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Spotlight: Guns and threats leave Chris with little choice

As I moved to leave with Greg’s brother Patrick, Chris drawled: “Not with my son; you’re not!”

“You know I can’t leave him, Chris, I told you I will bring him to your mother’s place tomorrow; please don’t cause a scene,” I pleaded.

“Listen to the lady, Chris, don’t cause a scene,” Patrick drawled, and as Chris turned back to face him, Patrick slowly pulled out a pistol from his jeans waistband that had until this minute been concealed by the large baggy T-shirt he was wearing, and ever so casually placed it on the table in front of him.

My eyes widened in shock at the sight of it and I felt my blood run cold. I had never been in such close proximity to a firearm before, and had certainly never had one in my house. How dare Greg send his brother with a gun?

Didn’t he realize I had my son in the house?

To make matters worse, Patrick and his two cronies appeared to be high, and not from alcohol either, from the lazy drawl in Patrick’s voice or his half-closed eyes that were blood red.

Three guys high on drugs, Chris shocked and furious as hell, and a pistol in the center of the room, was in my opinion the perfect recipe for disaster and I felt my legs grow weak with fear at how quickly the situation had escalated.

Thankfully though, unlike Patrick and his friends, Chris was sober enough to know when he was outnumbered, not to mention out-armed.

“Wow, Stephanie, what a splendid way to welcome me back home; with your boyfriend sending his gun-toting brother to whisk you off with my son!

Bravo! You have really outdone yourself this time,” he applauded sarcastically, before his tone changed back to one with undisputed rage.

“Go ahead, run off to your lover, but I swear to God, if you don’t bring me my son tomorrow at mum’s place, I will hunt you down, and shred you to pieces bit by bit, and then I will take my son, and you will never see him again. So, you better have him there, or hope lover boy has a lot more guns to spare.”

“Alright, alright, there’s no need to talk too much,” Patrick jutted back in to the conversation, then went on with that same drowsy drawl: “Stephanie, go on to the car; guys, help the lady with her bags,” he instructed, and then turned back to Chris.

“Take my advice, Chris, when a woman wants to go, let her leave. Once she is at that point, she’s not worth the hustle holding onto, and besides, there are many other fish in the sea.”

Chris looked like he wanted to strangle him, but the gun on the table in front of him was too strong a deterrent.

“Get out of my house,” he ordered instead through gritted teeth.

“With pleasure,” Patrick smiled, and then picking up the gun, tucked it back into his jeans, and followed the rest of us out to the car.


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