Chapter 7 - THE SACRIFICE
“Graham, look out!” I screamed.
Graham ducked, but not fast enough. The heavy iron poker caught him on the shoulder with a sickening crack.
Graham groaned, falling to his knees.
Richard stood over him, raising the weapon for a second strike. “Your father ruined my life, Thomas! I’m not letting you walk out of here and tell him I don’t have the money!”
Before Richard could swing, Marissa threw herself forward.
She didn’t hesitate. My daughter, the girl who had spent her life shrinking into the shadows, tackled the man she once cried over.
She hit Richard hard in the chest, knocking him off balance. He stumbled backward, dropping the iron poker. It clattered loudly against the hardwood floor.
“Run!” Marissa screamed at me.
But Richard recovered instantly. He backhanded Marissa across the face. The strike was so vicious it sent her crashing onto my bed.
“No!” I lunged for the iron poker, but Richard kicked it under the bed.
He reached into his coat and pulled out a small, black handgun.
The room instantly went dead silent.
My breath caught in my throat. I raised my hands slowly. Marissa froze on the bed, holding her bleeding lip.
“Enough,” Richard gasped, pointing the gun at me, then at Marissa. “Everyone sit down on the floor. Now.”
Graham was still on his knees, clutching his shoulder. His face was pale, contorted in agony.
“You’re out of your mind, Richard,” Graham wheezed. “You fire that gun in a residential neighborhood, the cops will be here in two minutes.”
“Then I suggest you tell me where the old man hid the real money,” Richard aimed the gun directly at Marissa’s chest. “Because I am not leaving here empty-handed.”
“There is no money, Richard!” I cried out. “Arthur went bankrupt paying for your legal fees and your messes! That locket and that receipt are the only things he had left!”
Richard’s hands shook. He cocked the hammer of the gun.
“Liar.”
“She’s telling the truth,” Graham said quietly.
He forced himself to stand up. His right arm hung uselessly at his side, but he stepped squarely between the gun and Marissa.
“Get out of the way, boy,” Richard snarled.
“You want your debt cleared?” Graham asked, his voice eerily calm. He reached into his left pocket with his good hand.
“Hands where I can see them!” Richard shouted.
Graham slowly pulled out his cell phone.
The screen was lit up.
It showed an active call. The call duration was at twelve minutes.
The contact name on the screen read: 911 Dispatch.
Richard’s eyes went wide.
“I called them from the driveway,” Graham said softly. “Before I broke the front window. They heard everything. They heard you admit to the extortion. They heard you threaten her.”
As if on cue, the distant wail of police sirens pierced the night air.
Richard panicked. He looked at the phone, then at Marissa, then at the bedroom door.
“You set me up,” Richard hissed at Graham.
“I’m ending the cycle,” Graham replied.
Richard raised the gun, pointing it directly at Graham’s face.
“I’ll kill you,” Richard screamed.
“Then you’ll go to prison for murder instead of extortion,” Graham said, not flinching. He didn’t take his eyes off Richard. “Run, Richard. The sirens are getting closer.”
The red and blue flashing lights suddenly illuminated my bedroom window, casting eerie shadows across the shattered glass on the floor.
Richard lowered the gun. He looked at Marissa one last time. There was no love in his eyes. Only the bitter resentment of a man who had lost everything because of his own greed.
He turned and bolted down the hallway.
A second later, we heard the back door smash open.
Graham let out a long, shaky breath and collapsed onto the floor.
“Graham!” Marissa scrambled off the bed and dropped to her knees beside him.
I ran to the window. Two police cruisers had already pulled onto the front lawn. Officers were sprinting toward the back gate, flashlights cutting through the darkness.
“I’ve got you,” Marissa was saying, tearing a piece of her shirt to press against the bleeding gash on Graham’s shoulder. She was crying again, but this time, it wasn’t from heartbreak.
Graham looked up at her, his face pale.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered, his eyes closing. “I’m so sorry I lied.”
“Shhh,” Marissa stroked his hair. “Don’t talk. Just stay awake.”
I knelt beside them as the police burst through the front door.
Graham had lied about his name. He had lied about how they met. He was the son of a criminal.
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But as I watched him bleed on my floor, protecting my daughter with his own life, I realized one thing was undeniably true.
He hadn't lied about loving her.
