Chapter Forty-Eight #2
“On the side of the plant? I was there, tried to get cell service.” Jackson rubbed his face. “I should have climbed out. I was right there and decided to run back and try to help Mimi instead.” Jackson rubbed his face. “I should have run for help. I screwed up. I’m sorry, Ted.”
“You did what you thought was best. What’s done is done. We gotta get outta here, before it’s too late. Maybe Mitch is already down here. Shit. I wish I could think straight.”
They moved with trepidation, each step bringing with it renewed fear. Ted leaned on the wall as he walked at a snail’s pace, cringing with each footfall. He listened to Jackson’s quick breaths as they made their way down the dark hall, heading toward the room where Ted had entered the plant.
“Hurry,” Jackson whispered.
Ted could not hurry any better then he could quell his hammering heart. He fought to remain erect. Every step sent searing pains through him. His head swam in circles. They had to find help. There was no way they could overpower that maniac by themselves.
The thought that pressed in on Ted, though he hated to admit it, was, just what had Kara—or Mimi—done to deserve this?
As much as he disliked picking up the pieces of Kara’s broken life, he couldn’t imagine her doing anything that would warrant backlash as sick as this.
He felt as though he was caught in a nightmare, and worse, he couldn’t imagine the fear his wife and stepdaughter were enduring.
He used the anger that welled within him to push him forward.
“Marissa!” A deep voice echoed through the halls, sending Jackson to Ted’s side.
“He knows where we’re going,” Jackson cried.
“Shh,” Ted hissed.
“Marissa!” The man’s erratic tone heightened Ted’s determination. He had no idea who Marissa was, but he knew the man had Mimi. Where else could she be?
Jackson stopped walking. He closed his eyes tight and whispered, “I’m sorry, Nancy.” He opened his eyes and pulled back his shoulders, reaching for the wall for support. Jackson’s high-pitched, cracking voice startled Ted. “Mimi!”
Ted shot him a shocked look.
“If he’s calling for her, she’s still alive and he doesn’t know where she is. Let him find us instead,” Jackson said. “We can’t let that maniac hurt them like he did—” His eyes dropped to Ted’s side, then lifted and held Ted’s stare.
When had this squirrel of a man become a hero? It was a good plan, except that Ted couldn’t fight, Jackson was too small, and…the man had his gun. Shit. The gun.
“He’s got a gun.”
“No, he doesn’t,” Jackson spat. “I saw—”
“He’s got my gun.” Ted turned to show him his side.
Jackson’s eyes grew wide. He grabbed Ted’s arm. “C…come on,” he said in a thin voice. “We gotta get outta here.”
“No shit.”
Roland stormed toward the voices, the veins in his neck and forehead bulging. His gut ached. His hands stung so badly they were practically numb. Roland was sick of this petty shit. He was done messing around.
He stormed past the hall where the guy had shot himself, and stopped, staring at the puddle of blood, noting the empty space where his body had lain.
Roland stood with his jaw agape, momentarily dumbfounded.
The missing body sparked a vengeance that boiled his blood.
He let out a visceral yell, so loud it echoed long after he’d finished.
Idiots. He’d show them. He reached for the gun, relishing in the sting of it in his injured hand. He cocked the barrel, set his chin low, focused his eyes, and headed for the trouble that awaited him.
He stood in the passageway, listening to their frightened voices plan their escape.
The gun burned into his palm. He lifted his finger from the trigger guard, placing it securely on the cold, metal trigger.
Roland had very little exposure to guns.
He’d held a coworker’s gun once, after work, when they’d walked to their trucks together and the guy had just bought some kind of pistol and wanted to show it to Roland.
He’d said it was a gift for his wife. Roland had thought it odd—a gun as a gift for a woman.
Roland thought of Marissa, and the way she’d cast the Barbie doll aside like it was meaningless. He clenched his jaw. Images of the cake flying across the room returned. He breathed harder and heard a guttural sound come from deep within his lungs.
They were going to get away. He pushed aside the thoughts of Marissa and her unappreciative bullshit, and focused on the escaping troublemakers.
Roland broke into a reckless trot. The folds of his flesh jiggled.
His stomach bounced up and down, his sweaty hair slapped against his cheeks and eyes.
A great roar came from within his lungs as he burst out of the hall and into the room.
The man he’d tied up hung halfway out of the broken window.
Ted leaned against the wall, his body folded over. Blood dripped down the front of his pants leg. He lifted his eyes, holding the stare of the man who’d attacked him, who now moved at full-speed toward Jackson.
Jackson whipped his head around. His high-pitched wail filled the room. He used his feet to scramble up the wall.
Ted held onto the wall for support, and pushed his mangled body between them.
Roland grabbed Ted by the jacket and flung him across the room. His body hit the concrete wall with a thud, and the distinct crack of bones breaking. He crumpled to the floor. Blood poured from his mouth. His body stilled.
Jackson pulled himself up the wall and out the window.