she yanked down on the handcuffs, squeezing the metal chain in the flesh of his neck, picturing it cutting through to the bone of his windpipe below.
She felt him trying to push off the floor with his hands and ripped him back down, using every ounce of strength she had, imagining actually smashing her elbows through the wood of the floorboards.
She heard him gagging, felt his resolve weakening. But just when she thought he’d begun to give up, he flung himself upward again. Her grip loosened and she knew that he was about to break free.
But then, out of the corner of her eye, a figure flew toward them, smashing into Kyle’s chest and sending everyone collapsing back to the floor. With Hannah now on top of him and Jessie underneath, Kyle was pinned.
Jessie took a huge gulp of air and redoubled her efforts, pulling down with a reservoir of determination she didn’t know she was capable of. The chain of the cuffs cut into the soft skin of her fingers, making them raw with pain. Something she couldn’t identify was dripping off Kyle’s body onto her face. It was salty but she didn’t know if it was blood or sweat.
Despite her best efforts, she could sense that her strength was fading. Kyle’s neck muscles strained against the chain like the Incredible Hulk tearing through his own clothes. Still, she refused to let go. Jessie ignored the protests of her body as she clutched the chain tight and pulled, imagining his muscles were ropes that would eventually snap.
He paused for a half-second, before unexpectedly flinging himself upward.
She heard something crack but kept tugging, always tugging, now feeling herself get stronger with each passing second. She visualized herself actually decapitating him and closed her eyes tight as she tried to make it a reality.
At some point—she wasn’t sure when—she sensed that Kyle was no longer struggling against her. She opened her eyes to find her sister staring remorselessly at his face. Hannah sensed Jessie’s eyes on her and glanced down.
“You can stop pulling,” she said with remarkable calm. “He’s dead.”
*
Jessie was having trouble breathing.
It wasn’t her injuries or the state of shock she could sense was lurking in the nearby shadows of her mind. Rather it was her constant efforts at CPR on Ryan.
At her instruction, Hannah had already called down to Officer Nettles to alert him. She said it was quicker than trying to reach 911. While she was calling, Jessie had evaluated the spot where Ryan had been stabbed, on the right mid torso just above the diaphragm, and made the command decision to remove the knife.
Based on her admittedly rudimentary medical knowledge, she was reasonably certain that it hadn’t entered near any major arteries. But it had likely punctured the lung and every time he inhaled and exhaled, even softly, he risked further damage to it. So once Hannah hung up and said EMTs were on their way, Jessie had methodically explained what would happen next.
“I have an extra key to these handcuffs in my bedside drawer,” she’d told her. “You get them while I keep pressure on this wound.”
After Hannah returned with the key and uncuffed her, she walked her sister through the next steps.
“Get several towels from the linen closet. I’m going to remove the knife.”
“Why?” Hannah demanded. “Won’t he lose more blood that way?”