Twisted (2012)
“In doing so, she lost her balance and tumbled backward onto her ass.
The young man lurched into the kitchen with both hands wrapped around the grip of a small black handgun. Dressed in a Tulane sweatshirt, cargo shorts, and sandals, he was soaked to the bone, and shaking so severely it looked as though he might have a neurological disorder.
He pointed the quavering barrel down at Maura and screamed: “Who are you? What are you doing here? What are you doing in my house!”
“I—I just—I just wanted ...to—” Maura stammered there on the linoleum, seeing stars from the fall, mouth dry and dumb from the panic. She tried to formulate her words, but it wasn’t easy, she had never looked down the barrel of gun before, especially one gripped in the sweaty hands of someone who looked as though he might shake out of his own skin.
“Who are you? Who are you!” Michael Doerr stabbed the gun barrel at her, shrieking so loudly now the cords in his neck bulged and pulsed with each word. Filmed in sweat, reeking of fear, he wore his close-cropped spit curls all teased up today, like a club kid or a lost member of Mili Vanilli.MoreLess
The young man lurched into the kitchen with both hands wrapped around the grip of a small black handgun. Dressed in a Tulane sweatshirt, cargo shorts, and sandals, he was soaked to the bone, and shaking so severely it looked as though he might have a neurological disorder.
He pointed the quavering barrel down at Maura and screamed: “Who are you? What are you doing here? What are you doing in my house!”
“I—I just—I just wanted ...to—” Maura stammered there on the linoleum, seeing stars from the fall, mouth dry and dumb from the panic. She tried to formulate her words, but it wasn’t easy, she had never looked down the barrel of gun before, especially one gripped in the sweaty hands of someone who looked as though he might shake out of his own skin.
“Who are you? Who are you!” Michael Doerr stabbed the gun barrel at her, shrieking so loudly now the cords in his neck bulged and pulsed with each word. Filmed in sweat, reeking of fear, he wore his close-cropped spit curls all teased up today, like a club kid or a lost member of Mili Vanilli.MoreLess
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