>And there he stands, alone in the headlights, tall, cut out of jagged angles, his mouth set in a hard, determined line, amber eyes fixed on Sam

>His body stirs and sways with restlessness and the tell-tale signs of inebriation

>Jenna gasps and takes a small step backwards, her ears folding submissively against her skull

>Sam remains frozen, eyes shot wide with something beyond just plain fear

>"Who the fuck are you?" Mike says, taking a step forward

>Sam's Dad calmly raises his gun and aims it square into Mike's chest

>Mike retreats a step backwards, and you can see his knuckles whiten with tension

>"All of you," Sam's dad says, his eyes sweeping the assembled group. “Just stay where you are."

>He moves closer, heavy work boots crunching the shards of glass and gravel into the cold blacktop

>Up this close it's easy to tell just how drunk he is

>His body moves in an almost serpentine pattern, but his bloodshot eyes remain fixed and hard

>Staring right at Sam

>"D-Dad?" Sam sputters as all the color leaves her cheeks in a single moment

>"Shut the fuck up," he simmers. “You don't get to call me that. Not ever. Bet you thought you were really brave, or clever, running away like that?"

>You can see the tears glassing Sam's eyes as she starts to tremble all over

>"I-I'm s-s-s-s-sorry," she says, though her apology is poorly received

>Her Dad's face twists up into an enraged scowl

>"I know you are, you little twerp. You're always sorry for everything all the time. But you ain't sorry enough, not yet you're not."

>Your heart takes a leap into your stomach

>Christ, whenever someone says 'not yet you're not' it never means anything remotely good

>Especially not now

>Sam's hands fly to her ears, but she doesn't even have the strength right now to properly grip them

>She just strokes them like a child strokes a toy when they're nervous or scared

>"That's right, squeeze your ears. It ain't gonna do you no good," he says, whiskey-rot pouring from his gullet

>You desperately want to snake a hand out and hold onto Sam

>Instead your eyes flick towards Sam's Dad

>Maybe it's not too late for diplomacy?

>At the very least, you might be able to distract him long enough

>Your body goes numb, but you will your mouth to open and your tongue to work

>It's the rudder that steers your small ship into a dangerous hurricane

>You summon a fortifying breath

>Full sails ahead

"It was my idea to rescue her," you say. You meet her Dad's gaze

>You see nothing but cold hatred

>"I know it was your idea. You think this stupid cunt could ever work up the guts to do what he did on his own? You don't know how spineless he really is." He motions towards Sam

>Alright, fuck diplomacy

>Diplomacy is the last resort of the weak

>You feel the anger rising in you like a stoked fire, smoldering in the center of your chest

>It burns and races outwards, singing through your nerves and veins like brushfire

“She's stronger than you think she is. Way stronger than you'll ever be."

>Her Dad's stare pierces you like a crossbow bolt straight to the chest

>"A-A-Anon, p-p-please," Sam pleads with you. “D-Don't say a-a-anything."

>You breathe hard

>Your courage ebbs and flows like a weak tide

>It takes the stars

>And the light of an unnatural moon

>To whip yourself up into a tsunami

>Two forces — courage and cowardice — rage inside of you

“What's with the bottle? Couldn't face a bunch of teenagers without a little liquid courage, could you?"

>With that, you know which of the forces is winning

“And that gun. What are you doing with that? You can call Sam spineless all you want, but you're the one hiding behind that soulless piece of shit."

>Those old devil eyes of his narrow as he draws forth something from his addled memories. 

>“I remember you," he says, rather calmly 

>He takes a massive step forward, his rabbit legs carry him with uneasy grace

>Your whole body tenses up

>You might be able to grab the gun

>It's within arms reach

>Sam's Dad is so close now

>Your heart hammers against your ribcage like a war drum

>Your arm starts trembl-

>There's an explosion of blood in your mouth as the butt of the pistol crushes the side of your face

>You stumble and nearly fall flat on your stomach, but catch yourself on the pavement, palms pressed into the cold grit

>Pain throbs behind your eyes like the ringing of a dull and distant bell

>You taste the salt and iron of the blood filling your mouth

>You spit a gob of the acrid fluid onto the blacktop, feeling too dazed to move

>"A-Anon!" Sam squeals

>And yet, she's still stationary, pulling at her ears

>Only her worried eyes offer any kind of help

>The coward

>"That's for running me down with your car like some kind of gutless bitch," her Dad growls, his voice rugged and sharp

>The sound of the hammer snapping back on the gun freezes you in place

>"I came here tonight to put an end to this rotten bloodline," he says, leveling the gun at the side of your head. “You ain't no man, but you sure talk like one." 

>Jenna and Alex gasp

>You remain frozen on the ground

>There's a hitch in his chest as his breathing quickens

>"What's a few bodies more?"

>Your eyes slam shut

>So, this is how it ends? Your brains needlessly splattered on some forgotten strip of blacktop?

>All 18 years of a life surmised and put to an end with one errant twitch of a mad rabbit's fingers

>To whatever god is out there, you hope they take you into their pearly gates or walled gardens or whatever for trying to stand up for someone weaker than you

>Maybe you'll be reincarnated?

>Somewhere, fast approaching on tracks of milled steel, pressing little earthquakes into the ground, a train sings into the night

>"S-Stop!" Sam commands

>You can hear her dad's breathing slow, the tension in his chest trickling out with a drunken wheeze

>Your eyes flick open and you turn your head to look up

>Sam's shape blocks your view of her Dad

>And might have blocked the bullet that would have entered your skull and torn a comet's tail through your dreams, memories and personality

>"L-Leave th-them a-alone. I'm the o-one you want," she says. “I-I kn-know why yo-you're h-h-here. T-T-T-To take me back h-h-home."

>She summons a deep breath from the small well of her courage

>"I-I'll g-g-g-go h-h-home with you if you p-promise to l-l-leave them a-a-alone."

>Her voice is steadied and measured, and were it not for her stutter, you might have even thought she was…

>…Brave

>Silence rings louder than a gunshot, except for the distant train whistle that'll soon be passing down the tracks by the church

>You rise to your feet slowly, just in time to see her Father's face twist up with horrible, rib-sucking laughter

>"You think I'm taking you home? Boy, you're not going home tonight."

>Sam forces herself to maintain eye contact with her father

>"I-I'm a g-girl, d-d-dad. I'm n-not Jacob. I-I can't rep-replace your s-s-son."

>His laughter stops almost as quick as it started

>"Don't you think I don't know that?" His voice is a cold whisper that rises into a shout. “YOU CAN'T REPLACE MY SON, BUT YOU SURE AS HELL CAN PAY FOR WHAT YOU DID TO HIM."

>The train howls again, growing closer, and that devil smirk spreads across his face

>"Perfect timing," he says, sweeping the gun around the group

>You swear that grim, devil smirk is going to be seared into your brain for the rest of your life

>“Everyone, down to the tracks," he says