“Take your shot, stranger. You’ll only get one.”

I felt something wet. Was it blood, or tears?

It was then I finally realized what Mr. Hilvor had said, wondering if in the commotion someone was alerted. Or if Vanessa and Mom had escaped.

His words felt haunting like a declaration, a final message right before a slaughter. The only hint that I wouldn’t make it out.

Thinking back, I wondered where it all went wrong.

I loved my family. My sister, Vanessa, would make delicious cookies whenever she came over, often shaped like fairytale creatures. Her brown eyes would sparkle with pride whenever one of us complimented her cooking. The one and only time I tried helping her ended up a disaster. Still, Mom would pick up one of the burnt pieces and nibble on it. She’d shake her head, eyes wide as she stated that they weren’t safe to eat. I had to stop myself from laughing, biting the inside of my cheek. We made a plan to feed Dad one of them. When he realized what we’ve done, he started chasing us around the house. Even though he was far out of his prime, his hands were strong and callused. He was gentle with handling us, though, I don’t recall ever getting injured by them.

Mom had her ups and downs ever since Dad’s death. She never drank. She’s heard the stories of people who do. When I moved out, she called often, asking about my hobbies, my job. Whenever she asked if me and my sister could come over, we did. We talked and laughed, thinking about the old times.

And then Mom stopped calling. I feel ashamed, not realizing something happened at the time. Not questioning her absence. It wasn’t until weeks later did Vanessa mention it. When I got off work, I made plans with her to go. Mom wasn’t old-old. She was healthy and very prideful about it. Vanessa took after her, learning everything she could until she looked less like my sister and more like a model people would flock to meet. She had her own life. I knew she was married. I also knew the hint of sadness in her eyes that I never quite understood.

Now I do.

“So?” Mr. Hilvor laughs. His right foot was dragging behind him, limp from an injury before our meeting. The bone appeared broken and yet, his crazed eyes still seemed full of glee.

How did it come to this?

When Vanessa and I entered Mom’s home, she was gone. The entire place robbed and left bare. We found an address that lead us to this town, Grandulle. Knowing Vanessa, I expected her to complain about the heat or the amount of flies buzzing around. When I looked at her, her eyes were focused straight ahead, determined.

It was then I realized how much she loved her. Obviously she did. But as a kid, you’re always the main character of your own story. I never looked into other perspectives as much as I did then, thinking about the five year difference between us, how much Mom must have cared for her.

This wasn’t just a friendly meeting. It was a rescue like in a superhero comic. Feeling childish glee, I straightened my back and walked after her.

We separated.

The number one rule in horror movies is that we shouldn’t.

I thought it was an action movie, or adventure. Vanessa must have identified it as a mystery, since she was the one who suggested it.

I didn’t expect to be looking at her now only a few days later, so helpless and scared, the both of us.

There’s a reason this town wasn’t on the map. If I could rewind time, I’d be shouting at myself to turn back around. To research. To wait.

Tears fill my eyes as I hold the gun.

Mr. Hilvor taps his fingers against the wood of the wall, for no good reason except to stress me out more.

“These are…. ew.” Mom had laughed, forcing herself to swallow the burnt cookie.

“Mom, they’re bad!” Vanessa protested, gently taking the rest away.

“I can taste that!” Mom agreed, looking down at me. “No more cooking for you, mister.”

Even though I made a mistake, I couldn’t help but feel proud. I tried. Even though I failed, and probably won’t ever bake cookies again, I tried.

I think Vanessa knows what I am thinking.

She has a husband, someone to go back to.

Mom had given us so much, not just life. She molded us into who we are today. I keep hearing stories of parents who hurt or traumatize their kids, especially after a family death.

But she did none of that. She kept going. Even though she was alone a lot, she kept going.

For us.

Me? I guess I’m just the kid. Still, even after all this time, I still try to write comics and watch cartoons. Dad told me I had to be the man of the house a bunch of times before he died. Even though he said that, and I wanted to, it was always Mom and Vanessa who were taking care of me instead of the other way around.

It was always Mom who put a smile on my face after I felt bad for making a mistake.

It was always Vanessa telling me to try harder and I’ll soon get there.

“Are you going to shoot or not?!” Mr. Hilvor scowled, his hand gripping his own gun at his belt. His hands were callused, too. But I can imagine them hitting my sister or harming my mom with clarity.

I tighten my grip on the gun as I glare at him. Mom and Vanessa watch, both of their eyes telling me to do something different.

They were tied, both wrists and ankles. One man stood behind them each. As if this was some twisted puzzle and I had to make the right choice on who to save.

They’ve spent years protecting me.

Now it’s my turn to protect them.

I raise my gun, Mr. Hilvor and his lackeys following before he smiled and motioned for them to freeze. Mr. Hilvor’s eyes aren’t filled with fear like I expect. He dropped his gun and raised his hands up. The men who stood behind my family looked confused before another jerk of Mr. Hilvor’s head told them all they needed to do.

Vanessa spat at the one who had a knife to her throat, already drawing blood.

Mom just froze up in terror, her breath hitching.

My eyes widen.

Mr. Hilvor, even though I only knew him for hours, seemed to know my mom well enough to have a grudge. He didn’t even know that she had kids, but he seemed all too okay with hurting them anyway to hurt my mother.

But now I hold a gun. I don’t know if he’ll want to keep Mom alive or not. I don’t know if he thinks Vanessa is too pretty to kill. I don’t know if he’s bluffing when he acts like he’s surrendering.

I don’t know.

But I do know I’ll do anything I can to protect them.

Mr. Hilvor seemed to rethink his tactic, reaching into his belt for the gun he put away.

I debate whether or not to give a warning shot but the threat upon my family’s lives is too risky to take.

I keep my gun pointed at him as he aims his own. Neither one of us shoots.

I don’t know if I can.

Me. Mr. Hilvor looks at Mom and Vanessa.

And then it clicks.

I can only shoot him or one of his friends before Mr. Hilvor shoots me.

I should have just taken the shot.

Frustration clawed at my insides. I look at Vanessa, silently begging for help.

She stares. What else can she do with a knife at her throat?

If I had noticed Mom was gone sooner, if me and Vanessa researched the town, if we never separated, if I had taken the shot….

I can’t cry.

“Be the man of the house while I’m gone, okay?” Dad had ruffled my hair, smiling. I held his hand, frowning as he lifted it to walk out the door.

“He’ll be back in a new hours.” Mom had told me. “He wouldn’t leave you.”

“Oh no, Dad put you in charge? I’m older!” Vanessa complained.

“Vanessa, clean your room.” I imitated Dad’s voice.

Mom laughed at the near perfect replication.

Vanessa just looked baffled.

I won’t cry.

“Are you going to shoot?” Mr. Hilvor asked, smirking at the situation.

“If I shoot you…” My voice didn’t tremble.

“You’d be dead.”

“Have nothing much to live for anyway!” Mr. Hilvor replied.

I felt sick to my stomach.

“I won’t let you hurt them.” I said, my voice loud and clear despite my shaking hands.

“Oh, you don’t have to.” Mr. Hilvor motioned for his lackeys to do the deed.

I didn’t look. I didn’t think.

All I registered were sounds coming from his mouth.

Someone was shot.

Who? Who was I aiming for?

Was it from one of the lackeys?

I felt the recoil.

They had guns, too, I thought. Would they let me go?

Another bang.

I felt something wet. Was it blood, or tears?

It was then I finally realized what Mr. Hilvor had said, wondering if in the commotion someone was alerted. Or if Vanessa and Mom had escaped.

His words felt haunting like a declaration, a final message right before a slaughter. The only hint that I wouldn’t make it out.

“Take your shot, stranger. You’ll only get one.”

I hope they made it out.