Scavengers, I told myself. Nothing more.

I angled to the side of the steps and the dogs tracked every step, shoulders hunched, heads low. I gave them plenty of room, but they did not move. We froze like that. Gun up, teeth bared.

Then the alpha dog flowed down the stairs and across the yard. He stopped once and seemed to grin, and the other dog joined him. They loped over the grass and disappeared into the trees.

I mounted the steps, still watching for the dogs, and crossed the porch as quietly as I could. The smell of copper filled my nose, bloody paw prints streaked the floor. I turned the knob slowly, pushed the door with a fingertip.

Grace curled on the floor, blood around her, black dress dark and wet with it. She clutched her stomach. Her feet pushed feebly against the floor, church shoes slipping in the fine, red film. Blood welled from between her fingers. I followed her eyes.

Miriam sat on the edge of a white chair across the room, facing Grace. She leaned forward, elbows on her knees, hair hanging over her face. The gun dangled from her right hand, a small automatic, something blue and oiled. I stepped into the room, pointed the 12 at Miriam. She straightened, flicked the hair from her face, and pointed the pistol at Grace. “She took him from me,” Miriam said.

“Put the gun down.”

“We were going to be married.” She paused, scrubbed away tears. “He loved me.” She jabbed with the gun. “Not her. That bitch aunt was lying.”

“I’ll listen, Miriam. I want to listen to everything. But put the gun down first.”

“No.”

“Miriam-”

“No!” she screamed. “You put it down!”

“He used you, Miriam.”

“Put it down!”

I took another step. “I can’t do that.”

“I’ll put the next one in her chest.”

I looked at Grace: the slick, red fingers, the agony in her blued-out face. She shook her head, made a wordless sound. I lowered the gun, put it on the table, and held out my hands. “I’m going to help her,” I said, and knelt next to Grace. I took off my jacket, folded it over the stomach wound, and told her to push. Pain burned in her eyes. She groaned as she pushed. I kept my hand on hers.

“She’s nothing special,” Miriam said.

“She needs a doctor.”

Miriam stood. “Let her die.”

“You’re not a killer,” I said, and realized immediately that I was wrong. It was the way her eyes glittered, sparks of crazy light. “Oh, my God.”

I saw it all.

“Danny broke up with you.”

“Shut up.”

“He was breaking up with all of his girlfriends. He wanted to marry Grace.”

“Shut up!” Miriam yelled, stepping closer.

“He used you, Miriam.”

“Shut up, Adam.”

“And Gray Wilson-”

“Shut up, shut up, shut up!” All but incoherent. Rising to a scream. Then the pistol jumped in her hand. One slug tore into the floor, peeled back bright, white splinters. The other struck my leg, and pain exploded through me. I hit the floor next to Grace, hands clutching the wound. Miriam dropped beside me, face twisted with worry and wild regret.

“I’m sorry,” she said, fast and loud. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to. It was an accident.”

I struggled to pull off my belt. Blood jetted onto the floor before I got the belt around my leg. The flow diminished. The pain did not.

“Are you okay?” Miriam asked.

“Jesus…” Agony rifled through me, hot, acid spikes of it. Miriam found her feet. She paced rapid circles, the gun in agitated motion, black eye spinning away from me and then back. I watched it anxiously, waiting for it to wink red.

The pacing slowed, the color fell out of Miriam’s face. “The things Danny did to me. The way he made me feel.” She nodded. “He loved me. He had to have loved me.”

I couldn’t help myself. “He loved lots of women. That’s who he was.”

“No!” An angry scream. “He bought me a ring. He said he needed money. A lot of money. He wouldn’t say what it was for, but I knew. A woman can tell. So, I loaned it to him. What else would he use it for? He bought a ring. A fine, forever ring. He was going to surprise me.” She nodded again. “I knew.”

“Let me guess,” I said. “Thirty thousand dollars.”

She froze. “How could you know that?” Her face twisted. “He told you?”

“He used it to pay off a gambling debt. He didn’t love you, Miriam. Grace did nothing wrong. She didn’t even want Danny.”

“Oh! She’s so fucking special.” Something flooded into Miriam’s face, a new awareness. “You think you know everything,” she said. “Think you’re so damn smart? You know nothing. Nothing!” She paused, suddenly crying. Bewildered. She rocked from foot to foot. “Daddy loves her more.”

“What…?”

“More than you!” Her voice trailed off. “More than me…” She rocked again, tapped the gun against her head the way that Zebulon Faith had.

A voice came from the open door. “That’s not true, Miriam.” It was my father. I’d not heard his approach. He filled the door, wearing muddy snake-boots and thornproof pants. He held the rifle low, but pointed at Miriam. His face was gray under the tan, his finger inside the trigger guard. When Miriam saw him, she jerked, pointed the gun at Grace again. The tears welled harder.

“Daddy…” she said.

“It’s not true,” my father repeated. “I’ve always loved you.”

“But not like her,” Miriam said. “Never like her.”

My father stepped into the room. He looked at Grace, then at Miriam. He did not deny it again.

“I hear the things you say,” she said. “You and Dolf, talking at night. You never notice me. You wouldn’t see me if I sat down next to you. Oh. But not Grace. Perfect, darling Grace! It’s like a light comes off her… That’s what you like to say, isn’t it? She’s so pure. So different from everybody else. Different from me.” She beat the gun against her head again. “Better than me.” Her voice dropped, and when she looked up, she could have shared a bloodline with any of those wild dogs. “I know your secret,” she said.

“Miriam-”

“Your filthy, disgusting secret!”

My father stepped closer. The rifle did not waver.

“You ruined me,” she said. Then she screamed again. “Look how you ruined me!” She tore at the front of her dress, buttons flying until she ripped it open. She held the pieces spread, showing us her pale body.

Her pale, cut body.

Every inch. Every curve. The scars shone like all the hurt the world had ever known. Her stomach. Her thighs. Her arms. Every place that clothing could cover had been cut and cut again.

The word pain carved over her heart; deny cut into her stomach.

I heard my father, like he was choking. “Dear God,” he said, and looking at her, I knew that the cutting was not something she’d done for five years. Not since the death of Gray Wilson. No chance. This had gone on for a long, long time.

Miriam looked at me, and her face was an open wound. “She’s his daughter,” she said.

“Stop, Miriam.”

But she would not. Pain twisted her face. Loss. Anguish. She looked at Grace, and I saw jealousy and hatred. Dark emotions. So very dark.

“All these years.” Her voice broke. “He always loved her more.”

The pistol started up.

“Don’t,” my father said.

The pistol wavered. Miriam looked from Grace to my father, and her face crumpled. Tears. Rage. Those same sparks of crazy light. The barrel moved, tracked across the floor toward Grace.

My father spoke, and desolation was in his voice. “For God’s sake, Miriam. Don’t make me choose.”

She ignored him, turned to me. “Do the math,” she said. “He ruined you, too.”

Then she brought the gun up, and my father pulled the trigger. The barrel leapt, shot out fire and noise enough to end the world. The bullet struck Miriam high on the right side of her chest. It spun her twice, like a dancer, and flung her across the room. She went down, boneless, and I knew, at a glance, that there would be no getting up.