Chapter 5 - The Confrontation in the PinesI moved through the tree line like a shadow, taking advantage of the roaring storm and the sound of the rain lashing against the pine needles to mask my footsteps.
Marissa was dragging one of the gasoline cans toward the driver’s side door of the Expedition. Her hair was pulled back in a tight bun, her yellow rain slicker gleaming in the dim red glow of the vehicle’s tail lights. Her face was set in a mask of cold, methodical concentration.
She reached for the handle of the driver’s door and pulled it open.
Inside, slumped sideways against the center console, was my son Brian. His face was pale, his mouth slightly open, completely unmoving under the heavy influence of the sedatives she had slipped into his drink.
Marissa unscrewed the cap of the gas can.
"MARISSA!" I roared, stepping out from the shadows of the pines into the bright glare of the SUV's interior light.
She gasped, dropping the gas can into the mud. She spun around, her hand reaching instantly into the pocket of her slicker.
When her hand came out, it wasn't a knife or a tool.
It was a sleek, small-frame .38 caliber revolver.
"You really are a persistent old man, aren't you, Thomas?" she sneered, holding the gun steady with both hands, pointing it directly at my chest. The rain streamed down her face, but her eyes were dry, burning with a psychotic intensity.
"Drop the gun, Marissa," I said, taking a slow, measured step forward, holding my flashlight low. "It's over. The police are at your house. Hazmat is there. Lily is at the hospital, and Mason is safe with the fire chief. They know everything."
A flicker of genuine rage crossed her features, ruining her cool composure. "That little brat... she should have been asleep! I gave her enough to knock out a full-grown horse!"
"She's eight years old, you monster!" I yelled, the rain soaking through my clothes to my skin. "She called me because she loved her family! Something you know nothing about!"
"Family?" Marissa laughed—a high, unnatural sound that was swallowed by the rumble of thunder overhead. "Family is an anchor, Thomas! Brian was weak. His children were money-draining parasites! I was going to give him a clean slate! A fresh start with his millions! And he never would have known!"
"He would have known," a raspy, broken voice spoke from inside the car.
Marissa froze.
Slowly, painfully, Brian leaned up from the center console. His eyes were bleary, unfocused, and red-rimmed, but he was awake. The sound of our shouting over the storm had pulled him back from the edge of the chemical stupor.
He looked at his wife standing in the mud with a gun, then at the gas can on the ground, and finally at me.
"Dad...?" Brian croaked, his voice thick and slurred. "What... what is happening?"
"Brian, stay down!" I yelled.
"Shut up!" Marissa shrieked, swinging the revolver away from me and pointing it straight at Brian’s head through the open car door. "Shut up, both of you!"
"Marissa... where are the kids?" Brian asked, his brain struggling through the heavy fog of the drugs. "Where... where is Lily? Where is Mason?"
"They're gone, Brian!" she screamed, her face contorted in madness. "They were holding us back! Don't you see? It was supposed to be just us! Us and the money! But your stupid father had to ruin it!"
Brian looked at the gun in her hand, then down at the gas can resting against his boots. The horrific reality of what his wife was doing finally broke through the chemical haze in his mind.
A look of raw, unadulterated heartbreak and fury washed over my son’s face.
"You hurt my children?" Brian whispered.
"They weren't my children!" Marissa shrieked.
In that single second of distraction, as she screamed at Brian, I made my move.
I lunged forward across the slick mud, swinging the heavy steel flashlight with all the strength left in my sixty-two-year-old body.
CRACK!
The flashlight struck Marissa’s right wrist. She let out a sharp cry of agony as the revolver flew from her grip, clattering against the wet hood of the SUV before tumbling down into the thick, dark mud below.
"You old bastard!" she screamed, lunging at me with her nails extended, clawing wildly for my eyes.
She managed to slice her nails across my cheek, burning red lines across my skin, but I wrapped my arms around her waist, using my momentum and weight to drive her down into the deep mud of the logging trail.
We struggled wildly in the downpour. She fought like a cornered wild animal, biting, kicking, and screaming curses that were drowned out by the thunder. But my anger gave me strength I didn't know I possessed. I pinned her wrists to the ground, my heavy chest heaving as I held her down in the freezing rain.
From the SUV, Brian stumbled out into the mud, collapsing to his knees beside us. He reached into the mud, found the fallen revolver, and tossed it far into the deep brush where no one would ever find it.
Then, he looked down at his wife, tears mingling with the rain pouring down his face.
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"It's over, Marissa," Brian wept, his heart breaking into a thousand pieces in the dark woods. "It's over."
In the distance, through the heavy pines, the flashing red and blue lights of half a dozen state trooper cruisers began to pierce the darkness, their sirens screaming as they navigated down the remote logging road toward us.
