Praying for Sleep

shouted.
    Like a sleepwalker he muttered unearthly sounds. He hardly responded to what must have been excruciating pain when Lis pressed the towels firmly against the ragged black-bordered hole in his stomach.
    Portia sat in the corner of the living room, her arms folded around her knees, her head down. Lis stood and walked past her. Standing in the dark kitchen she looked out over the yard, and saw no sign of Hrubek, who had ceased calling to her. Still, the macabre sound of his voice, chanting her name, resonated in her mind. She felt tainted, abused. Oh, please, she thought, despairing. Just leave me alone. Please.
    For a long moment Lis stood at the window. Then she turned to her sister. “Portia.”
    The woman looked at her and began shaking her head. “No.”
    “Put this on.” Lis handed her the bomber jacket.
    “Oh, Lis, no.”
    “You’re going for help.”
    “I can’t.”
    “Yes, you can.”
    “I’m not going out there.”
    “You know where the sheriff’s department is. It’s on—”
    “The car’s stuck.”
    “You’re going to take the deputy’s.”
    Portia gasped. “No. He’s in it.”
    “Yes, you are.”
    “I’m not going. No. Don’t ask.”
    “A left out the drive. A mile and a half down Cedar Swamp you come to North Street. Another left, then drive about six miles. The sheriff’s on the right side of the road. Cedar Swamp’ll be washed out, parts of it. You’ll have to go slow till you get to town.”
    “No!” Portia’s face was awash with tears.
    With fingers white from the rain and red from a man’s blood Lis seized her sister’s shoulders. “I’m going to put you in the car and you’re going to drive to the sheriff ’s.”
    Portia’s eyes flicked to the crimson stains on the sweater. Her voice cracked as she said, “You’re getting his—”
    “Portia.”
    “— blood on me! No!”
    Lis pulled the blue-black gun from her pocket and held it in front of her sister’s astonished face. “Don’t say another word. You’re going to climb into that car and get the fuck out of here! Now let’s go!”
    She grabbed Portia by the collar and thrust her out into the rain.
     
    With their arms around each other’s shoulders, they stumbled toward the car. The ground was so marshy that it took them five minutes to get to the cruiser. The muddy water that surrounded the garage now was approaching the bend in the driveway, four feet deep. Soon the deputy’s car too would be submerged.
    Once, they lost their balance and fell into the muck. Lis’s knee stuck in the ooze and Portia actually had to pull her out with both hands. Foot by foot they made their way through the grimy sluice of water toward the car.
    Twenty feet to go.
    “I can’t look,” Portia whispered.
    Lis left her at the edge of the driveway and struggled to the squad car by herself. The rain was still heavy but there seemed to be a faint illumination from somewhere in the sky—though it was too early for dawn. Perhaps, Lis thought, her eyes had simply gotten used to the darkness. All her senses seemed honed, like an animal’s. She was attuned to the falling temperature, the smells of rain, smoke and compost, the slickness of the mud and pages of wet leaves beneath her. She was poised to attack anyone who might slip into the field of this blood radar.
    Reaching for the door handle she looked back at her sister. What is that? she wondered, looking over Portia’s shoulder. A dozen yards away a large cloud seemed to form, slowly growing blacker than the surrounding haze of rain. It floated forward unsteadily in their direction.
    And finally stepped clearly into view. Michael Hrubek waded toward them, one arm outstretched, the other dangling, apparently injured. In the damaged hand hung a pistol, dwarfed by his fingers.
    He was staring directly at Portia.
    “Lis-bone . . . Lis-bone . . .”
    The young woman spun around and screamed, falling backwards into the mud.
    Lis froze. Oh, my God! He thinks she’s me!
    Hrubek reached toward her. “Eve . . .”
    Lifting the dark Colt Woodsman with both her hands Lis pulled the trigger, once, twice, more perhaps. She yanked the sharp tongue of metal so hard she nearly broke her finger. The bullets zipped into the night, missing Hrubek by inches.
    He howled and, covering his ears, fled into the brush. Lis ran to her sister and pulled her to the car.
    Portia was limp with fear, her head lolling. Lis thrust the gun at her. She took it and stared at the black barrel