Chapter 9 - DRAWING THE LINE
The bedroom door handle rattled violently.
“Lena!” Evan screamed, slamming his body against the wood. “Open the door!”
“Help is on the way, they’re almost there!” the 911 dispatcher told me.
Evan slammed into the door again. The wood cracked. The dresser groaned, sliding back an inch.
“Lena, I will burn this house down with you inside it!” he howled.
I looked at Noah. My sweet, quiet boy who had saved my life on the kitchen floor. The boy who had picked up the phone when I was too broken to move.
The fear evaporated. A white-hot, blinding fury took its place. I was done running. I was done hiding.
I pushed out of the closet. I grabbed a heavy brass lamp from the bedside table, wrapping the cord around my wrist.
The door splintered open. Evan stumbled into the room, his eyes wild, holding a heavy metal crowbar. He looked like a madman, soaked in rain, his face bruised and desperate.
He lunged for me.
I didn't cower. I stepped into his swing, dodging the crowbar, and swung the heavy brass lamp with every ounce of strength I had left. It connected with the side of his head with a sickening crack.
Evan staggered backward, dropping the weapon, completely stunned.
Before he could recover, my father was in the doorway. He didn't hesitate. He tackled Evan to the floor, pinning him face-down, driving a knee into his spine.
Red and blue lights flooded the bedroom window. The front door burst open downstairs, and the shouts of police officers filled the house.
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“We’re up here!” Dad yelled.
Within seconds, officers swarmed the room. They hauled Evan to his feet, slapping heavy steel handcuffs onto his wrists. As they dragged him away, bleeding and defeated, he didn't look at me. He just looked at the floor. The monster was finally broken.
