Chapter 13 - The Confrontation in the Laundry Room
On the split-screen monitor above, we watched Julian storm down the corridor toward the basement laundry room where Clara was hiding. He didn't bother using a key this time; with a savage roar, he drove the hilt of his heavy hunting knife straight through the wooden door panel, twisting it until the lock shattered.
Clara screamed, pressing herself frantically against the back washing machine, her duffel bag slipping from her trembling fingers.
“You think a few locked doors can save you, you miserable parasite?” Julian hissed, stepping over the splintered wood, his face twisted into an unrecognizable mask of rage. “You saw the greenhouse beams. You saw too much. And now, your little accident is going to look like a desperate, guilt-ridden escape gone wrong.”
He raised the blade, stepping closer as Clara closed her eyes, sobbing openly, waiting for the fatal strike.
My blood ran cold. The silent alarm had been sent, but the local deputies were still twenty minutes away. If I didn't intervene right now, Clara would die on that concrete floor.
I looked down at Leo, gently setting him behind a heavy, hollow-core storage crate in the sub-corridor. “Stay right here, Leo. Don't make a sound. Mommy has to go help Clara.”
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Leo grabbed the hem of my shirt, his eyes wide with unshed tears. “Don't go, Mommy. Bad man will hurt you.”
“I have to,” I whispered, kissing his forehead before sliding the heavy iron grate off its hinges with a sharp, metallic screech.
