KnockOut

called out, “Who is it?”
    No answer.
    He opened the front door—not terribly bright, he knew—but no one was there.
    He called out again, walked to the edge of the porch, and stood quietly, his eyes adjusting to the night light. He heard no other sound excerpt the night wind whistling through the trees, the crickets, an owl, and then an answer from its mate.
    He closed and locked the door, then walked back into the kitchen to see Ox, his senior deputy, a man he’d known for three years, holding Joanna back against him, his gun jabbed against her neck.
    “Well, now, I surely do believe that’s far enough, Sheriff.” It was Ox, but Ethan had never before heard him speak in such a high, piercing voice. He felt gooseflesh rise on his arms.

7
    AUTUMN WHISPERED , “I’m sorry, I’m sorry.”
    What did a little girl have to be sorry about? Ethan stared at Ox, knowing what he was seeing, not willing to accept that this manic voice he was hearing, this mad voice, was from the Ox he knew. He stood very quietly. “What’s going on, Ox? What are you doing? Put down that damned gun, you hear me? Let Mrs. Backman go and tell me what’s going on. Now.”
    Ox turned his head to the side and spit on the tile kitchen floor. He pressed the muzzle of the gun harder into Joanna’s neck. “I don’t have much time, so put your gun on the floor, Sheriff, and kick it over to me. If you don’t, I’ll kill the bitch.”
    Bitch? Ethan had never heard Ox say anything like that about a woman.
    “I’m not a bitch, you monster!” Joanna shoved her elbow back into his gut so fast Ethan barely registered what she’d done. Ox grunted, and she hit him again as hard as she could with that elbow. He screamed curses as she hit him a third time. He stumbled backward, yelling all the while at her, and raised his gun.
    “Ox, look at me!” Ethan yelled, and brought up his Beretta. His heart dropped to his gut when Autumn kicked Ox in the shin, jumped up, and grabbed Ox’s flailing gun arm.
    Ethan yelled, “Autumn, let go!”
    But Autumn didn’t let go, she hung on for dear life. Ox jerked her right off the floor.
    Jonnna yelled, “Let her go!” When he twisted toward her, Joanna kicked him in the crotch.
    Ethan yelled, “Drop, Autumn! Now!” and the little girl dropped and rolled away. Ox screamed, his gun flying as he sank to his knees. Joanna yelled her daughter’s name even as she watched the gun skid across the tiles to bounce off a chair leg.
    “Keep away from him,” Ethan yelled at Joanna. He grabbed Ox around his neck, jerked his head back, and yelled into his face, “Ox!”
    Ox was cursing, moaning. “I’m going to kill the bitch, kill her, kill her, kill her, and I’m gonna take the little girl and—”
    “No, you’re not,” Ethan said, and grabbed his collar and hauled him upright.
    Ox took a mad swing at him, but Ethan leaned back on his heel and kicked Ox square in the gut. Ox dropped without a sound to the kitchen floor, his arms clutching his belly. Ethan kicked him again in the chin.
    Ethan stood over him, watched his eyes roll back in his head. He lay perfectly still.
    No one moved. There wasn’t a sound in the kitchen except for Ethan’s hard breathing and Autumn’s small gasps and hiccups. Joanna stared down at Ox, unmoving, watchful, her eyes narrowed, her foot up and ready to kick him again.
    A minute passed— more like a damned year, Ethan thought—be-fore he saw Ox open his eyes. He stared up at Ethan. Suddenly he didn’t look like a madman bent on murder, he looked very scared. Ethan wanted to shout with relief because now he saw Ox behind those eyes, saw Ox’s confusion. Ox—the Ox Ethan knew—was back. Had the violence, the pain, brought him back?
    “Is he all right?” Joanna asked.
    “Yes, he’s himself again.”
    “It was the pain that brought him back,” she said. “Pain somehow breaks the hold.”
    Brought him back from where? What hold? What happened to him? Had someone done this to him? This Blessed?
    Ethan came down on his knees, pulled Ox up in his arms, and shook him slightly. “Ox? Come on now, wake up. You okay? You there?”
    It seemed to everyone in the kitchen that another year passed before Ox said, his voice low and gravelly, like he’d been screaming too long and hard and bruised his throat, “Yeah. Ethan—what happened? My jaw and my guts feel like they’ve been kicked through my backbone by Old Hestus’s mule. Why’d you kick me like that? And Mrs.