"Francie?"
The statue drops from my hand as I sag back against the wall. I can't be seeing this. I must be hallucinating. I just can't be seeing this.
"Get the Rambaldi." Sark addresses Francie, motioning to her with the gun that's still trained on my father's head. She walks over to me, grinning. She stoops down beside me, face inches from mine.
"Hi, Syd." She almost laughs the words. My body tenses, it's telling me to react, to fight -- and I can't. This is Francie. This is Francie. The words keep running through my brain as I'm paralyzed, shocked into inaction, slumped against the cold brick wall.
Her fingers curl around the statue that just seconds ago slipped from my hand.
"Arghgh!" The strangled sound rips through my shock, jolting me back to reality. It's Vaughn.
Salencia's hand moved a bit and I can now see the lightest spot of red dimming the knife's shining blade. It isn't much, but it's enough.
My hand inches forward, fingers curling around the statue. Francie jerks involuntarily, unprepared for my move. My eyes meet hers as I twist the statue quickly and violently, wrenching it from her hand. With nowhere else to move, I raise the heavy marble straight out, to my side, and with all the strength I have smash it against the glass of the ballroom window.
I'm rewarded with the gratifying sound of shattered glass and the simultaneous shrieks of the guests inside. The pain I know must be in my arm hasn't registered yet. I will my numb fingers to open, dropping the statue through the opening onto the floor inside.
Everything happens at once.
Francie, momentarily frozen in shock, recovers enough and begins to rear back for a punch. I pull my arm away from the glass, preparing to dodge her fist.
Sark yells, "Anna! Get the statue!"
My father grabs Sark's wrist, twisting it off-balance so that the gun is no longer pointed at him, but at a point just past his head. Sark starts to reach over with his other hand, but not before Dad grabs his wrist with both hands, twisting it fully backward as he simultaneously kicks across the ground, connecting with Sark's feet. Thrown off balance, Sark starts to fall backward, his grip loosened just enough for Dad to wrench the gun from his hand. Dad brings the butt of the gun solidly against Sark's forehead, causing him to fall to the ground, disoriented.
Francie turns her attention from me to the window, whipping around to connect a fast roundhouse kick to the remaining glass. There's more screaming and chattering from the guests inside as an apparently unconcerned Francie reaches through the absent window, groping around for the statue on the floor inside.
Vaughn doesn't move.
I stand up, eager to get out of Francie's reach, and freeze before I've gone two steps. When Sark reached over with his left hand a moment ago, he wasn't reaching for my father. He was reaching for the gun concealed beneath his own jacket. Stupid! I chastise myself as the same glock that was pointed at me a few minutes ago is now aimed squarely at my father's head.
"Drop it." Sark says.
My father glances down at him, back up at Vaughn, and across to me. And fires.