He didn't know why he did it. It was a nonsensical choice, the opposite of everything he had ever learned in the Special Forces. It was almost as if he was possessed by the spirit of his mother. He could hear her voice in her head, as she led him through the routine, just like she had when he was little. Oh, those days were the best days, his mom, in her sober moments, in the yard of the house, teaching Joe and Violet the routine that they would perform every year for the Christmas pageant.
He remembered how their little circus number had made Randy feel uncomfortable. They had always laughed at him for it, but he could see the deep unease in his eyes when they did it. Right now, Randy thought he was in control, covered in blood, holding Bill's old gun steady on the pair of them. Gloating.
He whispered into Violet's ear, "remember the lift."
A flash of understanding entered into her tear stained, shocked eyes, and all she had to do was blink to tell him she knew what he wanted. And then, with a tensing of his muscles and an effortless grace on her part, they started the routine.