Chapter 5 - THE PRICE OF LEAVING
I fell to my knees, my fingers trembling as I picked up the silver watch.
The cracked glass. The worn leather strap.
“Where did you get this?” I choked out, tears blurring my vision.
Marco chuckled, applying pressure to his bleeding shoulder. “Mark was a smart boy. He was doing some contracting work at the old estate. He found out about the locked stairwell. He found out about me.”
My chest tightened. I couldn’t breathe.
“He came to me,” Marco continued. “Asked for money to keep quiet. But men like Mark don’t keep quiet. So I gave him a choice. Disappear forever, or watch his pretty young wife and his sick little boy have a tragic accident.”
He didn't abandon us.
For eight years, I had hated Mark. I had told Tyler his father left because it was too hard. I had carried the shame of being unwanted.
But he left to save our lives.
“You monster,” I whispered.
“Drop the gun, Vinny!” Natalie’s voice barked over the walkie-talkie. “I’m not playing! The boy is wheezing already!”
Vincent looked at me. He saw the broken pieces of my life scattered on the concrete floor.
Slowly, deliberately, Vincent lowered his weapon.
He ejected the magazine, pulled the slide back to eject the chambered round, and tossed the empty gun across the floor.
“Let the boy go, Natalie,” Vincent said, his voice terrifyingly calm. “This is between our families. The maid and her son have nothing to do with it.”
“Oh, but she does!” Natalie laughed bitterly over the radio. “She humiliated me tonight! She brought that old hag into my engagement party!”
Marco kicked Vincent’s empty gun away. “Smart boy. Now, put your hands on your head and start walking toward the stairs.”
Vincent obeyed, his eyes locked on mine. Trust me, his gaze seemed to say.
We marched up the dark stairwell, Marco trailing behind us with a backup weapon drawn.
When we reached the massive gourmet kitchen, the sight made my knees buckle.
Tyler was sitting on a barstool, his small shoulders heaving as he struggled for air. His face was pale, his lips carrying a faint blue tint.
Natalie stood three feet away, holding Tyler’s red rescue inhaler over the roaring flames of the gas stove.
“Mom…” Tyler gasped, gripping the edge of the marble counter.
“Tyler! I’m here, baby!” I tried to run to him, but Marco grabbed my hair, yanking me backward. I cried out in pain.
Vincent’s composure finally shattered.
“Take your hands off her, Marco,” Vincent snarled, stepping forward.
Marco pressed the barrel of his gun into the back of my neck. “Another step, Vinny, and she paints the cabinets.”
Natalie smiled, her perfect makeup now smeared and frantic. In her other hand, she held the leather-bound ledger she had stolen from the music box.
“You ruined everything, Vincent,” Natalie spat. “My father died in prison because he took the fall for your family! I was supposed to be the lady of this house! I was supposed to get it all back!”
“You were never going to be anything but a parasite,” Vincent said coldly.
Natalie’s eyes flashed with rage. She moved the inhaler closer to the flame.
Tyler let out a wet, rattling cough. His eyes rolled back slightly.
“Give him the medicine, Natalie!” I screamed, struggling against Marco’s grip. “He’ll die! Please!”
“Then tell Vincent to sign over the offshore accounts,” Natalie demanded. “Marco gets the territory, I get the money, and you get your brat. Everyone wins.”
“Fine,” Vincent said instantly. “I’ll sign whatever you want. Just give him the inhaler.”
Natalie smiled triumphantly. “I knew you were weak. Just like your mother.”
She lowered the inhaler, stepping away from the stove.
But as she moved, a shadow detached itself from the pantry behind her.
It was Ruth.
The seventy-six-year-old piano teacher had never left the house.
Ruth raised a heavy cast-iron skillet and swung it with all her fragile might, cracking it directly against the back of Natalie’s knees.
Natalie shrieked, collapsing to the floor. The inhaler skittered across the tiles.
Vincent didn’t hesitate.
He spun around, grabbing Marco’s wrist and twisting it with sickening force. The gun fired into the ceiling before dropping to the floor. Vincent drove his elbow into Marco’s face, sending the older man crashing into the refrigerator.
I dove across the kitchen floor, sliding on the polished tiles.
I grabbed the red inhaler, scrambled up, and pressed it to Tyler’s lips.
“Breathe, baby, breathe,” I sobbed, pressing the canister.
Tyler inhaled sharply. The medicine hissed into his lungs. He coughed violently, then took a deep, shuddering breath. The color slowly began to return to his face.
Behind me, Marco was groaning on the floor. Vincent stood over him, holding Marco’s own gun.
Natalie was weeping on the floor, rubbing her knees.
Ruth stood panting, still holding the skillet. “Nobody threatens a child in front of me,” she said breathlessly.
Vincent looked at Ruth, a rare smile crossing his face. “Remind me to double your pension, Mrs. Jensen.”
He turned his attention back to Marco.
“It’s over,” Vincent said. “The police are already on their way. Daniel triggered the silent alarm before he passed out.”
Marco spat blood onto the floor. “You think the cops scare me? I have judges in my pocket. I’ll be out by morning.”
Vincent knelt down and picked up the leather ledger Natalie had dropped.
He flipped it open.
“I don’t think so, Uncle,” Vincent said softly.
He pulled a folded piece of paper from between the pages and held it up.
It wasn’t a financial record.
It was a pawn shop ticket. Dated three weeks ago.
“You pawned my father’s gold lighter,” Vincent said, his voice turning deadly. “The one he was buried with.”
Marco’s face finally went completely pale.
“You dug up my father’s grave,” Vincent whispered. “Why?”
I looked closely at the pawn ticket in Vincent’s hand.
On the back, someone had scribbled a note in frantic handwriting:
May you like
The autopsy lied. Check the bones.
TITLE: THE BONES DON'T LIE
