5. Making Matters Worse (D1)

__ Ardy rolled from the couch forgetting she was handcuffed, and landed painfully on her knees. Using her shoulder against the couch, she leverages up one leg and the other until she's standing, staring out the window. She remembers clearly the psychic vision of Munson attempting the move her truck to get a better view of the road, the arrival of the deputies, and the two gunshots that end his life, but she's powerless to stop him. He's already out there.
__ "Why did I try to stop him?" She wondered aloud, and scrunched up her forehead as she searched for the logic. He came in here, shackled me at gunpoint, threatened to kill me, and I know he is a murderous maniac. Why do I care if he gets gunned down on Route 9 in front of my shop? This is the middle of nowhere. It's not like I get a lot of traffic.
__ Because he's innocent.
__ Ardy watched as he moved to his own car instead of the truck, pulled open the door, and backed out after only an instant's hesitation.
__ He's not innocent, she told herself. He murdered that lawyer in cold blood.
__ But there was a reason that he cannot be held accountable for.
__ "Now why would I say that?" Ardy muttered to no one under her own breath. She watched as Munson pulled his car around her truck and ground it through the mud alongside her building. She could here the engine taxing as the wheels struggled for traction. When the muffled revving stopped in back, she turned her attention toward the window.
__ And gasped as she saw a Covert police car roll by. Not seeing anything out of the ordinary, and no reason to stop, the deputies continued down the road toward town.
__ A moment later Munson came in the front door and slammed it shut behind him. Dripping from the rain, he blew water off his upper lip and said, "How did you know?"
__ Ardy stood shivering, now wondering why exactly it was that she was relieved the cops were gone. She shrugged weekly.
__ Instead of the rage she thought would come, Munson cringed against a pain Ardy couldn't identify and ignored her as he turned back toward the ornate chair in the middle of the room.
__ "Are you all right?" She asked.
__ He nodded and plopped down. He stretched and arched his back. "Bad back," he said by way of an explanation. "It flared up when I hauled Clye into the wood and--" Suddenly catching himself, Munson's eyes widened, "Hey! You git your butt back on that couch, or I swear I'll kill you right now."
__ If he was trying to sound cruel and serious, the tone was lost by the obvious pain.
__ "No you won't, Mr. Munson."
__ He stared, agape.
__ "Because you need me. You need me more than you've needed anyone in your life."
__ Was that the hint of a tear in the corner of his eye, or just a droplet of rain?
__ Ardy said, "I believe you came here after you murdered that man for a reason, and I believe I suddenly acquired a real ability to see psychically for a reason too.
__ "I think we need each other. I don't know why, or how this'll work, but I do know one thing."
__ He waited a moment, still staring, before his gruff, angry exterior seemed to melt slightly in the chair. "What's that?"
__ "You are going to take these handcuffs off me and let me make you a hot soup and sandwich."
__ His laugh was noncommittal. Suspicious.
__ "And I'll get you some Ibuprofen for that back."
__ R. Lee Munson, murderer, was suddenly disarmed. He looked around uncomfortably, suddenly on the defensive, but also defeated. He slumped further in the chair and started to cry like a weak frightened child. His sobs were so heavy and racked his body so hard that Ardy shrank back expecting a shrieking wail of anguish.
__ She took a step toward him, her head tilted compassionately.
__ He raised the gun and shot her.