It's time.

Two days later.

The air is crisp, but the sun warms your face as you stand at the bus stop. You make the required casual smiles and polite comments for the bus stop moms. Maisie calls you a bus stop heart throb, a handsome man in a traditionally women’s scene. You certainly are popular among the moms at the bus stop. You have long believed that your inability to talk was the biggest factor. Being a man without a voice seemed to entice the women to talk to you more. Of course, you were stuck there and unable to interrupt so they had a captive listener for the 10-15 minutes you stood on the corner every morning before the bus took Maisie to her school.

It was harder now that everyone knew you could talk again. Maisie dealt with your cover story, spun it as a therapy breakthrough. She had a high-priced celebrity therapist willing to take credit for “unlocking the hidden trauma” that had caused you to lose your speech, despite you never having seen the man before. It was a back-room deal that netted you a cover story for the sudden change along with an undisclosed amount of cash, while a glorified self-help guru got to add a chapter to his book and name drop Maisie while he was at it. The bus stop reaction to the revelation was far too many supportive hugs, compliments on how nice your voice sounded, and offers to be someone that would listen to you if your wife wasn’t emotionally available. You enjoyed the bus stop significantly less the last two days.

Claire had adjusted well; she started picking your voice out of the group at the bus stop right away. You marveled at how easily she adapted to the change. It was harder for you. You would forget to respond to statements people made, falling into the comfortable nods and smiles you had been limited to for so long. It was hard to remember that you had to respond verbally now to not come across as rude.

Angela Wilson is the current bus stop mom occupying your time and attention. You are reluctantly listening to the tragic story of her day-to-day life. Her sad tale consisted of not wanting to spend time with her five-year-old son, her inability to find an illegal immigrant that both spoke English and would put up with her stupidity while cooking and cleaning and taking care of her son, and her husband not appreciating her enough when she spent most days drinking and trying to cheat on him.

When the bus pulls up you get Claire on board, say a quiet thank you to whatever gods are responsible for the bus being two minutes early, make polite excuses about why you need to hurry home, promise you will consider checking out their “mommy book club” that you have no intention of ever attending, then head back to your 12th floor condo. You take a deep breath and walk into your home.

“That’s not good enough Stefan, I need at least 12 hours of battery life and I need it to be easily hidden.”

Maisie is getting what she needs, you need to get ready yourself. Randy, the man that had your wife's cousin Amber, the man threatening your family, had called early this morning. He had waited two days to follow up. Fortunately, you and your wife had used the time well. It still wasn't a good situation you were walking into, but at least you had options, and you had plans to deal with whatever you would face, even if you didn't like most of them. You head to your bedroom, open the quick safe in your bedroom, push things aside and open the hidden panel, input your code and press your left thumb to the sensor.

“No, I don’t need it today, I need it now.”

You step over and open the now unlocked, in-wall bookcase for the actual safe in your room. You step in and take another deep breath. You’d gone shooting many times. Politicians loved that shit, businessmen too. This time, it was different. This wasn’t going to a range or hunting pheasant or ducks. When your hand picks up your rifle it will be the first time you’ve ever picked it up with the intent to use it on a human being. Your hand stops and you feel your heart beat accelerate. There’s no going back from a decision like this.

“Yes, 200 yards range will do, but longer is better.”

Your trepidation lasts only a moment, this man is threatening your wife, her family, he is threatening Claire. The handle is cold and clean feeling, the weight always lighter than you expect. You transfer your weapon from the safe to your custom-built, low-profile case that is slender and light enough to allow the next step to hopefully work. You put the case inside one of Maisie’s long dresses, a newer one that she doesn’t really like. The important thing is that it is long, doesn’t have slits or any see-through parts and has a high enough neckline to conceal what is going underneath. You attach the case to the heavy metal hanger and pick it up. It’s quite heavy to carry flippantly in one hand. It won’t be easy to carry it as if it weighed the same as a dress. You slip the dress and gun case into a transparent garment bag and your deception is arranged.

“The booster will work for both the drop mic and the one I wear?”

Maisie walks into the bedroom, her face focused. She looks at the bed where the dress and garment bag, then nods approvingly to you before turning and walking out of the room.

“Thirty minutes. Yes, that’s 10 minutes less than I had when I called you 10 minutes ago Stefan.”

You feel a little comforted by your wife’s demeanor, she’s in that all-business mode Claire calls “Mommy Shark mode.” Maisie almost always succeeds at what she is aiming for when she’s like this. It helps to quiet your thoughts of what happens if any of this goes wrong.

Maisie walks back into the room, her phone call ended. She walks to you as you stare at the dress on the bed that is doing a lousy job of concealing a semi-automatic weapon case.

“Babe,” she says as she steps between you and the bed, wraps her arms around you. The shark is gone for the moment; your wife is here. You take her face in your hands, lean forward and kiss her gently. When you break the kiss, Maisie smiles at you.

“Thank you, Maisie.” You say. You are more nervous than she is about this, but it was your choice, your decision. She is just making it work.

“Anything for you.” She says back, and she means it. You kiss her again, hard, passionate. You grab her possessively, pull her into you. You don’t want to let her go. You know what is coming, what she is going to do. Hell, you’ve talked about the different ways it could go, the things she could be facing. You just hope she comes back to you alright.

Your kiss is interrupted by her phone ringing. You let her go, she has to get this.

“Marie, have they moved?” Maisie says. You look back to the dress lying on the bed. Think about the gun hidden underneath.

“Excellent, you have the number to use, right?”

“Yes, that’s the right one Marie. Thanks.” Maisie says and puts her phone down. It’s coming together, this is really going to happen.

“Looks like they are still in the woods. Marie’s sending you the coordinates, babe. You remember the plans, right.” Maisie looks at you, she’s worried. In this entire crazy plan, all the possibilities, all the ways it could go, the thing that makes her nervous is you.

“I remember, Maisie.” You say, staring at her face, committing to memory how she looks right now. So much is going to change. . .

"I wish I could go with you." You say.

"You know that isn't happening. They hurt me and you heal me, babe, they kill you and they own me." You know it's true, but it doesn't change the way you feel about your wife being at the mercy of this scum.

“It's time, Babe, let’s do this.” She says. You pick up the garment bag, rest it over your shoulder as casually as you can then grab the small backpack with the rest of your supplies in it. Maisie straightens the garment bag so the gun case isn’t as obvious and you walk to your front door.

“Ready?” she asks.

You nod. “Maisie, showstopper.” You say, activating one of the preset command groups.

Maisie’s posture straightens just a bit, she shakes her head to the side and her hair falls perfectly. She smiles with confidence at you. She’s stunning. Of course, that is the plan. No one should notice you or the dress that doesn’t lie quite right on your back when they are staring at Maisie.

You ride the elevator down to the ground floor. When Maisie steps out into the lobby it’s like a runway model nailing her walk out. Everyone looks, they forget what else they are doing. She walks up to the front desk, leans forward, lifts her left foot a little as she requests a car. You walk out of the building to your waiting SUV with no one giving you a second glance. You lay the dress out on the back seat, tip the valet who is staring through the windows of the building at your wife, get in your vehicle, and drive off.

The dry cleaners goes smoothly. You are a bit nervous having to park two blocks away but the tinted glass in the back windows should make it very hard for anyone to notice the no longer hidden rifle case lying on the floor. Besides, the more cameras that see you dropping off the dress the better. After that you placed a call to the park ranger in charge of the exclusive “duckling camp” fund-raising event your daughter was going to be attending. It was a little strange to sign up as late as you did (this morning) and then immediately demand to see the cabin, but Maisie was famous and connected enough that it didn't matter.

Hanging up you head for the highway. A little more than an hour later you arrive at the cabin you are renting next weekend. You have the GPS coordinates Marie sent you, so you take out your satellite phone and head out. You don’t actually know how they found the cabin out in state lands that this Randy guy is holed up at, you don’t know what Maisie had to pay or what favors she owes. You just hope the information is right. You hope you aren’t waiting in the woods while Maisie goes somewhere else.

Maisie should be meeting the guy now, the driver that will bring her out here, to a place they don't think you know anything about. Maisie says he’s clever, you hope she’s wrong. You hope he’s overly-confident and narrow minded. You hope this goes easily. It wouldn’t change the fact that at the end of today you and Maisie will be killers, but it would put your wife in less danger. Some of the possible paths Maisie walked you through you can’t even bear to think of. But you do, because you have to. You walk yourself through them in your head, step-by-step, carefully. If things get rough for Maisie she will need you to be ready and on the same page as her. You fight back the fear, the tears that threaten to come. You re-focus that energy into anger, anger at the man who is causing this, the man threatening your family.

You reach your destination. In the distance you see your target, a fire-damaged cabin with caution tape on the windows and doors, much of it torn or hanging loose where drifters or teenagers looking to get drunk have entered. You are glad, and also nervous to see the cabin is definitely occupied today. A light is on and you see shadows move past the few gaps in the boarded up windows. You find a good spot and set up. You have a great view of the back porch when you want it, and plenty of cover when you don’t need to be looking. You settle in, put the receiver in your ear and wait.