Death @page { margin-bottom: 5.000000pt; margin-top: 5.000000pt; } 28I RAN OUT, rushed down the stairs, followed the noise. The living room. Figures in black. Two figures, crouched combatively. Richard shouted, "What the fuck have you done?" and advanced on his son. Eric waved a baseball bat. Behind the boy stood what remained of the display cases. Ravaged, the brass dented, glass doors splintered and ragged. Glass spikes and shards on the carpet, glittery dust like raw diamonds. Broken pottery within the cases and on the floor. Horses and camels and little human figurines turned to rubble. Richard got closer. His mouth was open. His breath rasped. Eric panted also. He gripped the bat with both hands. "Don't even think about it." "Put it down!" Richard commanded. Eric didn't move. "Put it the fuck down!" Eric laughed and took another swing at the porcelain. Richard rushed forward, threw himself at the bat, managed to get hold of it as Eric grunted and struggled to wrestle control. The two of them fell to the floor, entwined black clothes coating with glass and dust.
