“Don’t come any closer!” Shannon’s panic cut through the chaos, this time for real. She stumbled backward, terror flattening her features as she scrambled and fell. “I’m calling the police!” she yelled, phone already in hand.
I folded the car key away with slow, automatic motions, poured a glass of water as if nothing unusual had happened and sat down. Patient. Waiting.
They packed Henry and the others out between them. Henry was bleeding into his collar. A few minutes later, I heard her voice carrying through the door as she told the police about the incident.
Her version was neat, practiced: I had tried to assault her. She and her brother were house-hunting; relatives heard her screams and rushed in to save her. In her telling, I gouged Henry’s eyes and bit a man to death.
“Officer, Jerome is dangerous. You should shoot him. He’s armed,” Shannon lied smoothly.
“Jerome, come out with your hands up!” a voice outside called.