Chapter 8 - THE CONFRONTATION
The stairwell was a concrete echo chamber. The blare of the fire alarms was muffled here, replaced by the terrifying sound of Eleanor’s slow, deliberate breathing.
I backed up against the heavy fire door, but it had clicked shut behind me. I was trapped on the landing between the fourth and third floors. Eleanor blocked the stairs going down.
"You set the fire," I choked out, clutching Leo tighter to my chest. He stirred in his sleep, a soft whimper escaping his bandaged face.
"A small trash can fire in the third-floor restroom," Eleanor said dismissively, stepping over the unconscious security guard. "Enough to cause a panic. Enough to bring you out to me. The Lord works through fire, Elena. You should know that by now."
"You're not taking him, Eleanor." I braced my legs. I was terrified, but a primal, violent instinct surged through my veins. If she lunged for us, I was going to kick her down the concrete steps.
Eleanor didn't lunge. Instead, she dropped the heavy fire extinguisher. It clanged against the concrete. She unzipped her soot-stained coat.
"I didn't come to fight you, Elena," she said, her tone suddenly shifting to a reasonable, grandmotherly cadence that made my skin crawl. "I came to make a bargain."
She reached into her coat pocket and pulled out a thick manila envelope. She tossed it on the landing at my feet. It landed with a heavy, substantial thud.
"There is a quarter of a million dollars in untraceable cash in that envelope," Eleanor said smoothly. "And the deed to a house in Costa Rica. Untouched by Martha, untouched by the family trust. It’s yours."
I stared at the envelope. "What?"
"Take the money. Walk down these stairs, walk out the back exit, and disappear. You can start a new life. A beautiful life. You’re young." Eleanor’s eyes gleamed with a fanatical, terrifying light. "Just leave the boy with me."
The audacity of it paralyzed me for a fraction of a second. She truly believed her wealth and her delusion could overwrite my motherhood.
"You think you can buy my son?" I whispered, my voice vibrating with rage.
"He’s not just your son!" Eleanor screamed, the facade shattering. "He carries the rot! The same rot Thomas had! If I don't finish the purification, he will die anyway! I am trying to save him!"
"You killed Thomas!" I screamed back, the acoustics of the stairwell amplifying my voice into a roar. "You boiled a baby to death because you are sick in the head! And you scarred Mark for life!"
Eleanor flinched as if I had struck her. Her face twisted into a mask of pure, ugly fury. She lunged forward, her hands outstretched like claws, aiming directly for Leo.
I didn't think. I spun my body, protecting Leo with my back, and drove my elbow backward with every ounce of strength I had.
It connected with a sickening crunch against Eleanor’s nose.
She shrieked, stumbling backward, clutching her face. Blood poured over her lips. But she didn't fall. She grabbed the metal handrail, her eyes wild, animalistic. She reached into her pocket again.
I braced for a weapon. A knife. A gun.
Instead, a heavy set of metal keys jingled in her hand. "You're a foolish girl," she spat, blood staining her teeth. "Mark will understand. He always understands."
Before she could step forward again, the heavy fire door above us burst open.
"Mom. Stop."
It was Mark. He was panting, drenched in sweat, his eyes locked on Eleanor. He must have bypassed the elevators and run up four flights of stairs.
Eleanor froze. "Mark. Help me. She’s trying to take the boy."
Mark walked slowly down the steps, placing himself squarely between me and his mother. He looked at the unconscious guard. He looked at the blood on Eleanor’s face. And he looked at me, clutching our baby, trembling in the corner.
"It's over, Mom," Mark said. His voice wasn't shaking anymore. It was hollowed out, empty of the lifelong fear he had carried.
"Mark, the old skin—"
"There is no old skin!" Mark roared, the sound echoing like a gunshot. "It's eczema! It's a rash! You killed my brother because you are insane, and you ruined my life, and you are not touching my son!"
Eleanor stared at him, genuinely shocked. The unbreakable bond of control she had over him had snapped.
"You're ungrateful," she hissed, clutching the baptismal gown to her chest. "I suffered for you."
"The police are coming up the stairs, Mom. I told them you were here."
Below us, the heavy door on the second floor slammed open, and the sound of heavy boots echoed up the stairwell. "Police! Drop your weapons!"
Eleanor looked down the stairwell. Then she looked at Mark. Her face went completely blank. She dropped the keys. She dropped the envelope of money.
But as she dropped her purse to raise her hands, something slipped out of the side pocket and fluttered onto the stairs.
A piece of thick, glossy paper.
Mark looked down at it. I looked down at it.
It was a printed plane ticket. A one-way ticket to Zurich.
But it wasn't for Eleanor.
The name on the ticket was Leo Davis.
She wasn't going to take him to the cabin to bury him. She was going to kidnap him, smuggle him out of the country, and continue her "treatments" where no one could ever stop her.
Reynolds burst onto the landing, his gun drawn. He saw Eleanor, covered in soot and blood, and slammed her against the concrete wall, cuffing her brutally fast.
Eleanor didn't struggle. She just turned her head, looking at Mark with dead, empty eyes.
"He'll rot without me," she whispered.
May you like
"Take her away," Mark said, turning his back on her. He walked over to me, falling to his knees on the concrete, burying his face in the blue blanket wrapped around Leo.
He didn't ask for forgiveness. He just wept.
