Chapter 6 - The Cold Confrontation
I squinted against the light,
my hand instinctively moving toward the notebook in my pocket.
Victor was standing at the end of the hall,
a heavy revolver hanging loosely in his hand.
He wasn't pretending anymore.
The mask of the loyal manager had slipped,
revealing the jagged edges of the monster beneath.
"I thought you were with the babies,"
he said,
stepping closer.
"You should be cherishing these final moments,
don't you think?"
I forced my face to remain calm,
the way Claire used to do when she was facing a difficult design.
"I couldn't sleep,"
I said.
"I wanted to make sure the generator was holding up."
Victor tilted his head,
the light dancing off the barrel of the gun.
"The generator is fine. My men are making sure of that."
"In fact,
they’re making sure of everything."
He stopped five feet away from me.
"You were always a bit too soft,
Daniel. Claire was the one with the spine."
"When she died,
I thought you’d just fade away. It would have been cleaner."
"But you hung on. For the girls."
"And now,
because of that girl Emma,
things have become... complicated."
I looked him in the eye,
letting the fury simmer just below the surface.
"She didn't do anything but save my children,
Victor."
"She’s a thief,"
he spat.
"And tomorrow,
the whole world will see her as one."
"I’ve already spoken to the papers. 'Grieving Widower’s Children Kidnapped by Local Drifter'."
"It’s a perfect story."
He raised the gun,
aiming it at my chest.
"But stories need an ending. And I think it’s time for yours."
"You're going to kill me in my own house?"
I asked.
"In a blizzard?"
he countered.
"A tragic accident. The stress was too much. Daniel Whitmore couldn't handle the loss of his children and took his own life."
"It happens every day."
I looked at the gun,
then back at his face.
"You forgot one thing,
Victor."
He smirked.
"And what’s that?"
"I’m not the only one who knows the truth."
At that moment,
the fire alarm began to wail,
a deafening,
pulsing scream that filled the hallway.
The overhead sprinklers hissed to life,
drenching us in ice-cold water.
Victor blinked,
distracted for a split second by the sudden chaos.
It was all the time I needed.
I lunged forward,
my shoulder hitting his midsection,
driving him back against the wall.
The gun went off,
the bullet whining past my ear and shattering a vase.
We hit the floor,
tangled in a mess of limbs and wet carpet.
Victor was strong,
but I was fighting for the lives of my daughters.
I slammed my fist into his jaw,
feeling the bone crack.
He groaned,
the gun sliding out of his hand and skittering across the floor.
I scrambled for it,
but a heavy boot came down on my wrist.
One of the guards had arrived.
"Get him off me!"
Victor yelled,
spitting blood.
I was hauled to my feet,
my arms pinned behind my back.
Victor stood up,
wiping his mouth,
his eyes burning with a murderous light.
"Change of plans,"
he growled.
"Lock him in the basement. We’ll finish this when the storm breaks."
"And the girls?"
the guard asked.
May you like
Victor looked toward my bedroom.
"I’ll take care of them myself."
