Chapter 5 - The Toll of Justice
The man roared in pain, his arm flailing wildly as he tried to shake the eight-year-old boy off his arm.
"You little brat!" he hissed, his voice a low, vicious snarl as he shoved Noah backward.
Noah hit the floor, his head striking the leg of the bedside table with a sharp, sickening crack.
"Noah!" Laura shrieked, lunging off the bed toward her son.
But the man was already moving. He reached down, his fingers locking around Evelyn's thin, frail wrist, his other hand gripping the silver ring, pulling at it with a brutal, uncaring force.
Evelyn let out a soft, weak gasp—the final, shallow breath of her life.
"No!" Laura screamed, clawing at the man's coat, her nails tearing through the green wool fabric as she tried to drag him away from her mother’s body.
The man ignored her, his fingers tightening on the ring.
But then, from the hallway outside, the bell began to ring.
It wasn't a slow, solemn toll.
It was a frantic, deafening clang—a wild, erratic rhythm that sounded like a building on fire.
Clang! Clang! Clang! Clang!
The sound crashed through the dim corridors, shattering the heavy silence of the night, vibrating through the walls of every room on the floor.
The man in the green coat froze, his face turning pale as he realized what the sound meant.
In a hospice, the bell meant one thing: Someone has died. Stop what you are doing. Look.
And within seconds, the hallway was no longer empty.
The door of Room 10 flew open.
The door of Room 12 slammed back against the wall.
Miriam Cole was running down the hall, her squeaky shoes sounding like a siren in the dark.
Arthur, the security guard, came rushing out of the stairwell, his flashlight beam swinging wildly across the walls.
"He's in Room 9!" Miriam’s voice screamed through the din. "He's in Room 9!"
The man in the green coat turned, panic finally replacing his cold arrogance as he realized he was trapped. He dropped Evelyn's hand, leaving the silver ring still in place on her finger, and lunged toward the window.
But the window was locked, the heavy safety glass designed to prevent accidents.
He turned back toward the door, but it was too late.
Arthur stood in the doorway, his heavy flashlight raised, his broad shoulders completely blocking the exit.
"Don't move," Arthur said, his voice a low, dangerous rumble as he aimed his flashlight directly into the thief's eyes.
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The man raised his hands, his knees buckling as he realized the entire floor of the hospice was watching him through the open door.
Behind him, on the floor, Noah Bennett slowly sat up, rubbing his bruised temple, a faint, triumphant smile touching his lips as the bell outside continued to ring.
