“This is treason,” I said.

“It is only treason if you get caught,” my father said.

He began to reach toward the drawer of his mahogany desk.

“Don’t move,” I snapped, aiming the gun directly at his chest.

My father stopped his hand immediately.

He raised his hands slowly, a mock grin spreading across his face.

“You won’t shoot your own father, Natalie,” he said.

“You don’t have the stomach for it.”

“Try me,” I said.

The wind howled outside, throwing a sheet of cold rain against the glass.

The window rattled violently in its wooden frame.

Down the hallway, I heard another sound.

It was a soft, dragging footstep.

My mother.

She must have heard the shouting from her bedroom.

“Carolyn,” my father called out loudly. “Stay in your room.”

“Do not come in here.”

But the footsteps kept coming closer.

“Natalie?” my mother’s voice called out from the dark corridor.

“What is going on in there?”

“Is someone else in the house?”

“Stay back, Mom,” I shouted, not daring to look away from Hayes.

“Go back to your room and lock the door.”