Sharpshooter

Chapter Five

Klaus couldn’t go to sleep, he watched Aydri’s rhythmic breathing as she slept in the motel’s uncomfortable bed. He sat in a chair with his head in his hands, rubbing his eyes. He checked the clock. Three in the morning.
He wished that he could sleep without feeling guilty. He was hiding a lot more from Aydri then she realized. Their real lives had been nothing but hidden stories, locked away in the back of his mind. They were living lies. He settled in his chair, and closed his eyes, knowing he’d dream about the true reason Aydri was good at shooting.

***

Some time ago, Aydri and Klaus lived as neighbors in rivaling families. They were too young to understand the hatred between the two, and could not figure out the reason why their families looked down upon their friendship. The Gabriel family sent Klaus to piloting school, hoping that he would forget about Aydri, but the friendship was too strong to be thwarted by a simple distance. They walked the three miles to and from the Academy of Aircraft together, just so they could talk to each other. Klaus’s father, an ace pilot and space fleet lieutenant, knew that he would have to take drastic measures to separate them.
“Klaus, I am your father, obey me!” Lieutenant Gabriel barked. Klaus’s hands were slippery from his clammy hands as he struggled to grip the gun. Even though it was a cool September night, he felt like he was in an oven, his hair sticking to his brow from the mixture of sweat and tears.
A boy kneeled in front of him, his nose running as he sobbed. The boy was covered in bruises and scrapes, as he’d been beaten numerous times. Aydri was struggling against the lieutenant’s grip, Klaus had just shot her parents to death, and now he was going to shoot her little brother. Klaus would—could—never disobey his father, even at these demands.
“Pull the trigger!” He yelled. Klaus gripped his eyes shut and shot, Aydri screamed. The lieutenant let her arms go, and she flopped onto the floor, her chest heaving out huge sobs that made her whole body shake.
Klaus fell to his knees, and released his grip on the gun. Why had he followed through on his father’s demands?
The boy lay still onto the floor, and Aydri’s gaze slowly met Klaus’s.
“Why?” she whimpered, “Why did you have to kill him?”
Klaus shook his head as he stood. He followed his father out of the forest, looking back only once to see Aydri kneeling near the three corpses.
After that, Aydri never spoke to him, never even glancing in his general direction. Often times, when he looked out the window facing the Anne’s backyard, he saw Aydri shooting at targets, practicing until she collapsed from exhaustion. He sat and watched her while wishing he could help her or apologize, but she would refuse to speak to him and just go on with practice.

One April night, it was steadily drizzling outside. Klaus was watching Aydri practice again, amazed at her improvement. She could hit a target one hundred times out of one hundred. Still, this did little to improve his saddened mood. His mother had told him that his father had been shot and killed while walking home.
Klaus opened the front door and stepped outside, feeling the cleansing of the raindrops against his skin. He sprinted to his backyard and stood behind a rosebush, trying to get a closer look on her practice. He prayed that Aydri couldn’t see him. There was a long silence before she said anything.
“I know you’re there.” She called, “I can sense you.” Klaus froze. Something pulled him back sharply, and something cold was against his throat. He suspected a knife. “The time for redemption has come.” Aydri whispered.
“W-what are you doing?” He gasped. She dragged him with astounding strength to her house, and bound him to the gutter pipe with flex-cuffs.
“What I should have done a long while ago.” She muttered.
The rain was pouring steadily now, soaking Klaus’s shirt and making it stick to his sodden skin. Aydri turned and strode a few paces away, her shoes squelching in the mud. She turned, and her wet hair whipped around her face. Her cold eyes bore holes through him.
She slowly raised a pistol, aiming between his eyes.
“Wait, what are you doing?!” He yelled, “Don’t shoot me! Please!” He rattled the drain pipe as he shook his arms, desperate to free himself. The flex-cuffs bent as the sharp, jagged metal of the pipe sliced into the plastic. He stopped rattling when he felt the thin sliver of plastic still holding the cuffs together. A few more shakes and he would be free. Klaus looked up, and Aydri cocked the gun.
“You’ll be joining your father now.” She smirked.
Klaus stared at horror at Aydri.
Now he knew she was serious. He pulled hard against the cuffs, snapping them cleanly in two. He jumped up, and without thinking, clobbered Aydri to the ground, wrestling the gun from her and throwing it far on the other side of the yard. He pressed her wrists down into the mud, securing her. He was breathing heavily now, and Aydri was doing the same.
Klaus stared into her eyes, wondering if this was what all the practice was for.
Aydri thrashed against his grip, but he held tightly.
“Let…me…GO!” She yelled.
“No. I won’t let you. You almost killed me. You killed my father too!”
“He deserved it!” She screamed. A stray tear ran down her face, “He made my life miserable! He ruined everything! HE RUINED ME!”
“Calm down, Aydri. You have every right to be angry.” She looked at him, stiff as a board, astonished.
“I-I do?” She stuttered.
“Yes. What my father did was wrong, what he made me do was wrong. You can be mad at me all you want.” He looked at her with pleading eyes.
“I don’t want to be mad at you…” She trailed off.
“Then don’t be, please.” He held out a hand, and Aydri took it gratefully. He pulled her onto her feet, surprised at her feather-like weight. “Please go to bed.” He whispered. “You haven’t slept properly in months.”
“Okay.” She stifled a yawn. He led her to her front door, watching her unlock it and step inside.
“Bye.” He waved, then turned and continued down the block to his home. As soon as he got inside his room, he flumped onto the bed, tears forming in his eyes. Death had brushed him on the cheek.
He fell into a troubled sleep, desperate to forget the nightmare of the night.