I tried to do something, anything, but now even yelling seemed to be beyond me. I felt my life force slipping away, condemned to my last sight being the execution of the woman I loved. And I could do nothing. Ashley's finger moved backwards in slow motion. I closed my eyes, unable to bear what was unfolding.
Then Hope spoke, and her voice conveyed no fear, only recrimination. "But Ashely, I loved you. I thought you loved me. Why?"
I opened my eyes, even that was now a massive effort, and I could only manage narrow slits. Images warped and rippled, as if we were under water. Ashley seemed to falter. She lowered her gun slightly. Even with my malfunctioning vision, I could tell her hand was shaking.
She was trying to sound resolute, to be adamantine in her purpose, but tremors underlaid her words, revealing inner indecision. "No. It was a charade you stupid bitch. All an act. I love... I loved Gabriel. And you are going to fucking pay for what you did to him!"
Ashley raised the gun again, her face contorted, as if conflicting emotions were doing battle inside her.
Hope's voice turned soft, gentle even. "It's OK, Ashley. It's OK. You don't have to do this. You could... you could give me the gun. Walk away. I know you don't want to hurt me."
Ashley crumpled a little. I saw Hope tense as if she was going to spring into action. Then she relaxed again, maybe judging that the odds were not in her favor. 'She's fucking calculating probabilities,' I told myself, 'and she's playing for time.' A small ray of light shone into my utter despair. Hope still believed. She was still working the angles.
Maintaining a soothing voice, Hope continued. "That's it, Ashley. It's OK. You can put the gun down. It's all OK."
Grief seemed to sweep through Ashley, she doubled over, her eyes to the desert floor, and no longer on Hope. I saw my friend ready herself, prepare to make a life or death move. In my head I silently whispered, 'I don't care about me, but please let Esperanza live.' I had no idea to whom my heartfelt prayer was addressed.
And then the air was full of a thundering, throbbing noise, the dust flying around us. And, above the maelstrom, came a loud voice, magnified by electronics, until it boomed, resonating in my rib cage.
"US Marshals. Drop the gun now, Miss Baldwin. Drop it right now. I won't repeat this command."
Ashley and I both looked up at the helicopter. I could see two Deputies sitting in the open doorway, telescopic rifles trained on her. And behind them was standing Marshal Molinera, holding a bullhorn, and come for his little girl.
Like Hope before her, Ashley was clearly doing the math. A final time she wavered, but then dropped Hope's gun, and held her hands up.
The last thing I saw was two Service copters landing. And... was it real, or a trick being played by my dying brain? I thought maybe an air ambulance was in the sky behind them.
Then oblivion enveloped me.
They tell me I was lucky. No major arteries severed, though a bunch of smaller ones trashed. I'd lost a lot of blood, but a transfusion had sorted that out. The surgeon later told me he'd repaired my bowel in two places, and my intestines in three, always good to know. The long and short of it is that, after four hours in the OR, and a few more in recovery, I woke in a hospital bed. It had been close to twenty-four hours since the ambush.
Hope was next to me in a chair. She was sound asleep, a pair of crutches lying against the wall behind her. Her face had ugly bruises and abrasions, a bandage crossed her brow. I wanted to call her name, but waking her seemed selfish. I thought about how beautiful she still looked, and how much like a younger Valentina.
Another voice broke my reverie. "Hey, Dad, I'm here too, you know? Not just Mom 2."
Bianca was seated on my other side. She stood and embraced me, trying not to squeeze too hard. Even so, I yelped a little and the noise woke Hope. I looked from one woman to the other, not knowing what to say, and still feeling, well, like I had been shot in the gut.
Bianca filled the vacuum. "I know, Dad, it's a head-fuck, right?" My princess had always had a potty mouth. "She's like a doppelgänger. Hope and I agree on that, don't we? I have photos on my phone. We've been passing the time looking at them."
Hope grinned and levered herself out of her chair. Ignoring her walking aids, she hopped to Bianca's side, managing to make it look more graceful than awkward.
"Yeah, and we had a kinda woman to woman seminar. Seems like there is a whole lot of things I never knew about Bill Kowalski." Her evident teasing was accompanied by a broad smile.
Bianca put an arm out to steady Hope, and the Deputy acknowledged her help. It seemed the two of them had bonded during the time I was out. Seeing them side by side, I reflected on how little of Valentina was in Bianca. Instead she resembled no one more than my mother. Genetics was weird.
"And, Bill, you never told me that there were people with brains in the family. I assumed they were all like you."
It was Bianca's turn to smile. "Dad's not so dumb. He just loves to act that way. Don't you Dad? Don't all fathers?"
The talk of fathers turned my thoughts to Marshal Molinera, and then everything else. I wondered what they had told Bianca and tried to ascertain this from Hope. "Did they, did you?" I rolled my eyes towards my daughter. "You know..."
Hope chuckled. "Explain to Bianca? Our deep, dark secrets? Yeah, except for the NSA, CIA, and Area 51 stuff of course."
I discovered that laughing was a really bad idea. "OK, thanks."
"Yeah, I told her that I got her old man caught up in a shit load of trouble, leading to a bullet being lodged in his duodenum." She turned to Bianca. "It was duodenum, that's right isn't it?" My daughter nodded.
"It's OK though, Bianca forgives me. I'm not so sure about you though, Bill. Can you forgive me?"
I ignored Hope's attempted levity. "What about you, are you OK?"
