Chapter 7 - The Midnight Siege
The ringing of the phone sounded like a death knell in the quiet farmhouse.
Wyatt didn't hesitate. He reached across the counter, flipped the speaker button, and let the line connect.
“I know she’s in there, Miller,” David’s voice rasped through the speaker. Gone was the smooth, corporate executive. Gone was the polished charm. His tone was jagged, dripping with venom. “You think you’re smart, don't you? You think hiding behind your dead sister’s name makes you a hero?”
Wyatt leaned over the phone, his voice dropping into a low, terrifying tone. “You’re trespassing, David. State police are six minutes away.”
A cold, mocking laugh came through the speaker. “Six minutes is an eternity out here in the woods, Wyatt. I bought off the county dispatcher three years ago when I set up my offshore accounts. Your little distress call from the hospital? It never got logged into the state database.”
My blood turned to ice. The dispatcher. He had bought someone inside the local precinct. That was how he had stayed hidden for seven years!
“I don't want you, Miller,” David spat. “I want my wife. She belongs to me. Her life belongs to me. Hand her over, and I’ll leave you to rot in this dump. Refuse... and I’ll burn this farmhouse to the ground with all three of you inside.”
The line went dead.
Outside, the distant rumble of the Mercedes engine revved high. The sound of metal snapping echoed through the pine trees as David rammed his heavy vehicle through the wooden gate posts.
“Evelyn!” Wyatt roared, racking the bolt of the shotgun with a lethal clack-clack. “Get Sarah into the root cellar under the kitchen floor! Locked doors, bolt the iron hatch!”
“Wyatt, no!” I screamed, grabbing his sleeve. “He’s crazy! He has nothing left to lose!”
Wyatt turned to me, his big hand reaching out to touch my cheek gently. “He took my sister, Sarah. He is not taking you.”
Evelyn grabbed my arm, her strength astonishing for her age, dragging me toward the hidden floor door beneath the pantry carpet. She lifted the heavy oak hatch, pushing me down the concrete steps into the dark, cool root cellar beneath the floorboards.
“Stay low, child,” Evelyn commanded, pulling the hatch shut above us and sliding the heavy iron deadbolt into place just as the front windows of the farmhouse shattered into a thousand glittering pieces.
Above our heads, chaos unleashed.
Heavy boots thundered across the hardwood floor. Screams echoed—dark, vicious threats from David, answered by the deafening, bone-shaking blast of Wyatt’s shotgun firing into the ceiling dust.
BOOM!
Wood splintered. Glass rained down.
“Where is she?” David screamed above us, his voice raw and insane. “Where is my three million dollars?!”
“She’s out of your reach, Vance!” Wyatt’s voice thundered back, followed by the heavy impact of two bodies slamming into the kitchen wall right above our heads.
The ceiling joists groaned. Plaster dust trickled down onto my hair as I huddled in the corner of the cellar, clutching my eight-month-pregnant stomach with both hands, praying with every cell of my body for my baby girl to survive the night.
Then came a sickening, heavy thud.
May you like
A groaning sound echoing from Wyatt.
Silence fell over the kitchen above.
