Chapter 8 - The Legal Trap
The storm cellar was pitch black,
smelling of damp earth,
and old rot.
I held Noah close,
my hand covering his mouth,
as he trembled in fear.
Above us,
heavy boots walked across the floorboards.
"She's not here,"
Ethan's voice boomed.
He was there too.
They were hunting me together.
"Check the kitchen,"
my father commanded.
"She couldn't have gone far on foot."
Their footsteps moved directly over our heads.
The dust fell through the cracks,
landing on my face,
stinging my eyes.
"The safe is open,"
Ethan snarled.
"She took the ledger."
"If she gives that to the fops,"
"we are done, Arthur."
Arthur.
My father.
Hearing Ethan use his first name,
like business partners,
made me want to vomit.
"We'll find her,"
my father replied coldly.
"She's emotional,"
"she'll make a mistake."
They moved outside,
their voices fading into the wind.
I waited,
counting to a thousand,
listening to the silence return.
Finally,
I pushed the hatch open,
crawling back into the kitchen.
The cabin was empty.
The front door hung off its hinges.
I couldn't use my car.
The tires were shredded.
But I knew there was an old tractor,
in the barn down the hill.
I carried Noah through the dark woods,
tripping over roots,
scratched by briars.
The barn was falling apart,
but the keys were in the ignition.
The engine roared to life,
loud and thunderous,
breaking the night silence.
I didn't care about the noise.
I slammed the pedal down,
crashing through the old wooden doors,
driving out onto the dirt road.
I drove the tractor for three miles,
until I reached the main highway,
where a passing trucker stopped.
He saw my bleeding face,
my crying child,
and opened his cab door.
"Need help, ma'am?"
he asked,
his face full of concern.
"Take me to the police station,"
I gasped,
climbing inside.
"Please."
I thought I was finally safe.
But I didn't know,
that Ethan had already been there.
May you like
The legal trap,
was already set.
