Mr. Murder

bastard does have a gun. And he's suspicious.
        Second by second, all hope of escape is crumbling, washing away in the rain. The girls are still holding his hand. He's got a firm grip on them, yes, but they're about to start slipping away, and he doesn't know what to do. He gapes at Vic, mind spinning, as stuck for something to say as he was stuck for something to write when he sat in his office earlier in the day and tried to begin a new book.
        Move, move, confront, challenge, grapple, and prevail.
        Abruptly he realizes that to confront this problem and prevail, he needs to act like a friend, the way friends treat each other and talk with each other in the movies. That will allay all suspicion.
        A river of movie memories rushes through his mind, and he flows with them. "Vic, good heavens, Vic, did I… did I say that?" He imagines he is Jimmy Stewart because everyone likes and trusts Jimmy Stewart. "I don't know what I meant, must been outta my head with worry. Gosh, it's just that… just that I've been so darned crazy scared with all this stuff that's been happening, this crazy stuff."
        "What has been happening, Marty?"
        Fearful but still gracious, halting but sincere, Jimmy Stewart in a Hitchcock film, "It's complicated, Vic, it's all… it's screwy, unbelievable, I half don't believe it myself. It'd take an hour to tell you, and I don't have an hour, don't have an hour, no sir, not now, I sure don't.
        My kids, these kids, they're in danger, Vic, and God help me if anything happens to them. I wouldn't want to live."
        He can see that his new manner is having the desired effect.
        He hustles the kids the last few steps to the car, confident that the neighbor isn't going to stop them.
        But Vic follows, splashing through a puddle. "Can't you tell me anything?"
        Opening the back door of the Buick, ushering the girls inside, he turns to Vic once more. "I'm ashamed to say this, but it's me put them in danger, me, their father, because of what I do for a living."
        Vic looks baffled. "You write books."
        "Vic, you know what an obsessive fan is?"
        Vic's eyes widen, then narrow as a gust of wind flings raindrops in his face. "Like that woman and Michael J. Fox a few years ago."
        "That's it, that's right, like Michael J. Fox." The girls are both in the car. He slams the door. "Only it's a guy bothering us, not some crazy woman, and tonight he goes too far, breaks in the house, he's violent, I had to hurt him. Me. You imagine me having to hurt any body, Vic? Now I'm afraid he'll be back, and I've got to get the girls away from here."
        "My God," Vic says, totally suckered by the tale.
        "Now that's all I have time to tell you, Vic, more than I have time to tell you, so you just… you just… you go back inside there before you catch your death of pneumonia. I'll call you in a few days, I'll tell you the rest."
        Vic hesitates. "If we can do anything to help-"
        "Go on now, go on, I appreciate what you've done already, but the only thing more you can do to help is get out of this rain.
        Look at you, you're drenched, for heaven's sake. Go get out of this rain, so I don't have to worry about you comin' down with pneumonia on account of me."
        Joining Marty at the back of the BMW, where he had dropped the bags, Paige put down the third suitcase and the Mossberg. When he unlocked and raised the trunk lid, she saw the three boxes inside.
        "What're those?"
        He said, "Stuff we might need."
        "Like what?"
        "I'll explain later." He heaved the suitcases into the trunk.
        When only two of the three would fit, she said, "The stuff I've packed is all bare necessities. At least one box has to go."
        "No. I'll put the smallest suitcase in the back seat, on the floor, under Emily's feet. Her feet don't reach the floor anyway."
        Halfway to the house, Vic looks back toward the Buick.
        Still playing Jimmy Stewart, "Go on, Vic, go on now. There's Kathy on the stoop, gonna catch her death, too, if you don't get inside, the both of you."
        He turns away, rounds the back of the Buick, and only looks at the house again when he reaches the driver's door.
        Vic is on the stoop with Kathy, too far away now to prevent his escape, with or without a gun.
        He waves at the Delorios, and they wave back. He gets into the