Chapter 8 - THE PRICE OF SILENCE
The basement felt like a tomb,
the only sound the low hum of the water heater.
Gary’s grip on Ethan was iron,
the knife a silver sliver against his neck.
“Don’t move,
Brooke,”
Gary warned.
“Or he’s gone.”
I stood perfectly still,
the envelope from the shed still clutched in my hand.
“I have the letters,
Gary,”
I said,
trying to keep my voice steady.
“The ones Dad wrote about you.”
“The ones about the safety violations.”
“The police are already on their way.”
I was lying about the police,
but I hoped he wouldn't know.
Gary laughed,
a sound that echoed off the concrete walls.
“The police in this town are on the company’s payroll,
kid.”
“They aren't coming.”
“But the log book...
that’s the one thing that can't be bought.”
“The original signatures.
The dates.”
“That’s the only thing that matters.”
He looked at Ethan.
“Tell me,
Ethan.
Is it in the furnace?”
Ethan didn't speak.
He just kept rocking his head.
“Too loud,”
he whispered.
“The blue train is too loud.”
I saw Ethan’s hand slowly reach into his pocket.
He pulled out a small,
metal train.
The blue one.
He gripped it tight.
Suddenly,
my mother appeared at the top of the stairs.
She wasn't crying anymore.
She was holding my father’s old hunting rifle.
“Let him go,
Gary,”
she said,
her voice like iron.
Gary froze.
He looked at the rifle,
then at her.
“You don't have the guts,
Sarah.”
“You took the money.
You’re as guilty as I am.”
“I took the money to keep my kids safe,”
she replied,
stepping onto the first stair.
“But you aren't making them safe.”
“You’re destroying them.”
“Let him go.”
Gary’s eyes darted between me and my mother.
He knew he was cornered.
He pulled Ethan closer,
the knife nicking his skin.
A single drop of blood ran down Ethan’s neck.
Ethan let out a sharp,
piercing scream.
The sound shattered the tension.
Ethan swung the metal train with all his strength.
It caught Gary right in the eye.
Gary roared in pain,
dropping the knife and clutching his face.
I lunged forward,
grabbing Ethan and pulling him away.
My mother didn't hesitate.
She fired.
The bullet hit the concrete near Gary’s feet,
sending shards of stone flying.
Gary scrambled back,
tripping over a stack of old boxes.
He hit his head against the furnace with a sickening thud.
He slumped to the floor,
unconscious.
Silence returned to the basement.
Ethan buried his face in my shirt,
his body shaking with silent sobs.
I held him tight,
feeling the weight of the last few years finally beginning to lift.
My mother walked down the remaining stairs and dropped the rifle.
She looked at Gary,
then at us.
“It’s over,”
she whispered.
“I’m calling the real police.”
I looked at the blue furnace.
I walked over and reached behind the casing.
My fingers brushed against something cold and hard.
I pulled it out.
A small,
red leather-bound book.
May you like
My father’s logs.
The truth.
