Simon rammed into the stairs again. With a final groan of protesting metal, the stairs dislodged from the tank and Trent scrambled to stay upright as they toppled over. He made a last desperate grab for the top edge of the tank, then spent a split-second flying through the air, before hitting the ground again.
Trent's left hip and thigh took the brunt of the impact and he managed to roll out of the way an instant before the metal staircase crashed to the ground where he'd hit. He rolled again and turned towards the tank. Lora's eyes were closed and she wasn't moving. He lurched to his feet. Tried to calculate how many minutes she'd been in the water.
Simon straightened and tucked the gun into his waistband. He moved forward and swung one of his massive fists at the tank. His fist hit and bounced off, causing a loud thud and a slight vibration up the side of the tank. Simon shrugged. “Unbreakable,” he said, as he shook out his hand and the echo of the impact faded. “She's dead, Trent, let her go.” He ducked his head and walked towards the door.
If his truck was closer, and he could get to his tools there might be a chance. Without the stairs, there was no way to get to the top of the tank. But Trent knew without looking again, that Lora was floating motionless in the water, that she'd already been under too long to still be alive.
He whirled towards Simon. The son of a bitch just stood in the doorway, calmly tapping the gun against his thigh. “You're better off without her, you know.”
Trent stared at him, shock and anger flooding his senses. He couldn't believe what he was hearing, what he was seeing on Simon's face. The guy actually thought he was doing Trent a favor. Trent took a step towards him, then turned back towards the tank one last time. He stood, scanning the water. There was no movement inside the tank. No ripples. No bubbles. He felt his throat close.
“I'll let you say your goodbyes,” Simon said with a satisfied smirk, then walked out into the hall.
Tears blurred Trent's vision. Nicole was safe. His brother still had his family. At least he'd managed that. Fury burned in the pit of his stomach and his hands fisted. It wasn't over. Not yet. Not while Simon and Caroline still breathed.
Simon turned back around as Trent ran down the hall towards him. He smiled, dropped the gun, and opened his stance as though welcoming a long lost brother.
Trent didn't slow. Their bodies crashed together again. This time Trent had enough momentum to knock Simon to the ground. The big man hit the floor hard, the air whooshing from his lungs. Trent took the opportunity to draw his fist back and land a solid punch to Simon's right eye.
Images flashed through Trent's mind. The first time he'd been led down this very same hallway at gunpoint. The endless drowning. Caroline's face. The fear in his niece's eyes. Lora's body floating in the tank. He smashed his fist again and again into Simon's face, his stomach, anywhere his fists could reach.
Breathing hard, he focused on the bloody pulp that was now Simon's face. The smile on his split lips made Trent pause, right fist in midair. The man was insane.
Simon grunted and with one heave, threw Trent's body off his then slowly got to his feet, shaking himself off.
Trent's head throbbed from the impact with the floor. He made a grab for Simon's legs, sending the big man crashing back to the floor inside the nearest doorway.
He crawled forward as Simon grabbed for his arm, and they rolled across the carpeted floor. Trent gasped as Simon pounded down on his injured shoulder.
Simon lurched to his feet again, blood dripping from his split lip. He cocked his head to the side, then looked down at Trent. “Come on, get up,” he taunted.
Trent knew there was no way he could beat Simon in a physical fight. Not on an ordinary day. But on this day, he didn't care what it took, didn't care if he lived or died. All that mattered was that this man standing in front of him who had cost him nearly everything he had, did not leave this house alive.
He channeled the rage, used it to propel him across the room, his hands reaching for Simon's throat. Simon sidestepped him, grabbing Trent's arm as they reeled around off-balance. The room spun once. Twice. They hit the oversize picture window and 400 pounds of male crashed through the glass and went flying through the air.
Simon's body hit the ground first and his eyes glazed over for a split second. Trent seized the advantage, his hands clamping down hard on Simon's throat. He lifted Simon's head, pounded it against the frozen ground. Once. Twice. The big man kicked his feet and scrabbled in the snow for purchase. Trent held on.
Simon raised one huge hand, hit Trent in the left temple. Trent saw white explosions of light, squeezed down even harder.
Simon's face reddened. This time he raised both hands, wrapping them around Trent's throat, his thumbs digging into Trent's windpipe, cutting off his oxygen supply.
Trent turned his head from side to side, trying to ease the pressure, but he didn't move his own hands. He looked down and their eyes locked, unblinking, neither afraid to die.
Trent's vision started to dim, but still he looked down into Simon's eyes, satisfied that the last thing he saw on earth would be Simon dying at his hands.
Without warning, Simon's head jerked once, then the left side exploded in a spray of blood and bone across the white snow.
The pressure around his neck eased and Trent fell backwards into the snow. He rubbed his throat with one hand and held himself up with the other as he gasped in a breath. He heard the crunch of footsteps, saw the dim shadow of a man highlighted by the rising sun, standing over him. Through the ringing in his ears, he heard a voice, forced his gaze upward, meeting the dark eyes of Detective Justice Woods.
Trent opened his mouth, swallowed hard, and tried again. “How?” Trent croaked. “How did you …”
Woods just shook his head. “Didn't think you needed that on your conscience too.” He paused. “I should wring your neck, but it seems someone's already had the pleasure.” His gaze swept over Trent. “You okay?”
Trent's throat closed again. “Lora. She's …” He couldn't finish the sentence.
“She's where? Inside the house still? With Nicole?”
Woods must have recognized the look on Trent's face. “No,” the cop said, his voice barely audible now.
Trent let his head drop down to his chest. He had nothing left. Lora was gone and the grief was overwhelming. He closed his eyes. Why was he still here and she was gone? It should be him dead in that tank. Not her.
Hearing Woods' sharp intake of breath, his head jerked up and he opened his eyes.
They both turned towards movement at the front of the house.
Trent blinked.
Lora stood on the front porch, breathing hard, water dripping from her clothes. Nicole was next to her, their hands linked tightly together.
For a long moment, no one moved.
“Uncle Trent,” Nicole shouted, breaking the silence as she ran across the yard towards him.
Lora limped forward, a few steps behind her.
Trent made it to his knees by the time his niece launched herself into his arms. “I ran like you told me to and then I hid in the closet,” she said breathlessly. He sat her down on his thigh and reached a hand for Lora. He couldn't speak as she moved to stand in front of him.
Lora looked down at Simon's body and cocked her head at Woods. “Nice work partner. Good to see you alive.”
“You too. Caroline?” Woods asked.
She shook her head. “Not in the house.”
Lora turned back to Trent, saw the blood running down his arm and onto the snow. “You're hurt,” she said.
Trent tried to move, but couldn't get his muscles to obey.
She took his hand, sank down on her knees in the snow in front of him.
“You're here,” Trent finally managed to say. “You're alive.”
She gently touched the side of his face, her hand trembling. “I'm alive.”
He coughed, cleared his throat. Breathed. They were all alive. He looked into Lora's face, desperately hoping what he sa
w in front of him was real. “I thought … I saw you die.”
Her eyes glistened. “Trent, I'm so sorry. I had to convince Simon I was dead. I didn't know what else to do.”
Trent's chest constricted, cutting off his air. He was so afraid to believe it was real. That she was real He gasped in a breath, not giving a damn about the tears flowing freely down his cheeks.
“Oh God,” Trent sobbed, pulling her closer.
Trent put one hand on the back of Nic’s neck, the other on Lora’s, pulling their foreheads to his as sirens sounded in the distance. His heart swelled, the powerful emotions drowning out the exhaustion and the pain.
Trent got Lora and Nic settled in Woods’ car. “Justice will drive you to the station.”
“What about you?” Lora asked.
“There's something I need to do first.” He just hoped he still possessed enough strength.
Lora turned to Nic who shook her head. She turned back to Trent. “We'll wait.”
He nodded once then started down the driveway at a jog.
Minutes later, he pulled his truck in front of Woods’ department sedan in the driveway. Reaching behind the driver's seat, he found his gear bag. He unzipped it and his fingers closed around the smooth wooden handle of his axe.
When he turned and shut the truck door behind him, Lora was standing next to Woods’ car. Her eyes narrowed in understanding as she saw the axe. “Want some company?” she asked.
He shook his head and turned towards the house.
He glanced back once, saw Woods standing next to Lora, his arms crossed across his chest as they both watched Trent walk away. He turned back towards the house, the axe held loosely at his side, the familiar weight of it in his hand comforting.
Inside, Trent walked down the hall with no hesitation. He paused at the doorway, his gaze focused on the tank. No one would be hurt in here again. He took a running step forward and raised the axe over his head, letting loose a wild cry as the blade made contact.
His arms vibrated with the power of that first swing, yet it did little more than leave a thick scratch on the smooth surface. He swung again. The second strike made it an X. Soon, thin cracks spread across the wall in slow motion. He took a moment to catch his breath and wipe the sweat out of his eyes, ignoring the stab of pain that shot through his injured shoulder.
He kept swinging. And swinging.
The cracks widened.
Water slowly dripped down the side of the tank to the floor.
Trent put his other hand on the handle of the axe, took a deep breath, and used every ounce of strength left in his battered body to drive the blade through the wall of his prison.
Jagged shards crashed down to the floor. He took a step back and closed his eyes, tipped his head back, and screamed, releasing the last of his fury, remembering the burning in his lungs, the pain every time they brought him back, the vision of Lora so still in the water.
He stood unmoving as the water rushed out, soaking him to the bone and washing away the blood.
The sounds of the tank shattering still echoed in his ears. He had no idea how much time had passed when he opened his eyes again. He looked at the clear pieces of the walls lying harmlessly in the water puddled on the floor.
He took a moment to mourn the part of himself that had been lost here in this room. A part he could never get back. Then he picked up his axe and slowly walked from the room to where his future waited.
Lora watched through the windshield as Trent approached the car, moving slowly. Deliberately. His clothes soaked, the axe down at his side. It was hard to read the emotions on his face, but there was a peace there, underneath the exhaustion and the pain. She may not know the exact details of what happened in the room, but when his eyes focused on hers, she knew that her heart was completely and unquestionably his.
“Where the hell is he?”
Trent smiled as Nate’s booming voice echoed down the hospital corridor. Too exhausted to drive after his go around with the tank, he’d called Nate on the way to the hospital while Woods drove, the heat on full blast and Nicole cradled in his lap. It had been a conversation of few words but full of unspoken emotion.
Nathan threw open the curtain and shook his head. “Can’t you ever do anything the easy way?”
“More exciting this way,” Trent answered, sitting up and adjusting the blanket wrapped around his shoulders.
“You’re hell on my blood pressure, little brother.”
Trent ran a shaking hand through his still damp hair. “How’s Nic?”
Nathan smiled. “She’s fine. Amy and Sam are with her now. And Lora’s okay. Her ankle's sprained from dropping down out of the tank. She's badgering Detective Woods about getting her some real coffee.”
“That’s one thing back to normal.”
“How's your shoulder?”
Trent shrugged, tried to hide the wince of pain. “Just a scratch.”
“Yeah. Right.”
Trent looked his brother in the eye. “I'm fine.”
Nathan took a step closer, sat down on the edge of Trent’s bed, unshed tears glistening in his eyes. “You did it. You saved them.” His voice cracked. “You saved my little girl.”
“Told you I would.”
“And you even managed to save your sorry ass too.” The right corner of his mouth curved up.
Trent shook his head and smiled back. “I have a lot to live for,” he said, glad he finally believed the words.
Nathan cleared his throat and stood back up. “Let’s go home.”
“Not just yet,” a deep voice called from the doorway and both brothers turned to find Detective Justice Woods standing, arms crossed across his wide chest, a disbelieving look on his face. “You both need to hear this first.”
“You found Caroline?” Trent asked.
“What's left of her anyway,” Woods answered, then shook his head as they both waited for an answer. “We dispatched a unit to the address of the apartment Lora gave us. She was there. In a chair in the back bedroom.” He paused, swallowed hard. “She'd been dead for a while, probably since shortly after she disappeared from the institution. Initial indications are that she was beaten to death.”
Trent paled and Nathan took a protective step closer to him. Trent raised his head, met Woods’ eyes. “So it's over?”
Woods nodded. “It's over.”
Trent sighed, feeling the crushing weight that had been with him for so long lift.
He stood. “I need to find Lora.”
Nathan squeezed his good shoulder. “I'll see you outside”
Trent strode down the hall, suddenly desperate to get to Lora. He pulled back curtains, threw open several doors before he found her, in the corner exam room at the end of the hall.
She turned when he entered, limped forward a step. Neither spoke. Their emotions were still so raw, the air vibrated through the silence in the room.
He didn’t want to think about the sound of Simon's head being blown off. Or the sight of his niece’s terrified face. Or Caroline's beaten and decomposing body. Or the fear. He’d been scared in a fire. More than once. He’d been afraid in that damned tank at Caroline’s house. But he’d never known real true fear until today when he thought he’d lost Lora.
There was so much he wanted to say to her, but right now all he could do was look at her. Her damp hair was pulled up, her face still pale. She was beautiful. He couldn’t breathe, this time for an entirely different reason and she was right in front of him.
“How did you do it?” Trent finally asked.
Lora shrugged. “Enough of the water had evaporated over the past few months that there was room at the top of the tank for me to get a breath when Simon wasn't watching.”
Trent couldn't speak, just moved closer and ran a hand down her arm, needing to touch her. To feel the warm solidness of her body. To reassure himself that she was okay.
She gave him a sideways look. “Then there's the fact that I was a competitive swimmer in high sc
hool and was known for the freakishly long time I could hold my breath underwater.”
Unable to laugh at her attempt at a joke, he dropped his hand from her shoulder and moved to the window, staring outside. “You had me convinced.” His voice was rough.
“Simon, too,” she whispered.
Trent shoved back from the window. “But you didn't know that,” he said sharply. “You didn't know you would make it out of there alive.” Even now, he could feel the crushing grief of thinking he'd lost her.
“No,” she admitted. “But I hoped.”
“Dammit, Lora,” he said, pacing the small room. “What you did, going off on your own without anyone knowing where you were, then you so willingly sacrifice your own life, like it means nothing.”
She stared hard into his eyes when he finally stopped moving, then lowered her gaze to his injured shoulder. “And what, exactly, did you have in mind, coming out to Caroline's house all by yourself?”
He sighed, leaned back against the wall, and crossed his arms. “Point taken. So we both have a death wish.”
“No,” she said sternly. “We're both willing to sacrifice our lives for those we love. There's a big difference.”
His eyes searched hers, then a slow grin spread across his face. “So, you love me.”
“I would hope you know the answer to that by now.”
He reached out a hand to her, “Come here.”
She took his hand and he pulled her into his arms, crushing her body against his. Lora wrapped her arms around him, her fingers gripping him tightly. Then she let out a long breath as she relaxed into his body.
“I think we've earned that vacation,” he said.
Lora laughed and held him even tighter.
He stepped back, clasping her hands in his. He glanced at the window, beyond which crowds of people and reporters waited. “Okay. Let's get this over with.”
“Fucking déjà vu all over again,” Trent mumbled as he followed Nate out of the hospital into the now familiar noise of a dozen reporters and news people who were all focused on him. Again. This time though, he had Lora next to him, her warm hand in his. He stopped and turned to her. “Go with Nate,” he said.
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