Page 58 of The Art of Dying

“Oh my God, did I kill him?” Caroline asked.

“No. He may have trained with Russians, but he’s a weak bitch. He’s out cold.”

“I have to call,” I said. “He’s lost a lot of blood.”

“Let him,” Naomi said. She looked down at him, took a hop, and kicked him in the ribs.

“Naomi!” Caroline cried.

“Shhh! The kids!” I whispered. “If they wake up and see this…” I said, watching Caroline walk toward me.

“I’ll call,” she said.

I joined Naomi, looking down at Mason. He was unconscious, his cheek flattened against the hardwood floor and his lips jutted out.

“Are we going to get arrested?” I asked.

“It was self-defense. And we already have a call into the commander. We can make another one if we must.”

“What if he wakes up?” I asked, glancing back at the kids’ room.

“Then I’ll stab him again,” Naomi said, unaffected.

Within a few minutes of Caroline ending the call, sirens could be heard in the distance. Just a few minutes after that, military trucks and blacked-out SUVs were in front of my home, but thankfully they’d come in quietly, silencing the sirens a few blocks away.

Caroline held open the door, and I waved to them as they entered, begging them not to wake my children. Medical personnel attended to Mason, and in a whirlwind of men and women in uniform swirling around, exiting and entering the living room, asking questions and loading Mason onto a gurney, all I could do was stare at the pool of blood on the floor.

“Mrs. Kitsch, I’m Officer Browning.”

“Yeah?”

“Are you all right?”

I looked up and met his eyes. It was the first time in fifteen minutes anyone had bothered to ask. “I’m… yeah. I’m just a little shaken.”

“I apologize for displacing you and the children so late, but you’re going to need someplace else to stay for the night. Maybe for a few days. This is a crime scene.”

I nodded.

“You can stay with me,” Naomi said. She put her arm around my waist and hugged me to her side. She looked to Caroline. “You both can.”

“The commander has ordered a few men to be posted for your safety. Stay in the area in case we have further questions. Get a few belongings for you and the kids, but don’t touch anything else. We’ll be in touch.”

“Yes, sir,” I said, leaving for my children’s room.

In the dark, Naomi, Caroline, and I whispered as we decided what to take for Dylan and Emily. After we finished packing their things, I packed my own bag and then returned to the kids’ bedroom to lift Emily from her crib.

Caroline gently woke Dylan and then picked him up, rocking him as she held his dead weight in her arms.

“Straight outside,” I whispered. “Don’t stop. I don’t want them to see the blood.”

Caroline nodded.

Naomi led the way holding the bags, Caroline followed her, and I brought up the rear holding Emily, weaving between investigators while we made our way to the porch. Just as we stepped out, an ambulance lit up and pulled away from the curb quickly, transporting Mason to the hospital—the base hospital where I worked. Two military vehicles followed, making me feel marginally better that he’d have an escort.

We put Dylan and Emily in their car seats and then closed the doors of my SUV.

“Caroline,” Naomi said, jingling her keys. “Take my car to your place so you can pack what you need for a couple of nights. We’ll follow you over and then caravan to my house.” She looked to me. “Mason’s in custody, but his Vodka-loving friend is still out there.”

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