Chapter 7
Everything stopped.
Claire went pale.
I ran to the door.
Tom was standing on the porch, phone pressed to his ear.
He hung up as I came out.
“Local sheriff just called. A truck matching the description was seen at a gas station 20 minutes west of here. He paid cash. Asked the clerk for directions to Hocking Hills cabins. The clerk recognized him from the missing person flyer we sent out. Called it in.”
“Is the sheriff coming?”
“On his way. But it’ll take him 45 minutes to get here. These roads are bad at night.”
I swore.
45 minutes was an eternity.
“Get everyone inside. Lock all the doors. Close the shutters. I want the men positioned at the front and back. Rifles ready. If he shows up, you stop him. Non-lethal if you can. But if he comes near this house? You do whatever you have to do. Understood?”
Tom nodded.
“Understood.”
He ran off to give the orders.
I went back inside.
Mom was coming down the stairs, the boys in her arms.
She’d heard.
“Is he coming?” she asked, tight.
“We don’t know for sure. But we’re ready. Everyone upstairs. Now. Lock the bedroom door. Don’t come out for anyone but me. Not the guards. Not the sheriff. No one. Say the word and I’ll come get you.”
Mom nodded.
She took Claire’s hand.
“Come on, honey. Let’s get the boys safe.”
Claire didn’t move.
She looked at me.
Terror in her eyes.
“I’m not leaving you.”
“Claire—”
“No.” She stepped closer. Voice steady. Hard. “I’m not hiding upstairs while you fight him alone. I’m staying right here. With you.”
I wanted to argue.
To force her upstairs.
But I saw the look in her eyes.
She wasn’t going to budge.
“Fine. But you stay behind me. No matter what. You hear me?”
She nodded.
We locked the front door.
Bolted it.
Pushed the heavy oak table in front of it.
Locked the back door.
Closed all the wooden shutters on the windows.
The house went dark.
Quiet.
I grabbed the shotgun from the gun case by the fireplace.
Loaded it.
Click.
Claire grabbed a heavy iron poker from the hearth.
Held it tight.
We stood in the middle of the living room.
Backs almost touching.
Listening.
The wind howled outside.
A branch scraped against the roof.
Nothing else.
Minutes ticked by.
Five.
Ten.
Fifteen.
Thirty.
Nothing.
“Maybe he changed his mind,” Claire whispered.
“Maybe.”
But I didn’t believe it.
Ray had come this far.
He wasn’t going to turn back now.
And then.
The sound of an engine.
Far away.
Getting louder.
Closer.
Claire’s hand found mine.
Sweaty. Cold.
The engine got louder.
Roaring up the dirt road.
Tires spitting gravel.
It stopped at the end of the driveway.
Silence.
Then.
A car door slammed.
Loud.
Echoing through the woods.
Footsteps.
Heavy.
Unsteady.
Drunk.
“Claire!”
A voice.
Deep. Gravelly.
Full of hate.
Ray.
“I know you’re in there, you little bitch! Come out! We have unfinished business!”
Claire trembled.
I squeezed her hand.
“Stay here.”
I crept to the front window.
Peeked through a crack in the shutter.
He was standing at the bottom of the porch steps.
Tall.
Gaunt.
Face covered in tattoos.
A scar ran down his left cheek.
He held a beer bottle in one hand.
A knife in the other.
The guards were hidden in the trees.
I could just make out their shapes.
Waiting for my signal.
“Come on, Claire!” Ray yelled. “Or I’ll burn the whole place down with you and those brats inside! I swear I will!”
He took a step up the porch.
That was all I needed.
“Now!” I yelled.
The guards burst from the trees.
Flashlights on.
Rifles raised.
“FREEZE! DROP THE KNIFE!”
Ray spun around.
Surprised.
Then he laughed.
A horrible, wet sound.
“You think four little boys with guns scare me? I’ve been in prison for twelve years. I’ve killed men bigger than you for breakfast.”
He raised the knife.
“Drop it!” one of the guards yelled again.
“Fuck you.”
Ray turned back to the door.
Raised his boot to kick it in.
I threw the table aside.
Unlocked the door.
Slammed it open.
Stepped out onto the porch.
Shotgun raised.
Pointed right at his chest.
“Get off my property,” I said, voice cold as ice. “Now.”
Ray stopped.
He looked at me.
At the gun.
Laughed again.
“You must be the ex-husband. The rich boy. Claire told me all about you. How you’re too much of a coward to take care of your own kids. How she had to run because you didn’t want them.”
He spat on the porch.
“Give me $100,000. Right now. And I’ll walk away. You’ll never see me again. Refuse… and I’ll gut you like a fish. Then I’ll take my time with Claire. And the brats.”
My finger tightened on the trigger.
“I’m not giving you a dime. And you’re never going to touch any of them again. Last chance. Walk away. Or I shoot.”
Ray smiled.
Yellow teeth.
Evil.
“You don’t have the guts.”
He took a step toward me.
Knife raised.
I fired.
BLAM.
The shot went wide.
I’d aimed at the porch at his feet.
Warning shot.
Ray jumped.
Then he snarled.
“Wrong move, rich boy.”
He lunged.
Fast.
Faster than I expected.
I fired again.
Missed.
He was on me.
The knife came down.
I blocked with the shotgun.
Metal clanged.
We fell back into the house.
Tumbling over the coffee table.
The knife skittered across the floor.
Ray punched me in the face.
Hard.
Stars exploded behind my eyes.
He hit me again.
In the ribs.
I gasped.
He climbed on top of me.
Hands around my throat.
Squeezing.
“Die,” he hissed. “Fucking die.”
Black spots danced in my vision.
I couldn’t breathe.
I reached out.
Felt the iron poker on the floor beside me.
Claire.
I grabbed it.
Swing with every ounce of strength I had left.
CRACK.
It hit Ray in the side of the head.
He grunted.
His hands loosened.
I rolled him off me.
Gasping for air.
I got to my feet.
Kicked the knife away.
Kicked him in the ribs.
Hard.
He curled into a ball.
Moaning.
The guards ran in.
Tom right behind them.
“Secure him!” Tom yelled.
Two guards pulled Ray to his feet.
Handcuffed him.
He was bleeding from the head.
Still struggling.
Still yelling.
“This isn’t over! I’ll kill you all! You hear me? I’ll—”
Tom punched him in the jaw.
Hard.
Ray went silent.
Dropped his head.
Out cold.
“Get him out of here,” Tom said. “Wait for the sheriff in the driveway.”
They dragged him out.
I stood there.
Breathing hard.
Face throbbing.
Ribs screaming.
Then I heard it.
Claire.
Crying.
I turned.
She was standing in the doorway.
Holding herself.
Shaking.
I walked over to her.
Pulled her into my arms.
She sobbed into my chest.
“He’s gone,” I whispered into her hair. “It’s over. He’s never going to hurt anyone again. I promise.”
She held me tighter.
And upstairs.
The boys started to cry.
Loud.
Scared by all the noise.
We pulled apart.
Looked at each other.
And for the first time all night.
We smiled.
May you like
It was over.
We were safe.
