witness, she’s a teenage girl. If learning proper gun safety and operation helps her, then I’m going to see she gets taught. Because the least she deserves is a decent night’s sleep.”
“Crap,” Terry repeated. “Okay, I get it. I do. But …”
“But?”
“I’m thinking.”
“Good, keep doing that. I’m going to try out the line that worked on you on the boss. I want to get clearance to take her into the range.”
“Rub a lamp while you’re at it. That may help.”
John just smiled and, taking out his phone, walked into the next room.
Terry huffed out a breath. After a moment’s consideration, she got out a second Coke, then walked upstairs to Elizabeth’s bedroom. She knocked.
“Come in.”
“Playing with guns always makes me thirsty.” Terry walked over to the bed where Elizabeth sat, handed her the Coke.
“I hope you’re not angry with John. It was my fault.”
“I’m not mad.” Terry sat beside her. “It caught me off guard, that’sall. John told me you’re having nightmares. You’re scared. I can tell you not to be, but the truth is, in your place I’d be scared, too.”
“I couldn’t do anything. In the nightmares, I can’t do anything, either, so he kills me, too. I want to learn how to take care of myself. You won’t always be there. You and John or Bill and Lynda. Or whoever they send. One day, you won’t be there, and I have to know I can take care of myself. My mother won’t go.”
“You don’t know—”
“I do know.” She said it calmly, without emotion, surprised she felt calm and emotionless. “When it comes time for you to relocate me, give me a new identity, she won’t go with me. Her life’s here, her career. I’ll be seventeen soon. I can file for emancipation if I need to. I would get it. When I turn eighteen, I’ll have some money from my trust fund. And more when I’m twenty-one. I can study, and I can work. I can cook a little now. But I can’t defend myself if something happens.”
“You’re smart enough to have done some research on the program. We haven’t lost a witness who’s followed our security guidelines.”
“I’ve followed someone else’s guidelines my entire life, so I’m used to that.”
“Oh, Liz. Hell.”
“That was passive-aggressive,” Elizabeth said with a sigh. “I’m sorry. But the point is, they’ll never stop looking for me. They believe in revenge and restitution. I know you’ll do everything you can to keep them from finding me, but I need to know, if the worst happened, if they did find me, I could fight back.”
“There are more ways to fight back than with a gun.”
“And yet you carry one.”
“Two.” Terry tapped her ankle. “Approved backup weapon. If you want to learn how to shoot, John’s your man. But there are more ways. I could teach you some self-defense. Hand to hand.”
Intrigued, Elizabeth sat back. “Actual fighting?”
“I was thinking more defensive moves, but, yeah, fighting back.”
“I’d like to learn. I’m a good student.”
“We’ll see about that.”
John came to the open door. “Five a.m. Be ready. We’ve got permission to use the range.”
“Thank you. So much.”
“Terry?”
“Five. In the morning. Hell. I’m in.”
T HREE TIMES A WEEK before the sun rose, John took her to the basement range. She grew accustomed to the feel of the gun in her hands, the shape, the weight, the recoil. He taught her to aim for body mass, to group her shots, to reload.
When she learned the trial had been delayed, she vented her frustration on the range.
On alternate days, Terry instructed her in self-defense. She learned how to use her opponent’s weight and balance to her advantage, how to break a hold, how to punch from the shoulder.
The nightmares still came, but not every night. And sometimes, in them, she won.
As the first month passed, her old life seemed less hers. She lived in the spare, two-story house with the high security fence, and slept each
“Crap,” Terry repeated. “Okay, I get it. I do. But …”
“But?”
“I’m thinking.”
“Good, keep doing that. I’m going to try out the line that worked on you on the boss. I want to get clearance to take her into the range.”
“Rub a lamp while you’re at it. That may help.”
John just smiled and, taking out his phone, walked into the next room.
Terry huffed out a breath. After a moment’s consideration, she got out a second Coke, then walked upstairs to Elizabeth’s bedroom. She knocked.
“Come in.”
“Playing with guns always makes me thirsty.” Terry walked over to the bed where Elizabeth sat, handed her the Coke.
“I hope you’re not angry with John. It was my fault.”
“I’m not mad.” Terry sat beside her. “It caught me off guard, that’sall. John told me you’re having nightmares. You’re scared. I can tell you not to be, but the truth is, in your place I’d be scared, too.”
“I couldn’t do anything. In the nightmares, I can’t do anything, either, so he kills me, too. I want to learn how to take care of myself. You won’t always be there. You and John or Bill and Lynda. Or whoever they send. One day, you won’t be there, and I have to know I can take care of myself. My mother won’t go.”
“You don’t know—”
“I do know.” She said it calmly, without emotion, surprised she felt calm and emotionless. “When it comes time for you to relocate me, give me a new identity, she won’t go with me. Her life’s here, her career. I’ll be seventeen soon. I can file for emancipation if I need to. I would get it. When I turn eighteen, I’ll have some money from my trust fund. And more when I’m twenty-one. I can study, and I can work. I can cook a little now. But I can’t defend myself if something happens.”
“You’re smart enough to have done some research on the program. We haven’t lost a witness who’s followed our security guidelines.”
“I’ve followed someone else’s guidelines my entire life, so I’m used to that.”
“Oh, Liz. Hell.”
“That was passive-aggressive,” Elizabeth said with a sigh. “I’m sorry. But the point is, they’ll never stop looking for me. They believe in revenge and restitution. I know you’ll do everything you can to keep them from finding me, but I need to know, if the worst happened, if they did find me, I could fight back.”
“There are more ways to fight back than with a gun.”
“And yet you carry one.”
“Two.” Terry tapped her ankle. “Approved backup weapon. If you want to learn how to shoot, John’s your man. But there are more ways. I could teach you some self-defense. Hand to hand.”
Intrigued, Elizabeth sat back. “Actual fighting?”
“I was thinking more defensive moves, but, yeah, fighting back.”
“I’d like to learn. I’m a good student.”
“We’ll see about that.”
John came to the open door. “Five a.m. Be ready. We’ve got permission to use the range.”
“Thank you. So much.”
“Terry?”
“Five. In the morning. Hell. I’m in.”
T HREE TIMES A WEEK before the sun rose, John took her to the basement range. She grew accustomed to the feel of the gun in her hands, the shape, the weight, the recoil. He taught her to aim for body mass, to group her shots, to reload.
When she learned the trial had been delayed, she vented her frustration on the range.
On alternate days, Terry instructed her in self-defense. She learned how to use her opponent’s weight and balance to her advantage, how to break a hold, how to punch from the shoulder.
The nightmares still came, but not every night. And sometimes, in them, she won.
As the first month passed, her old life seemed less hers. She lived in the spare, two-story house with the high security fence, and slept each
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