.././.\\.\//.///\...//>>>>

Zandra can barely contain her delight at the man in the van—now the man in the woods with a gun—being alive. She does her best to show some sympathy for Luis, but the act would never make it past the audition.

I met Luis a couple hours ago. I've been waiting for the chance to start a real life for a lot longer than that.

"Aren't there any windows in this place?" Bexley says, pacing the length of the front of the house.

"Only in the back," Zandra says. She goes to the kitchen and opens the fridge after making sure the sliding glass door to the patio is locked.

Bexley stops. "What are you doing?"

"Thirsty. Want one?" Zandra says takes out two cans of sparkling water after sheathing the lawnmower knife.

"What the fuck, Zandra?" Bexley says.

What? It's hard to think when you're dehydrated. You should try it, Bexley. You're hyperventilating and your pupils are dilated. You've got as much adrenaline pumping through your veins as I do nicotine.

Zandra cracks open one of the cans and takes a long drink. The feeling of the cold water warming in the bottom of her stomach shoots life into her limbs. She holds the other can to her face to soothe the swelling from the fall.

Meanwhile, Bexley's breath chirps with every step as she tries to find a way to see into the driveway from the house.

"There's a door to the attached garage, but I don't think that's going to help you much," Zandra says and takes another drink.

"How can you just sit there?" Bexley says. Her index finger slips on and off the pistol's trigger as she paces.

"What else is there to do?" Zandra says. "By the way, did you get a good look at the guy in the woods?"

Bexley doesn't answer. She mutters, "Can't believe this," under her breath.

It's nothing to get upset about. It's just Chad jerking off in a car while a known murderer wanders outside with a gun.

"It's Chad. Chad. We can't just leave him out there," Bexley says. "I don't understand how you can be so relaxed. We've got to get him out of there."

Zandra leans on the kitchen counter to give her ankle a break. She swallows a belch back down to her stomach. "He wants Pixie, not Chad. Chad is just a bystander in all this. If we hear a shot, it's because he got to her, not Chad."

Bexley tugs at her hair with her free hand. "So we just let her die?"

"This isn't on us to figure out. I made my attempt to help Pixie. Now it's up to her to find the keys to that van and drive away. That's the smartest thing she can do. Chad's got the same option. The keys are stuck in the ignition in Ray's car, remember? All we need to do is wait for them to drive off. In the meantime, being inside a vehicle is the best protection they can get outside of being in this house," Zandra says.

"We sit here. That's it? That's your plan?" Bexley says.

"Yes, we sit here where it's safe."

You're mistaking action for progress, Bexley. If we open the front door and go outside, we're going to get shot at, and Chad and Pixie will be no better off for it.

"Unless I hit him when I shot," Bexley says. "Unless he's dead."

Good point.

Zandra straightens. "Did he react when you shot?"

"I don't know. It's all a blur. I don't even remember hearing the shots," Bexley says.

That would be the adrenaline again.

The horn on Ray's car blares again outside. The noise refreshes Bexley's panic. She slaps her free hand against the side of her head.

"What are you doing?" Zandra says.

"Trying to send Chad a message, psychic-ly. Why doesn't he just drive away? Is something wrong with him?" Bexley says.

Well, yeah.

"I'm not sure hitting yourself is going to engage telepathy," Zandra says.

Bexley screams in frustration. "You're such a great psychic, why don't you do it? You tell him. But no, all you can do is pretend like you're the smartest person in the world. It's Chad. I fucking love him. I don't care about the rest of this bullshit. I just don't want him to die, OK? He's all I have anymore. I don't have a fucking family. I have him."

Zandra doesn't respond. She looks off to the side.

"What are you looking at?" Bexley says.

"That," Zandra says and points at the front door. The lock wiggles.

Someone outside has a key.

Zandra sets the cans down and unsheathes the lawnmower knife. Bexley jumps onto a couch in the living room with its back facing the door. She crouches behind the back and points the pistol at the door. The barrel wobbles despite her arms bracing against the couch. Zandra can almost hear Bexley grinding her teeth inside a clenched jaw.

The man in the van would have his own key to the house, wouldn't he?

The lock twists all the way open.

But so would Pixie.

"Don't shoot. Do not shoot," Zandra says to Bexley.

In her condition, she's not going to have the presence to figure out if she's shooting at the right person. She doesn't even know what the man in the van looks like—maybe. She's just going to shoot no matter who steps through the door.

Bexley heeds Zandra's warning. She drops the gun onto the couch and cups her ears with her hands with the tips of her elbows pressed together.

The front door opens a crack. Then a little more. Pixie slips through the opening and mashes the door behind her. Her contorted face, swollen and blushed from bawling, looks like it's been doused in lemon juice.

Without acknowledging Zandra or Bexley, Pixie stuffs her pistol into her waistband and dashes to the living room. She hurls herself against a loveseat, staining the cushion with Luis's blood and pushing the furniture toward the door.

It takes a moment for Bexley to realize what Pixie's trying to do. Together, they slam the loveseat up against the front door.

Pixie steps back from the loveseat and squints at Bexley. "Who are you?"

Bexley sputters and looks to Zandra for an answer.

"She's the one with a gun, too," Zandra says. She points the lawnmower knife at the couch in the living room. "You might want to go get that, Bexley."

Bexley stumbles to the couch and retrieves the pistol she dropped. As soon as she picks it up, the lock starts working on the door once again.

Bexley shoots straight up. "Chad?"

I don't think Chad has a key. There's only one other person who would.

Pixie backs away from the couch and tugs the pistol out of her waistband. Zandra sheaths the lawnmower knife.

What's a knife going to do when there are two guns in here? I'm better off ducking behind this counter when the shooting starts.

"Hello, little pig. It's the big, bad wolf," says a voice on the other side of the door. Zandra recognizes it as belonging to the man in the van.

He's not in the van anymore, but let's stick with that.

Pixie aims her gun at the door. The lock frees and the door opens an inch. The loveseat does its job and stops the door, although a heavy blow could overcome it. The man in the van doesn't try that. He knocks instead. Three times.

What an asshole.

"You should've driven away in the van when you had the chance, Pix. Now you're stuck," the man in the van's voice says from outside the door.

Are we stuck in here? I don't think so.

"The patio," Zandra says to Pixie. They rush to the sliding glass door that opens to the patio in the backyard.

"Don't go running off into the woods just yet, love," the man in the van's voice says. "Aren't you forgetting something?"

Pixie freezes at the glass. Bexley cocks her ear toward the door.

"I've got a new friend out here with me. He likes honking horns," the man in the van's voice says.

"Don't you dare hurt Chad," Bexley says, her voice loud enough to carry through the front door.

Pixie isn't impressed. "Fuck Chad."

A valid statement.

"Let's trade. Chad for Pixie. Pixie for Chad," the man in the van's voice says.

Pixie pulls the sliding glass door open.

"Stop," Bexley says. She points her pistol at Pixie.

Zandra shuffles back to the kitchen, away from Bexley's aim.

"Stop?" Pixie says, one foot on the patio.

"Get back in here or I'll kill you myself," Bexley says.

Pixie watches Bexley for a few tense moments. Bexley's gun stays pointed at Pixie. Pixie steps back into the house and points her own pistol back at Bexley.

"I am not going back to him," Pixie says to Bexley.

"I'm not losing Chad," Bexley says.

"I don't even know who Chad is," Pixie says. "I don't know who any of you people are."

Another knock at the door. Zandra coughs into her sleeve.

Do I get to be the tie-breaking vote here?

"Hurry it up. You've got one minute and then Chad goes to sleep for good," the man in the van's voice says.

Bexley flinches at the thought.

Then she flinches again. And again. The flinches turn into spasms, and the spasms roll Bexley's eyes back into whites.

What the hell?

"Are...are you...are you OK?" Pixie says to Bexley.

That's when something incredible happens. Not even Zandra can deny it.