Chapter 6 - The Final Draft
Time slowed to a crawl. Clara didn't pull the trigger—she knew a gunshot wound could be spun in court by high-priced lawyers, turning her from a victim into an aggressor. Instead, she sidestepped his clumsy, pain-fueled lunge.
As Travis stumbled past her, Clara swung the heavy steel flashlight she held in her left hand, catching him squarely on the side of the knee. There was a sickening crack, and Travis collapsed to the hardwood floor with a howl of agony.
He scrambled like a wounded animal, reaching for the dropped gun. Clara kicked the weapon under the bed. She stood over him, the flashlight raised, the Glock pointed down. Her chest heaved, adrenaline flooding her veins, threatening to push her over the edge into pure violence. The urge to end it, right here, was intoxicating.
"Go ahead!" Travis spat, blood pooling in his mouth. "Do it! My old man will burn your whole world to ash!"
"Your old man is going to be sharing a cell block with you," Clara said coldly.
Downstairs, a violent crash echoed, followed by a heavy thud. Silence.
"Marcus?" Clara said into her mic.
"Clear downstairs," Marcus replied, panting heavily. "The second bogey is secured. Cops are actually on their way this time. APD tactical. Not your rural buddies."
Travis’s face drained of color. The arrogance, the dark, predatory gleam in his eyes, finally shattered. He looked around the room, realizing he was trapped, beaten by the woman he had underestimated.
"You trespassed in my home. You threatened my life," Clara said, crouching down so she was eye-level with him. She reached into her pocket and pulled out her burner phone. The screen was illuminated, showing an active, ongoing phone call. The timer read 12 minutes and 45 seconds.
"You see, Travis, I didn't just call Marcus," Clara whispered. "I have a friend at the FBI's Atlanta Field Office who consulted on my second book. He's been listening to this entire raid on a hot mic. The threats, the break-in, the gunshots. Your little Habersham County kingdom is done."
Sirens wailed in the distance, growing louder, multiplying, completely shattering the quiet of the Virginia-Highland neighborhood. Red and blue lights began to dance across the walls of the master bedroom, flashing through the blinds.
Travis stared at the phone, completely defeated. The monster of the woods had been reduced to a pathetic, broken man on her bedroom floor.
"How does it feel?" Clara asked softly, standing up as heavy boots pounded up her front steps. "To be written out of the story?"
The bedroom door burst open, tactical flashlights cutting through the darkness. The APD Swat team swarmed the room, screaming commands. Clara calmly lowered her weapons, placed them on the dresser, and raised her hands.
May you like
She had survived the woods. She had survived the city. She had survived him.
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