He kept moving.
I fired a second time to stop the threat.
Then everything became silent except Darren.
He lay on the porch crying.
His legs were badly injured.
Blood spread across the wooden boards.
I stepped backward.
Kept distance.
Kicked the weapon farther away only when I could do so safely.
Then put my hands where arriving officers would be able to see them.
My phone was still connected to 911.
The dispatcher had heard almost everything.
“Sir?”
“I’m here.”
“Are you injured?”
“I don’t think so.”
“Is the other person conscious?”
“Yes.”
“Do you still have the firearm?”
“It is secured away from him.”
“Do not touch it again.”
“I won’t.”
“Officers are almost there.”
Darren sobbed.
“Help me.”
“They’re coming.”
“Please.”
“I’m not touching you while the gun is there.”
“I didn’t mean it.”
I stared at him.
A minute earlier he had been demanding my key with a gun aimed at my chest.
