She fingered the cold of the barrel end. I wonder what it would taste like. Would the taste be the same as the smell of the gun oil? It was a smell she’d always loved, ever since her father taught her how to clean her first .22 rifle. It can’t hurt me now. It’s empty.
The hands took control again, and the pistol rose, barrel toward her. It was halfway there when her mind screamed, and she realized what she was doing. She threw the pistol to the opposite side of the bed. Rehearsal is just a step away from doing, she thought. Her heart thumped so loud she could hear it, and she realized she was breathing with rapid, shallow breaths. Mel consciously forced herself to breathe deeply and slowly. In time, it worked, her body responding to the effort to regain calm. She threw back the covers, gr
