Chapter 5 - The Fourth Morning
The fourth morning breaks gray and heavy, choked with a thick, sulfurous mountain fog that clings to the grass like a shroud.
My body is shutting down.
The skin around my neck has rubbed raw against the coarse dirt, weeping a mixture of sweat, plasma, and blood. My vision swims with bright, dancing spots whenever I try to focus on a blade of grass swaying near my ear.
Up on the porch, the screen door squeaks open.
Julian steps out, looking rumpled and irritable. He hasn't shaved, and his eyes are bloodshot from a night of heavy drinking and nervous anticipation.
“Time to wake up, sleeping beauty,” he mutters, walking over to the edge of the pit.
He doesn't bother with the water pitcher this time. Instead, he crouches down, grabs a handful of dry dirt, and drops it deliberately onto my forehead, watching it slide down into my eyes.
“The sheriff’s office called about twenty minutes ago,” Julian says, a nasty smirk twisting his mouth. “Miller is on her way with a search warrant. She thinks she’s going to be a hero. But she’s too late, Clara. The bank transfers cleared an hour ago. You’re legally bankrupt, medically incapacitated, and entirely at my mercy.”
I don't blink. I don't flinch. Through swollen, crusted eyelids, I look straight up at him with a gaze so devoid of fear that Julian actually hesitates, his smirk faltering for a fraction of a second.
“You’re a monster, Julian,” I whisper through the straw, my voice a dry, rasping hiss.
“I’m a survivor,” he snaps back, raising his hand as if he wants to strike my buried face.
Before his hand can descend, a sharp, piercing sound shatters the quiet morning air.
Wooo-ooo-oooo.
The unmistakable wail of multiple police cruisers tearing down our private gravel road, their red and blue emergency strobes painting the fog in flashing streaks of crimson and cobalt.
Julian freezes. His hand drops to his side.
“Damn it,” he curses under his breath, spinning around toward the front of the house.
Heavy car doors slam shut. Rapid footsteps echo on the stone pathway leading around the side of the garage.
“Sheriff’s Department! Nobody move!” Detective Miller’s voice rings out, sharp and commanding.
Julian’s face drains of all color. He spins back toward me, panic overriding his arrogant facade.
May you like
“If you tell them a single word about the last four days, Clara,” Julian hisses, his fingers digging frantically into the loose dirt near my right shoulder as he tries to kick loose soil over my head to hide me, “I swear to God I’ll make sure your sister never sees you or the baby again!”
He scrambles backward, diving off the edge of the pit just as Detective Miller and two uniformed deputies round the corner of the house, weapons drawn.
