I Thought We'd Be Safe Under the Stairs... I Was Wrong

Want to hear brand new horror stories brought to life? Live? Join me every Sunday at 7pm ET on the Dr. No Sleep Podcast YouTube channel, where I narrate fresh, never-before-heard stories in real time. Just search Dr. No Sleep Podcast on YouTube and make sure you're subscribed with notifications on so you don't miss it. Dr. No Sleep. Delia and I ended up in the room under the stairs because there was nowhere else we could go for some private time. It wasn't our house. Three friends from Delia's work were renting the secluded two-story structure, and they had invited us over for a little get-together. Most of the partygoers had left for the night, and Nico was snoring on the couch when Delia asked me to drive us back to my apartment. It was past two in the morning, and we were snuggled in a recliner in front of the TV. No way, I said. I'm way too drunk for that. I told you we would have to crash here if I did any drinking. Pouting, Delia said. I know. I just wanted you to have fun and let loose a little. You're always so reserved. I liked that about you, but I know you have another side. I wanted to see it. But now, even more than that, I want a little us time. The littlest thing she did could get my engine revving. Although I rarely saw her apply any, her thick lips always glistened with lip gloss, and when she pushed them out in a pout, it sent my mind straight into the gutter. I looked into her gold-flect brown skin and felt my stomach tensing with excitement. She was gorgeous, with golden brown skin, a full figure, high cheekbones, and dark glossy hair. As drunk as I was, the idea of some us time suddenly had me contemplating driving anyway. It was a bad idea, and I had promised my mother when she surprised me with a car on my 18th birthday that I would never drive drunk. Although there were some promises I had failed to keep, that wasn't one of them. Especially since we had lost my dad to a drunk driving accident when I was 15. Now that I was 21 and of legal drinking age, it was even more important. Wait, you're saying I didn't get loose enough for you tonight? I teased. Delia wrapped her arms around my neck and smiled, moving close enough that I could smell the juice on her breath from her vodka cranberry. No, I still haven't seen that other side. But I know it's in there somewhere. We kissed, and my engine neared red. The sudden eruption of noises from upstairs had me pulling away. I looked at the ceiling and smiled at the squeaking of bedsprings from the room Benito and Irma shared. Again, Delia said. Wow, after that last session, I figured they would be worn out. Guess not. She looked at me. I grinned and pulled her into a deep kiss. When we came up for air, I said, Fuck it, let's go. I'll drive safe. Delia shook her head. No, no, no. As tempting as it is, I don't want to risk it. But I have an idea. She got up from the chair and moved toward the stairwell, which flanked the back wall at the rear of the living room. At first, I thought she was going to go up the stairs, but she moved to a small door in the wall underneath them. She opened it, bent down, and reached inside, pulling on a string to turn a light on. I got an amazing view of her ass in her tight black shorts. She straightened and hurried over to me, smiling excitedly. Crap the pillows and stuff, she said, gesturing at the comforter and two pillows Irma had brought down for us earlier. Under there, I asked. Really? Yes, really? She grabbed my wrist to haul me up. Nico is passed out. He won't hear a thing. I glanced at the skinny, white 18-year-old who lay snoring on the couch. His sneaker still on. He worked at the restaurant with Delia, Irma, and the others. Although a lightweight and a stereotypical stoner, I always found him funny and unselfconscious in the best way possible. Snatching the bedding, I followed Delia into the tiny room under the stairs. It's a hairy potter hole, she said as she moved in. What's that? I asked, pointing at another door directly opposite the one we had used to get into the small space. I don't know. She said, unfolding the blanket to spread it out onto the threadbare carpet. I reached out and opened the door, revealing a drop of a couple of feet to the crawl space under the house. Warm, Florida air and the smell of moist earth wafted out. Close it! Delia said. There's probably spiders down there! I chuckled, shutting the door. With the blanket and pillows, it was a cozy space with just enough room for us to maneuver. We started kissing again, but Delia stopped me as it was getting hot and heavy. Turn off the light. I want to see you! I said. It's so bright. It's not flattering. The bare bulb hanging from the underside of one of the stairs was pretty bright. I wasn't about to press the issue. I pulled the string and the light went off. Then we picked up where we'd left off. I was pulling her shorts down her smooth legs when the crash came. What was that? Delia said, propping herself on her elbows. I don't know. Almost sounded like the front door. A moment later, I heard low voices speaking in the living room. Although I couldn't make out the words, they were men's voices. There was no doubt about that. The steps overhead creaked faintly as two or three people started upstairs. The metallic thwack of an aluminum baseball bat hitting something sounded from the living room. I knew immediately what that noise meant, but I tried not to believe it. I wanted to be wrong. The noise came again. Thwack! A sickening sound. A crash came from upstairs, followed closely by a yelp of surprise. Irma. Benito shouted, angry. Then a meaty thud sounded, and Benito screamed in pain. Irma screamed, but the sound was soon muffled, as if someone had pressed a hand to her mouth. In the dark, under the stairs, I could see the whites of Delia's eyes as she stared at me. My heart was beating so hard I felt sick. Each beat pulsed around the outside of my vision. I need to go. I whispered, tugging her shorts back up her legs. She took over, pulling them all the way up. Where's your phone? I asked. On the coffee table? I reached to the side, retrieving my cell phone from where I'd put it. I had to look up the house's address from my Maps app, and then I texted it to 911. Under the house, I said, shifting to move toward the crawl space door. As Delia moved, she bumped her head on a stair with a loud thud. The thud? A man said from the living room. Go! I hissed, opening the door and shoving Delia into the dark crawl space. I pressed my cell phone into her hand, screen still unlocked. Before she could protest, I shut the door on her. Just as soon as I got turned around, the other door opened, revealing a young Hispanic man with prominent ears and closely cut hair. He held an aluminum bat in one hand. I tried not to stare at the bits of blood and hair stuck to it. Who the fuck are you? He asked. Putting my hands up, I said, no one. I was here for the party. Get out! On your hands and knees. There was still a commotion from upstairs, but I was barely aware of it. I crawled out from under the stairs. Lie down! The man said. I pegged him for 18 or 19. He had a slender runner's frame and eyes that shone with cruelty. I shifted to lie on my back, but he stopped me. On your chest, hands clasped behind your back. As I moved to do what he said, I glanced at the couch. Nico still lay there, but his face had been smashed in, pulverized, leaving nothing but a mess of bloody bone and torn flesh. Blood spattered the wall above the couch. Something dark and cavernous flickered in my mind at the sight. A glimpse of some part of myself, or part of the universe, that I had never considered before. A mixture of terror and wonder came with the jumbled flash, but it was soon replaced by a part of myself I knew too well. What the fuck? I thought, my inner voice high and whiny, brimming with childish frustration. With it came a swell of panic, rising up in my mind like a tsunami wave. Before it could crash into me, something else did. The man hit me in the low back with his baseball bat. Instead of panic, pain occupied my whole being, blotting out every other thought. I fell to my chest, covered the back of my head with my hands. Sure, he would bash my skull in next. I said, lie down, motherfucker! The man yelled. What's going on down there, Tony? Another man called from the second floor. As someone came down the stairs, my pain dulled, allowing me to think again. I wondered how long it would take for the police to show up. The old house was somewhat isolated, a good ten miles out of town. This dude was hiding under the stairs, Tony said to the new arrival. I glanced up to see a large bald man in his mid-twenties with bulging, heavy-lidded eyes. His skin, a shade lighter than my toasted brown, was littered with acne scars on his face and various other scars on his arms. Slap-tattos dotted his forearms here and there. He pointed his baseball bat at me. Where's the bitch? I tucked my head under my hands again. That dumb cunt upstairs said there was another bitch here. Where is she? As he spoke, he moved over to the stairwell door and flung it open. A moment later, he shouted, Fuck! She got under the house! Robbie, get down here now! Footsteps rushed down the stairs. You and Tony go outside and find the crawlspace entrance. Make sure she doesn't get away! I heard the two men run out the front door, and I could only pray that Delia had already gotten out from under the house. A kick to the ribs obliterated my prayer. I curled onto my side, groaning in pain, trying to protect the painful area. You know who I am? The big man asked. I shook my head. I'm Edwin Salazar, and I'm a fucking Latin king. You know what happens when you fuck with a Latin king? I said nothing, only looked up in pain, but the name rang a bell. I couldn't place it then. You fucking die, like this fucker right here! He moved over to Nico's corpse and slammed the bat down into the man's already ruined head, splattering more blood everywhere, screaming like a banshee. Salazar blooded Nico over and over again, breaking his arms, snapping his ribs, ripping his flesh open with the dull head of the baseball bat. After every hit, he looked over at me, eyes full of murderous glee. I glanced at the closed front door, wondering if I could make it before he caught up to me. I didn't think anything was broken, although my back and ribs still throbbed with breathtaking pain. I had no idea what had happened to Quinton and Emery and Benito and Irma upstairs. I thought I'd heard sounds of a baseball bat striking flesh up there earlier. Now, the second floor was utterly silent. For all I knew, I was the only one left alive in the house. Salazar turned his gaze from me as he hit Nico's corpse again. I lurched up and bolted to the front door. Salazar yelled, but I had put distance between us. I yanked the front door open, coming face to face with Delia and the two men, Tony and Robbie. Delia was sobbing. Robbie, a thick-set Hispanic guy about Tony's age, held her in a headlock. As I looked at my girlfriend, struggling with the utter despair of seeing her like this, something hard cracked me in the back of my left leg, a baseball bat. I yelled in pain and fell to my knees. Then the bat was pressed against my throat as Salazar pulled me to my feet. Leading the way, we went upstairs, me limping and barely breathing thanks to the bat at my neck. Delia and the two men followed behind us. I resumed praying that the police would show up before anything else bad happened. The second floor featured three bedrooms and a bathroom. The master bedroom, with its own suite, was on one end. As we got to the top of the stairs, Salazar turned us around and marched me alongside the railed-off stairwell. I glanced down to see Robbie fondling Delia's breasts as he forced her up the stairs. That childish voice screamed in my head like a toddler throwing a tantrum. Although wordless in its frustration, the gist of it was, It's not fair! The tsunami wave of panic once again reared up, but this time, I didn't have any sudden pain to serve as a bulwark against it. This time, as Salazar marched me into the bedroom, the wave crashed into me with full force, obliterating any rational thinking I'd been clutching to. The scene in the master bedroom was the most horrible thing I had ever seen. Of course, I didn't know then that I would see worse before the ordeal was over. Much worse. I recently tried their mesh performance training tee, and it quickly became a favorite. 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It hung limply to one side. One eye was sunken and facing in an odd direction. The socket shattered. Both his arms had been broken, bones protruding from the skin. A knife jutted from his heaving chest, having been jammed between two ribs. His feet had also been smashed, toes pulverized and ankles broken. Two of the men must have gone at him with bats. Maybe all four of them had. The bed and Irma were covered in blood. My mind struggled to process the terrifying imagery, coming in dark flashes of sickening violence. Part of me rejected it, wanting only to push it away. Another part of me wanted to embrace it. These two facets warred as I took in the rest of the room. Irma lay on the left side of the bed with one arm over her breasts and the other over her crotch. She stared up at the ceiling, breathing in fast, shallow gasps. On the floor to the left of the bed were the two other renters, Quinton and Emory. Quinton, an 18-year-old black kid who worked at the restaurant with the others, was dressed only in boxers. Emory, a slightly older Hispanic guy, wore baggy shorts and a white t-shirt. Both were on their stomachs, hands clasped behind their heads. Neither looked injured. A fourth intruder stood over them with a baseball bat. The short but muscular black man was no older than the two he guarded. It seemed Salazar was the oldest of the group, the leader. He yanked the bat from around my neck and shoved me to my knees at the foot of the bed. Stay right fucking there, don't move. Tony, come watch him. If he moves, bashes skull in. Salazar moved away as Tony took his place behind me. Bring the bitch over here! Salazar said, moving over to Irma's side of the bed. Robbie brought Delia over. Salazar grabbed her by the back of the neck. Get on the bed. He is better. Between them two. Delia climbed over Irma, who continued looking at the ceiling, seemingly oblivious to what was happening around her. My terror-stricken girlfriend settled on the bloody bed between them, lying on her back. She jostled Benito's right arm, and he whimpered in pain. Salazar smiled down at the scene on the bed. He leaned over and pulled Emma's hand away from her crotch. She jerked it away and placed it back, almost absently, still staring at the ceiling. Fucking bitch! Salazar muttered, leaning over the bed. I thought he was reaching for Delia. In that instant, part of me wanted to do something, even if it meant getting killed in the process. But even before I knew he wasn't reaching for her, my panic and my fear won out. And I knew I would do nothing. He reached over and yanked the knife from Benito's chest. Blood immediately started pouring out of the wound. But Salazar didn't notice or care. Dropping his baseball bat, he yanked Emma's right hand away from her crotch again, and forced it palm up onto the wooden nightstand. He slammed the blade through her palm, pinning her hand there. Emma came out of her catatonia to scream. Using her free hand, she gripped her wrist, writhing, no longer concerned with her nakedness. Salazar made a show of checking between her legs. I thought you might have some balls, but I guess I was wrong. You're just a stupid whore who thinks she can steal it from a Latin king and get away with it. He laughed without humor. Now what do you think, bitch? Suddenly, it came back to me. I had heard the story second hand through Delia. Apparently, Emma's aunt owned a vacation home in town. Since her aunt only came down a couple of times a year, she asked Emma to keep an eye on it. Three weeks ago, Emma had gone to check it out, finding that some men had broken into the place and were squatting there, using it as a party house. She'd called the sheriff's office and had them kicked out, but the men had left some belongings, namely a PS4 and some clothes. When Edwin Salazar had contacted Emma to get his stuff back, she told him she'd already thrown it away. It seemed like such a strange thing. Could this all be about a game system and some clothes? About pissing off some crazy gang member? The absurdity hit me like a baseball bat. I'm going to die tonight over a fucking PS4, I thought with the cynical inward laugh. Then Salazar yanked the knife out of Emma's hand. He jammed it into her pelvis and dragged it up toward her ribs, opening a massive wound in her torso. My inward laughter died as I watched Emma scream and drive. Her insides, darkly glistening and somehow otherworldly, were visible through the gash. I stared at them in something like awe, feeling like I had one first seeing Nikko's smashed in skull and Benito's beaten body. But this time, it was stronger and there was nothing I could do to stop it. It was like looking through a tear in reality and glimpsing what lay just beneath the surface. But instead of glimpsing the divine and taking solace in something beyond this life, something greater than these sacks of flesh, I saw the opposite. Instead of seeing God, all I saw was a horrid collection of scuttling creatures struggling to break through to rip our reality apart. I was suddenly convinced that these four men were emissaries sent by those reality destroying creatures. Their only aim was violence and enough of it to fracture the world. Delia flailed in terror and scrambled away from the violence, rolling over Benito and landing on the floor on the other side of the bed covered in blood. I curled into a ball on the floor between the bed and the closed en suite bathroom door. I could feel Tony twitch behind me as he started toward Delia. The appalling savagery I just witnessed and the sudden wave breaking certainty that came with glimpsing Irma's insides filled me with purpose. In a flash of clarity that banished my panicky childish voice, I knew exactly what I would do when Tony moved over to deal with Delia. I would lurch to my feet, hit him as hard as I could and take his baseball bat. I could deal with the other three, at least giving Delia enough time to run. My muscles tensed as Tony entered my peripheral vision. All doubt fled from me. Just three more steps and I would make my move. I willed him to keep going, but he stopped, his attention drawn by movement on the other side of the room. I looked that way, seeing the two other hostages, Quinton and Emery making a move. Quinton was on his knees, fighting with the black kid over his baseball bat. Emery was a little slower getting up, but he rushed at Robbie, who stepped back and swung his bat. The medal connected with the side of Emery's head with a plink, like a little leaguer hitting a home run. He stumbled into the wall and collapsed to the floor. Meanwhile, Quinton had managed to get the bat from the fourth man, whose name I hadn't heard. He'd punched the guy in the face, causing him to fall back against the closed closet door. As the guy came forward again, Quinton swung the bat, driving through his legs and hips. The medal implement hit the man directly on the throat. He fell back, this time crashing into the accordion closet door and knocking one side off its track. Seeing my opportunity, I lurched to my feet, but Tony was ready. He whapped me in the chest with his bat, knocking my breath away. I fell back to my knees and then to all fours as I struggled to breathe. I knew vaguely that Salazar had entered the skirmish, having had to climb over the falling closet door to join the fray. By the time I caught a full inhale, it was all over. I first looked at Delia, who lay curled on the floor next to the bed, sobbing. Eyes screwed shut. On the other side of the room, Quinton was on his back on the floor, Salazar straddling him. The gang leader yanked his knife out of Quinton's chest and stabbed it back in. He did it three times before he stopped and glanced over at the man who'd been hit in the neck with the bat. He scrambled at his collapsed windpipe, eyes bulging with panic as he tried and failed to breathe. His feet kicked feebly at the floor as he sat among the hanging clothes in the closet. His dark-skinned face changed colors. You killed Tarone! Salazar said to Quinton. He pulled the knife out of his chest before stabbing him in the face with it again and again. Emery had been knocked unconscious or killed outright. He lay where he'd fallen after taking the hit to the head. Tony kicked me in the ribs. Get down! I fell to my back, listening to the sickening wet sounds of the knife blade stabbing Quinton's face and the struggling, breathless sounds of Tarone suffocating. Then there came three loud knocks at the front door. My eyes widened as I remembered texting 911. It seemed like an eternity ago. Tension immediately crowded the room. Everyone froze. Even Tarone stopped making noise, but only because he was dead. Sometime during the skirmish, Irma had stopped screaming. She was dead too. Four more knocks sounded. A man's voice called. Sheriff's office! Open the door, please! Hope transformed my features. Tony, standing over me with his bat at the ready, looked down. His face clouded with anger, seeing no fear in his expression, blunted the small hope I had. But I knew this was our best chance at salvation. I opened my mouth to yell for help. I got one syllable out before Tony jammed the top of his baseball bat into my mouth, shattering my teeth and tearing my lips apart. He blinded me as blood filled my mouth and my focus narrowed to struggling breaths through my nose. Robbie, go talk to him. Tell Azar whispered. Tell him everything's fine. Why me? Robbie asked. Because I'm fucking covered in blood and Tarone's fucking dead and Tony is fucking busy. Just do it. Get rid of him. What if he wants to come inside? Don't let him! Warped banging at the door. Go! Robbie propped his bat against the wall and headed downstairs. When he was still on the stairs, the cop knocked again. I'm coming! Robbie yelled. Salazar got to his feet, bloody knife still in hand. He looked around the room, as if suddenly remembering Delia, he went to her and slapped a hand over her mouth, putting his blade to her throat. I didn't think she would have made a noise anyway, aside from the low sobs that had been escaping her ever since seeing Irma opened up. Straining my ears, I heard Lowe talking from the front door, but I couldn't make out the words, not at first. But after some back and forth, I could hear Robbie getting agitated. I told you everything's fine! He said loudly. This is private property and I know my rights. No one here called the police. The cop answered in a level voice. I caught the words. I'm gonna need you to calm down, sir. Shit! Salazar whispered. Tony, keep an eye on them. Make sure they don't move. I gotta go deal with this. Tony responded by jamming his bat farther into my mouth. My jaw ached from being forced open so wide. To keep from choking, I had to swallow blood. Fragments of teeth scratched my throat on their way down. Salazar left the room with his knife still in hand. In my peripheral vision, I saw Emery twitch. My eyes brimmed with tears, so I wasn't sure I had seen right at first. But a moment later, I saw him turn his head. Tony had his back to the man, unaware that he was awake. He stared at me, but without focus. He listened rapidly. Most of his awareness was on the front door. The conversation was ongoing. I forced myself not to shift my eyes toward Emery, knowing it could give the game away if I did. Instead, I continued to use my peripheral vision. Watching as Emery sat slowly up and reached for the baseball bat, Robbie had left propped against the wall. He grabbed the bat and stumbled to his feet. The results came from the front door, followed by four quick gunshots from inside the house. The crack of more gunshots sounded, this time from outside. Emery froze, still several feet from striking distance. Tony tensed at the noises, shoving the bat deeper into my mouth. Then he turned and saw Emery. As he yanked his bat out of my mouth, I whipped my hands up and grabbed it, stopping Tony's motion. This gave Emery just enough time to lunge forward and swing his bat, even weak and woozy from the head injury. Tony blocked the incoming blow with one arm, and tried to yank his bat free from my grasp with the other. I didn't let go. Instead, I let him pull me to a sitting position as he tugged on the bat. As Emery swung again, Tony let go of his bat altogether, once again knocking the blow aside, and this time, yanking the bat away from the injured man. But I had his baseball bat now. I got it turned around and swung it as hard as I could for my sitting position, aiming at his right knee. The bat crashed into the side of the joint, and it collapsed inward. Tony screamed and hopped away on one leg. Emery lurched at him, knocking him to the ground before Tony could defend himself. As they wrestled on the floor, I stood up and stepped over. Blood and broken teeth poured out of my mouth, oozing down my chin. Holding the bat upside down, I smashed the top into Tony's face, repeatedly, until he stopped moving. I straightened, realizing I had been hearing even more gunshots the entire time we'd been dealing with Tony. Granted, it couldn't have been more than a minute. Motherfucker! Salazar yelled from downstairs, voice booming with anger. I'm in pain! This second shout came from outside. I hustled to the en suite bathroom, which overlooked the front yard, and peered through the small window. A sheriff's department cruiser sat in the driveway behind my Lincoln, headlights on, light bar off. Changing my angle, I saw Salazar standing over a white cop, who lay sprawled on the grass, with two gunshot wounds, bleeding red down his police vest. His hands shook as he tried to change his pistol's magazine. Salazar kicked the cop's weapon away while reloading his own pistol. Then he pointed the gun at the man's head and pulled the trigger. The cop's head jerked back, brain matter splattering the unruly grass. As Salazar turned around to come back inside, I ducked out of the way, hoping he hadn't seen me. Stepping out of the bathroom, I met Delia's gaze. She was sitting up, back against the bed. I put a finger to my ruined lips. She nodded. We gotta go! Salazar called from downstairs, voice filled with glee. I just killed a fucking cop! Blood pooled in my mouth. I swallowed absently, looking at Emory, who sat next to Tony's body, gripping his head. There was no time to discuss a plan, no time to get everyone to safety, no time for anything. Salazar was coming up the stairs, and he had a gun. I had to assume Robbie was with him, although I hadn't heard the man's voice lately. Looking down at the baseball bat I held, I felt another tsunami wave of panic threatening to obliterate me. That childish voice in my head wailed, he's got a gun! A gun! What are you going to do with the baseball bat against a gun? In decision, gripped me as I stood in the middle of the bedroom. Let's finish the rest often and go! Salazar called. He was approaching the stairs. I knew I had to do something, but my mind was too preoccupied by panic. It took up too much room, blotting out all possibilities. But through the dirty debris-stroom wave, I glimpsed something just underneath the surface. A recent memory, a sliver of hope in a bizarre form. It was the memory of Irma's insides, becoming visible as Salazar tore her open from pelvis to ribs. I fixated on it, focusing on what I had felt, bringing that feeling back to the surface. Turning my head, I stared at her torn open body as it lay limp on the blood-soaked bed. There was something darkly rapturous about it, something incomprehensible yet sacred. Looking into her, at the mess of blood and organs, was a spiritual experience. It was as if some small secret of the universe had been shown to me not by some divine being, but by some dark force that wanted to break me. I thought of the creatures I had pictured, their bodies like nothing I could imagine in any concrete form, squirming as they tried to break through to this side of reality. They thrived on violence, savagery weakened the boundaries between our worlds. Salazar had reached the stairs. He was almost here. My thoughts cleared. Blood had filled my mouth again. I swallowed, the copper taste lingering in my throat. Could I wait for Salazar to come up the stairs and ambush him with the bat? What if he realized no one had answered his calls? What if I missed? He would kill Emery and Delia. Given the house layout, how would I have to cross the hallway overlooking the stairwell to get to the top? There was no way to ambush him either. He could simply look up and see me coming through the wooden railing. I could only think of one thing to do, one chance at survival. The panic held back for now. I moved out of the room and into the hallway. Immediately to my right, beyond the wooden railing was the stairwell. I raised the bat, getting it ready as I stepped to the railing and peered down. Salazar was a third of the way up the stairs. He held his gun in one hand, his knife nowhere to be seen. I didn't see Robbie following him. A little good fortune. Salazar sensed my movement and looked up, just as I threw the bat at him. He raised his arms to block the blow. The bat bounced off his left arm and struck him in the head. He stumbled back, lost his footing and fell down the stairs. I had been hoping he would drop his pistol, but he didn't. Knowing there was no time to run down the hallway and then all the way down the stairs, I did the only thing I could think of. I gripped the railing with both hands and jumped over. My stomach lurched into my throat as I fell. I aimed for the middle of the stairwell, but I was injured and shaking with adrenaline. I ended up landing awkwardly on two different stairs about a third of the way down, something like a ten-foot drop. My right foot landed flat in the middle of a stair, but my left caught the edge of one, twisted and snapped as my weight came down. Pain cived up my leg, but I was all too aware of Salazar, lying on his back at the foot of the stairs, getting his gun up. I launched off my good foot, throwing myself at Salazar. He fired the gun just as I grabbed his wrist, knocking his shot off target. I collapsed onto him, fighting for the gun as we grappled to the floor. The bat I'd thrown laid on one side, within reaching distance, but both my hands were busy, keeping the gun pointed away from me. Somehow, I got back on top of him as we struggled, but he was stronger than me, leaning over him and fighting for the gun. I didn't realize at first that I had opened my blood-filled mouth, not until the spit-in-blood mixture dripped directly into Salazar's eyes. He flinched, as if to instinctively pull one hand away to wipe his eyes. It wasn't much, but it was enough. I'd ripped the gun from his hand, breaking his index finger as I did. Gun in hand, I tried to backpedal, to buy myself enough time to get the weapon aimed and my finger on the trigger. Salazar recovered too quickly. As I jerked away from him, fumbling with the gun, he reached blindly out and grabbed my forearms, the blood still blinding him. Trying to yank me off balance, he pulled my arms down, but it only served to yank the gun barrel toward him. I held the weapon awkwardly, precariously, but I saw my chance. The closest finger to the trigger was my right pinky. I hooked it over the curved trigger and yanked. The gun fired, the bullet traveling to the bottom left side of Salazar's chin and coming out of his head at the left temple in a shower of blood and skull fragments. He let go of my arms and I scrambled away, groaning as I jostled my broken ankle. I got my back against the stairs and gripped the gun properly, aiming it at the man. He twitched and blinked and writhed. The bullet had collapsed the left side of his face as it tore through his upper jaw and his cheekbone before leaving his head. His left eye was oddly sunken, the socket filling with blood. The exit wound at his temple spurred it crimson liquid. I got to my right foot and looked toward the front door. Robbie lay in a pool of blood in the entryway, having been shot by the cop. Swallowing a mouthful of blood, I sat back down on the stairs and returned my gaze to Salazar. As I watched him die, I tried to feel the way I had when I'd seen Nico and Benito and Irma. I wanted to summon the strange mixture of revulsion and terror and rapturous clarity. I knew I should feel disgust and horror at having taken this man's life in such a way, but I couldn't muster any of those feelings. All I felt was a glorious sense of relief and utter satisfaction. Soon, Salazar stopped twitching. A little while after that, his bleeding slowed to a trickle as his heart gave out. A sound from upstairs drew my attention. I turned to see Delia standing at the top of the stairwell, looking down at me. It's over. I said, the words mushy as they exited my ruined mouth. I looked at my girlfriend and smiled a bloody smile.