Chapter 9 - Blood on the HearthThe force of the blast tore through the wooden doorframe, sending splinters and plaster flying into the air.
Evan collapsed to the floor with a sharp cry, clutching his shoulder where several stray pellets had grazed him. Vance reacted with lightning speed, spinning around and firing two precise shots into the ceiling while lunging forward to tackle Clara to the ground.
The shotgun clattered across the floorboards. Vance pinned Clara’s arms behind her back, applying heavy pressure until she stopped struggling, sobbing uncontrollably into the oriental rug.
I dropped to my knees beside Evan, pulling off my cardigan to press it tightly against the bleeding wound on his shoulder.
“Evan!” I gasped, my hands covered in his blood. “Stay still! Hold on!”
He looked up at me through tear-filled eyes, gasping for breath, his face pale with pain and shock.
“I... I tried to kill you, Sarah,” he choked out, tears rolling into his ears. “I cut your brakes... I stood there and watched your car go over the edge...”
“Shh, don't talk,” I whispered, pressing the cloth firmer against his wound. “Save your strength.”
“Why are you helping me?” he cried out, his voice cracking like a small child’s. “Why aren't you letting me die?”
I looked down at his face—the same face that carried Richard’s soft green eyes, the boy who had been lied to and manipulated since he was fourteen years old by the people who were supposed to protect him.
“Because your father loved you, Evan,” I said softly, tears blurring my vision. “And because despite everything... you just saved my life.”
Outside, red and blue strobe lights cut through the dense mountain fog. The deep wail of police sirens echoed up the logging road, growing louder by the second.
Vance stood up, hauling a sobbing Clara to her feet, while heavy footsteps kicked open the front entrance. State troopers and federal agents flooded into the study with flashlights and drawn weapons, securing the scene in seconds.
Paramedics rushed into the room with a gurney, immediately taking over Evan’s medical care.
As they lifted him onto the stretcher, Evan reached out a trembling, bloody hand, grabbing my sleeve.
May you like
“Sarah...” he whispered, his eyes wide with fear and remorse. “I’m sorry... I’m so sorry...”
I took his hand, holding it firmly until the paramedics wheeled him out into the rain.
