Fiction Friday: The Shot You Never Take

Is it fate, or coincidence, or something else

Adley Raines knew more about his family tree than most teenagers. His was a family of preachers, stretching all the way back to Jonathan Edwards. It was assumed by most people he’d end up the same one day. But being only fourteen, Adley didn’t give much thought to his future, whatever it might be. Mostly he was concerned with finding a few buddies to play a game of basketball or toss a football around. His daddy, Jonah Raines, never pushed him toward a pulpit, never tried to influence him one way or the other.

Jonah made sure Adley knew the Bible and his manners. Some would have considered him strict, but Adley thought him kind. That kindness was born out of a love for God that seemed to be genetic. And it was his love of God and others that led to Jonah Raines’ death.

There was no lead up to it, no series of events that brought about the terrible crime that ended his life. You could say it was Amber Hudley’s fault, for taking up with a man that everyone knew was trouble. She was probably doubly at fault for not leaving him when he beat on her at least once a month, sometimes more.

Amber never knew her daddy, and her mama brought home a different man every week. No one could say it for sure, but the rumor was her mama would let those men do what they wanted with Amber if they left a little money or drugs on the kitchen table in the morning. So it was no surprise that as she got older, Amber turned to drugs and alcohol to escape, and when she turned eighteen she moved out of the hell that was her mama’s house. She took up with Ronnie Adams, a twenty-five year old who had his own house, which he paid for by doing a little oilfield work and a little drug dealing. No one could ever place how they met, but it was always assumed at some party out in the sticks.

It didn’t take long for him to start beating her. The cops would get called out to their place regularly, and Amber would never press charges. It’s an old story that isn’t worth the time it would take to tell. But what does matter is that around the time she turned twenty-one she began attending Jonah Raines’ church. She was shy at first and sat in the back, leaving before anyone could get a chance to talk to her. Adley remembered when she first started showing up, because she was so pretty. Her blonde hair and mousy features made her one of his first crushes.

Time went on, and Amber became a little more sociable, even got a little close with Jonah’s wife Sarah. She would miss a lot of Sundays, though, probably to avoid questions about black eyes and busted lips. And she never could quit the drinking or the drugs. Jonah and Sarah prayed for her, pleaded with God to save her soul and help her leave Ronnie. But anytime they reached out to help her, she refused and would disappear for a few weeks. So they eventually backed off and just let her attend on her own terms.

And things continued that way for some time, until a humid day in June when Amber called the Raines’ house. Jonah was at home, preparing a sermon, and answered the phone in the kitchen.

“This is Jonah.”

He heard only whimpering on the other end of the line.

“Hello?”

“It’s Amber.” She spoke so quietly Jonah could barely hear her.

“Yes, Amber. What can I do for you?”

She started sobbing. Jonah took off his glasses and sat down at the table, concerned. He could feel his heart beating faster. His hands shook a bit as he wondered what Ronnie had done to that poor girl.

“Amber? You there?”

“I’m here.”

“What’s wrong?”

“I need help,” Amber said. “Ronnie…he’s gone crazy. He’s gonna kill me.”

“What?”

“Ronnie’s gonna kill me. I’ve never seen him like this before. I’m locked in the bathroom. Help me.”

“Alright. I’m coming.”

Jonah hung up and then dialed the police. He didn’t know the exact address, but he knew how to get to Amber’s house. He told the operator the situation and then headed across town, where he hoped to calm down Ronnie and stall long enough for the police to show up.

Some people believe in fate, and others believe in coincidence. But most will agree that some of the most important moments in your life hinge on what seem like insignificant decisions and events.

Ronnie and Amber’s house sat on the edge of town near a park. Bordering that park, at the back near the baseball fields, was a large piece of land owned by a rich oilman who lived in Dallas. The oilman bought the property on a hunch, thinking there was black gold buried beneath, but he turned out to be wrong. Worthless to him, the land had been lost in the shuffle of his vast real estate holdings and the locals treated the place like an extension of the park. There was a large pond on the land filled with fish.

And whether it was coincidence or fate, Adley was fishing at that pond when Jonah got the phone call from Amber. He’d spent all morning casting and come up empty, so he was headed home. He hopped the outfield fence of one of the baseball fields and made his way out of the park, carrying his fishing pole in one hand, his .22 rifle in the other, a backpack strapped to his back. He was walking home, taking the pothole-filled road that ran right by Ronnie and Amber’s place, and happened to look up to see his daddy’s old pickup truck pulling into their driveway. Adley shouted to him, to say hello, but his daddy didn’t hear him at all. Jonah just slammed the truck door and ran into the house, his face all bunched up with concern.

Adley thought it all strange, and got worried when he heard shouting coming from inside. His daddy’s voice, and another man. He assumed Ronnie. The voices were coming from the back of the white clapboard house, so Adley wandered around toward the back porch. There, through the screen door, he could see his daddy standing in the kitchen with Ronnie and Amber. She was lying in a heap at Ronnie’s feet. In one hand he had hold of Amber’s golden hair, and in the other he held a pistol.

Adley lost his breath and got lightheaded at the sight of it. He knelt down and hid behind the ledge of the porch, watching intently, wondering if the police were on the way. His daddy was waving his arms frantically, pleading with Ronnie.

“Son, let’s just sit down and talk,” Jonah said. “That’s all I want.”

“Don’t call me that.”

“What?”

“Son,” Ronnie hissed. “You ain’t my daddy. Don’t call me that.”

Jonah nodded. “Fine, Ronnie. Just a habit. Come on, let’s all sit down and talk. That’s all I want. Amber’s scared, but I know you won’t hurt her. You’re a better man than that.”

“You don’t know me, preacher. Don’t act like you do.”

“Please, just put the gun down.”

“You religious folk, always gotta have your nose in everybody’s business,” Ronnie said. “Like Jesus set you up to tell the rest of us what to do. But I don’t believe in Jesus, preacher man. So get the hell out of my house. Before you end up worse than her.”

Adley felt the rifle in his hand, the slick wood of the stock a little cold despite the heat of the day. What if Ronnie was serious, and intended to hurt his daddy? Adley didn’t think he could take a shot at a man, but maybe if his daddy was in trouble, something would click inside of him, give him the strength to handle it. Maybe. He clicked off the safety and watched.

“Ronnie, I can’t leave here with you pointing a gun at this girl,” Jonah said. “I can’t. Please, for the love of God, put down the gun.”

Ronnie’s eyes were wild and bloodshot. Adley could see that from far away and through the screen door. He’d never seen a man look so inhuman, so demonic. It scared him bad.

“Why don’t you come over here and take it from me, preacher? Let’s see how that goes.”

“I’m not gonna do that,” Jonah said. “No good could come of that. I’m not gonna try to overpower you, Ronnie. I just want some peace, for this girl, for you. If I beat you down, take the gun, where’s the peace in that? Just two men struggling over a gun, a woman. Same thing that’s been happening going back thousands of years, back to Cain and Abel. No, Ronnie, I’m not gonna lay a hand on you. I’m just gonna beg you to give me the gun and let Amber go.”

Ronnie looked down at Amber, thinking. His eyes dimmed, losing their wildness. Adley couldn’t breathe, couldn’t slow his heart no matter how hard he tried. Tears were coming down his cheeks in torrents, and he couldn’t stop them, either. He’d never been so scared and wanted so badly for someone to help his daddy.

“Come on, Ronnie. Let her go.”

Just then, while he watched Ronnie’s chest rise and fall quickly, Adley heard the sirens in the distance. The police, finally on their way to help. Ronnie’s got wide again, regained the wildness, like an animal trapped with no way out. Adley raised the .22 and aimed it at Ronnie’s midsection. His hands trembled and tears blurred his vision.
“You called the police?” he screamed.

Jonah reached toward him. “Just give me the gun and it’ll go better for you.”

Ronnie raised the pistol and shot Jonah Raines in the stomach twice. Amber screeched in terror at the sound of the gunshots. Ronnie hit her in the head with the butt of the pistol and let go of her hair. She crumpled to the floor. Adley felt something rip apart inside him and bit his hand so he wouldn’t cry out. He made himself as small as he could, biting his hand so hard it bled. His father was groaning inside the house, bleeding to death.

Soon there were many different sounds from inside the house, yelling, loud footsteps, and radios squawking. More sirens. More gunshots. Adley didn’t move, just stayed where he was, holding his knees. A police officer found him a few minutes later, rocking back and forth and bawling his eyes out, still biting his hand. It took some time to figure out who he was because he wouldn’t talk. Couldn’t talk, actually. Barely said a word the next few weeks.

Jonah went into cardiac arrest on the way to the hospital and died. Adley never got to say goodbye to his daddy. Ronnie died in the house, shot by the police after he turned his gun on them. Amber moved to some suburb of Dallas and never came back. The whole thing made the news, and not just the local paper. Several of the TV stations from the bigger cities nearby sent crews to cover it.

Adley went to a therapist for a little while, even though he didn’t want to. His mama insisted, and it helped him start speaking. He never went fishing again, though. And he never shot that .22 rifle again. But he didn’t get rid of it.

Instead, he put it in the back of his closet, taking it out every once and a while when his mama wasn’t home. He’d lay in his bed, or sit in a chair on the porch, the gun sitting in his lap. He’d hold it in the crook of his arm, sometimes opening and closing the bolt. Even years later it smelled of gunpowder and brass. He could pass an hour or more just holding his old gun. The whole time he’d think of his daddy, and the shot he never took.