Where The Pistol Points At

In 1930, I received a brand-new Smith & Wesson from Thomas as a token gesture for being accepted by – but not a part of – the family. Unlike everyone else's, my revolver had my first name instead of my initials. I found it odd at the time, yet I had no courage, nor will, to speculate or inquire further. Now it only made sense.

I was excited to test it in the forest behind the Angelino Heights House, disregarding Thomas' order not to waste ammunition.

"How about not accidentally shooting somebody because other people live there too?" Lizzie raised her brows after hearing what her brother had said. "That's not as important as saving bullets, right?"

Still, I had to pull the trigger. It had been long since I last held a gun. In the Red Lantern House, I was taught how to shoot, though I had never had a firearm that belonged to me. It was indescribably enticing to possess something this deadly.

Laurie covered his ears when I fired. He was a little nervous when the revolver was in my hand. Only when I put it back into its holster did he become his relaxed self again.

"Would you like to try?" I asked.

"No," he shook his head. Shyly, he confessed: "Will you think less of me if I told you I've never touched a gun?"

"Don't be silly. I'd never think less of you," I said sincerely, despite being quite surprised.

"Ridiculous, isn't it?" He chuckled sarcastically. "So much about being a Murphy while not knowing how to fire a gun."

I was quiet. I contemplated offering to show him, but that would be pointless.

"What would you do if you weren't a Murphy?" I tried to sound cheerful.

"Let's see," his face lit up. "I hold humble interests in theatrical arts and the silver screen. And as you know, I've had a couple of endeavors. So, I'll probably try my luck as an actor again."

"Why don't you get back into acting? You were good at it," I said admiringly. "They were calling you the most promising newcomer and Valentino's successor. Remember? And I'm sure Lizzie is happy to help you."

"No," the joy in his sorrowful eyes faded. "They also said I only got the roles because of my sister. You read the papers; I was marketed as Lizzie Murphy-Philips' pretty younger brother. No matter how good or horrible I might be, I can never escape that label. And I hate both parts of that label. I don't want to be called Valentino's successor, nor do I want to be in Lizzie's shadow. What's the point of putting myself out there when I can't even be an individual entity and have to behave according to the public's expectation of me, even outside the silver screen?"

"Laurie, darling," I took his hand as the corners of my mouth drooped. "I'm so sorry. I'm sure it'll be all right."

He stared into my eyes sullenly. Finally, he let out a faint, weary smile and said: "Would you be so kind and show me how to use a revolver?"

-----

The Changs came for a truce. They weren't the ones to admit defeat or to negotiate a parley. It was a truce they sought. Anything else would be humiliating, for they lived for honor, and only for honor. I was indisputably a disgrace to them. The fatherless child who never tried hard enough to speak the language of her heritage, who betrayed her race by involving and marrying foreign men, and the most disgraceful of all, who became Thomas Murphy's second wife.

Thomas sat at the head of the table, stone-faced. Victoria stood indifferently next to me like she had no reason to be concerned about our situation. Laurie was distraught, yet he was sterner and calmer than usual. Wesley was in the back by the door, his lips pursed and his arms crossed. Emma wasn't here. Thomas decided to show mercy and spared her from reliving her misery. 

"For now, we can continue with the agreement," Thomas said, "although I have to warn you that you will live to regret it if you try anything funny again."

"One of yours killed my son," the old Chang said grimly, undeterred by the threat. "He will be avenged."

"How much does that vengeance worth? Your whole clan?" Thomas snickered. "Don't be a fool."

"You know nothing about honor," the grieving father said. "A man like you will never understand honor."

Thomas scoffed. The Changs drew their guns, and so did my men.

"Oh God, there's no need to go to war for this," Victoria rolled her eyes and stepped forward. "What do you want for this so-called honor of yours?"

The old Chang was about to speak when he saw her face clearly, and his mouth remained agape. His white, bushy eyebrows tied together as he squinted. He gestured to his aide, who hurried to him and whispered into his ears.

"You're Russian," the old Chang stated.

Albeit initially showing a sign of surprise, the revelation didn't faze her at all.

"What kind of atonement do you want?" She didn't acknowledge him. "Do you want me to die?"

She then pulled out her Colt Pocket Hammerless pistol – which I was unreasonably jealous of – disengaged the safety and pointed at her temple.

I lit up a cigarette and glanced at Thomas. Aside from the haziest trace of amusement, there was no change in his expression. Neither did Laurie. I had never envisioned her acting this thoughtlessly and impulsively. However, I was convinced that her recklessness was a well-calculated act.

The room was silent. The aged father walked up to his only son's murderer and pulled the pistol from her grip. In his cloudy eyes, the fury and rage didn't subside. Latching the safety back on, he threw it at her feet and gritted his teeth:

"Tell your father I sent my greetings."

Victoria abruptly turned her head towards him.

"Oh, forgive me. My old age makes me forgetful," he said mockingly. "I forgot he's been dead for quite some time."

-----

In the afternoon, I caught Victoria sitting in an armchair, her Anna Karenina lying open on her lap while she stared vacantly out of the window. The sun shone onto her beautiful face as if she was an ill-fated protagonist in a romance novel.

"I know who you are," I said remorselessly.

"No, you don't," she said without turning her head.

"You're Mikhail Lebedev's daughter," I said. "Too bad he wanted you to stay away from this business, but you got yourself involved anyway."

"You don't know a thing," she insisted.

"But why did you get yourself involved?" I ignored her comment. "You're smart enough to know better. Did it have something to do with Neil? You knew him before I did, didn't you?"

"You're being ridiculous," she didn't sound angry or upset at all. "I didn't come to know Neil until later."

"Stop lying," I grew increasingly frustrated. "What happened? What did you do? What did he do? You know in your heart that whatever happened, it was the root of our unhappiness. Yours, Neil's, Laurie's, and mine. Hell, maybe even Thomas' misery. Why won't you tell me?"

"There's nothing to be told. Even if there was, nothing can be changed," her tone was flaccid. I noticed her bottom lip quiver. "Why don't you direct your anger to someone who deserves it? Like Thomas, who killed your son."