The dog noticed first. Spun upright in our bed.
“What is it, Calvin?” Alert ears. Rigid tail. Low growl.
I dropped my hand under the bedframe. Grabbed the twenty-two.
When the shadow appeared in the bedroom doorway, I fired once. A practiced shot.
He won’t be coming home late anymore.
John dabbles in flash fiction while editing his (hopefully) debut novel. Taste some of his stories at JohnDavisFrain.com.