by Rachel Lucas
Chapter Seventy-Eight
Madeline noticed the movement too. The situation had just escalated. I felt her tense beside me.
“I hope these locals aren’t trigger happy,” she whispered. I couldn’t tell if she was relieved to see them or annoyed that they might make things worse.
There was no more movement from the house. The SWAT team was drawing nearer. I could barely make out their camouflaged white and gray uniforms. They blended in nearly perfectly with the winter landscape.
There as a crunching on the ground not far from where we stood near the pickup. I tried not to jump but couldn’t help noticing the armed SWAT team member as he crept up to the back of the truck and pressed himself against the tailgate. He had headgear on and his face was splotched with black and white camouflage. Once in position he pulled out a long sniper’s rifle with a scope and laid it against the back of the truck, looking down the sight, gauging the best position to cover the front door.
“We need to do something,” Madeline’s voice was taking on just the slightest hint of desperation. She looked up at me from her small height. Some unseen form of communication passed between us. I knew what she wanted. I knew what I had to do.
I steeled myself and fought to keep from shaking my head back and forth vigorously. Was she crazy? Had she really lost her mind now? I’d never been in the middle of something like this before. I didn’t know what to do.
She gave me a hard look, telling me that we were quickly running out of options with the SWAT team breathing down our necks. She gestured at me with the bullhorn, refusing to take no for an answer.
With shaking hands, I took the bullhorn from her, turned it to the side to figure out how to turn it on then brought it up to my mouth.
“Elizabeth, are you in there?” My voice wasn’t very loud and didn’t seem to carry very far, even with the bullhorn. The curtain moved again, this time more noticeably. I knew I had to do this just the right way if I wanted to draw her out. I had blown it that last time I had talked to her on the phone. This time there was more at stake, so much more. I couldn’t blow it this time. If she really was in there, I had to speak to her in a way she would respond to. “Lisbeth, is that you?” My voice was sounding a bit stronger. “Come out so we can talk.”
Several more moments passed in tense silence. The whistling wind blowing across the prairie seemed deafening to my ears. I held my breath then let it out in a white puff of air before me.
Gradually, the old wooden front door creaked as it opened slowly. We all tensed, not knowing what we were going to see. It opened a bit more but we couldn’t see anyone there for a moment. I had to try again.
“Come on, Lisbeth, we really haven’t talked in a long time. Come on out. I really want to talk to you.”
Slowly, an old man appeared at the doorway. He was withered and worn, at least in his seventies. He had the tough leather skin of a farmer who had spent a lifetime in the sun. He was mostly bald but had a few strands of white hair sticking up in places. He wore an old blue flannel jacket over his overalls. A large, very sharp looking knife was pressed against his wrinkled throat, right against his jugular.
Behind him stood a figure just a bit taller than he was. The figure had a dark gray hoodie covering their head. One arm was across the old man’s chest, holding him tight. In the other small hand they held the knife.
I paused for a moment. I couldn’t make out the features at first. It could have been a young man for all we knew. Could we have stumbled onto some kind of random crime? The chances of this being an unrelated crime or even a family dispute were slim, but I couldn’t be certain until I clearly saw the features of the figure holding the knife.
Should I speak again? What should I do? I’d never been in the middle of a hostage negotiation before, let alone the negotiator.
Just then, as if by some divine help, the breeze picked up and blew across the front porch where they stood. The hood of the figure was pulled back just the tiniest bit by the wind. One wisp of orange-red hair caught the breeze.
“Lisbeth?” I almost dropped the bullhorn. Madeline’s quick reflexes grabbed it before it hit the ground. I took a step towards the porch on instinct. Madeline’s other hand on my arm stopped me.
It was completely silent for a moment. Only the dry winter wind stirred the dead grass and trees around us. I stood there, only Madeline’s small presence at my side, looking up at the scene before me. There she was, only a few short feet away now. I felt a large knot of emotions well up inside of me.
There was relief to see her alive, to know she hadn’t been that pitiful figure burned in the truck back in New Mexico. There was that old bond, still there, my friend, my confidant, my other self. Then there were the other feelings, the painful ones. The fear of her, of the other creatures and demons that she carried within her. The anger for all the lies, the deceptions, the death and destruction she had caused. How many lives had she taken now? I had lost count. Add to that one more for the innocent person she had burned up in that truck, trying to make us think it was her. I felt the rage building up within me, but I couldn’t let it show this time. I had to keep it all tightly under control.
Now, if this wasn’t handled just right, more lives would be lost. I had to tread carefully with her. I couldn’t antagonize or anger her. Every word I said had to be chosen with care and deliberate. What should I say?
That was when I heard the smallest “click” of the safety being switched off the sniper’s rifle. In the stillness of the winter afternoon it was loud to my ears. My body tensed, my hands clenched. I had to do something.
“Lisbeth, please put the knife down. You don’t need to hurt anyone.” My voice was taking on a pleading edge, I knew. “Talk to me.” If only I could see her entire face, know who it was for certain I was addressing. There was no response from the hooded figure. I had to try again. “I’m here to help you, Lisbeth. Let me help you. Just put the knife down. You’ll be safe. Put it down.”
“You knew it had to come to this.” It was the first time I had heard her voice live for a long time. I listened carefully to the tone and inflection. It wasn’t Lisbeth’s voice. The hair stood up on the back of my neck, I had to fight to keep my hands from visibly shaking.
“Sophie?” It was almost a guess at this point.
She made a movement with her head, enough to move the hood back so I could see those intense green eyes. For just a moment, everything else around us faded away. The farmhouse, the barren landscape, the old man, the armed officers surrounding us. There was just the two of us, looking at each other eye to eye. The hooded figure up on that sagging porch, me in the bitter wind with the dried winter leaves brushing against my feet. For just a moment we were alone.
“No more games Cate.” Her voice was as smooth as silk. Her face still partially shadowed, giving an eerie look to the sharp plains of her face. “This is where it ends. He has to go. And the old woman inside too. I have to destroy everything that went into creating me.”
The old man’s eyes held a shadow of confusion. He wanted to turn around and clearly see again who it was that held a knife to his throat. But he was too afraid to move and cause himself injury. He tried to hold perfectly still, but he was shaking in fear.
“Who are you?” His rough voice carried across the yard.
“You should know who I am.” The arm against the old man’s chest seemed to tighten just a bit. “If you’d cared enough to know I even existed. I’m Barbara’s daughter, old man. I’m your granddaughter.”
Chapter Seventy-Nine
The aged man’s faded eyes seem to widen slightly in shock. His weathered face seemed to pale.
“Barbara’s daughter?” He choked. There was a strong emotion that crossed his face. Was it sorrow, regret? Even from where I stood I could see years of emotion welling up in those faded eyes.
“Not that you ever cared. Not that you even wanted to know what happened to us.” Sophie’s voice snarled.
“But we did
n’t know.” It was an old woman that stood timidly in the doorway now. She wore an old winter coat, her hair in a long braid curling across her shoulder and down her arm. It was a faded orange-red color with strands of gray woven through it. “We didn’t know where she went.” She looked a lot like what Barbara would have looked like if she’d been able to live another thirty years. The years were worn into her face too. She was pale beneath her leathery skin.
“You didn’t care!” Sophie’s voice was a near shout now, making everyone jump. I held my breath that the sniper wasn’t too quick to pull the trigger. “You didn’t care what happened to us.”
I knew I had to do something or this was going to end in bloodshed. I took another step, consciously putting myself between the sniper’s rifle and the figures on the front porch. I couldn’t let this end badly this time.
“Sophie, let me talk to Lisbeth.” My voice was firm, stubborn. Sometimes it was the only way to get what I wanted. The old man and woman looked at me in confusion. “Come on, Sophie. I need to talk to Lisbeth right now.” I said with more force in my voice.
The hood was blown back a bit more. I saw her entire face now. There was that same face, the one I had looked at so many times over the years. She looked a bit thinner now, her cheekbones more stark and pronounced. Being on the run hadn’t been easy on her.
At first I saw the hatred, the distain from Sophie. I knew she didn’t like me. I suspected she was jealous of my friendship with Elizabeth, our bond. She didn’t want to give up the control yet. The inner struggle was obvious as I searched her face. There was only one way to end this peacefully.
“Let me talk to her.” It was a direct command now.
I watched in concern as expressions flickered across her face. The battle within her was fierce although few around us would have known it was going on. Her facial features seemed to morph, to mold into different shapes. Some distant part of me heard Madeline gasp not far away.
Elizabeth’s eyes flickered for a moment, blinked a few times, then it seemed as though she was coming out of a deep dream. She didn’t speak for a moment, just looked around, her face blank now, devoid of emotion.
“Caitlyn?” There was confusion in her voice. I wanted to believe this was really Lisbeth, not one of the others pretending. She was my only chance of getting this situation under control.
“That’s right, Lisbeth. We need to talk. But first, I need to you drop that knife.” My voice was stronger now. Maybe I was actually getting control of this.
She looked at the knife being held against the old man’s throat as though surprised to find it there. She froze, taking a moment to look around her and see the uniformed officers at the end of the driveway and the vehicles down the road, more of which were pulling up by the moment.
A movement in the trees caught her eye and I could tell the moment she realized that she was surrounded by armed gunmen. The pale green eyes widened. I was worried that in her surprise she would hurt the old man by mistake.
“This is bad.” There was a strong emotion that came into her eyes that I hadn’t seen in a long time. Fear. “Don’t let them do this. Don’t let them hurt me.”
The fear seemed real. I could tell she was debating her options. She was surrounded. There was no place for her to go. The knife she held in her hand was the only thing keeping the authorities from storming the porch and taking her into custody.
She looked me directly in the eyes, pleading with me.
“Just drop the knife, Lisbeth. I won’t let them hurt you. No one is going to harm you if you just drop the knife.”
I had taken a step closer, wanting her to see the sincerity in my eyes. I meant it. I wouldn’t let them harm her if she dropped the weapon and came peacefully. I would protect her if I could, make sure she was safely taken into custody and taken someplace where she couldn’t harm another person.
“Don’t let them hurt me.” Her voice was almost frantic now. I had never heard this tone of voice from her before. “Please don’t let them hurt me. It’s not just me.”
I held my breath when I noticed a tear leak from the corner of her eye. I don’t remember ever seeing her so frightened. Was it real? Was it a trick to gain my sympathy? I hated that I was always so uncertain with her.
“You can’t let them hurt me.” She relaxed the arm that held her grandfather in place. Another tear was leaking down her face. Her face was taut, strained. With a slow movement she stepped to the side but still held the knife to his throat. Still keeping her leverage. “Please don’t let them hurt my baby.”
One arm was now free. She brought it down to run it over the surface of her rounded stomach. The reality of what she had just said hit me with the force of a strong blow to my chest. My eyes immediately darted to the noticeable swelling of her stomach. I couldn’t breathe, I couldn’t move. Her hand gently caressed the round curve of her abdomen.
“Lisbeth?” I called in shock and agony. How?
The rest of the world seemed to fall away. There was just the two of us, alone. For a moment, I just wanted it all to disappear. I wanted to know the truth. I wanted everyone out, everyone to go away until I could make sense of this.
But it wasn’t to be. The world wouldn’t stop for this. It kept moving in this horrible slow motion. Like an ancient black and white movie.
The old man must have realized she wasn’t holding him so tightly anymore. Either from shock or relief he suddenly sagged, his knees bending. The sharp knife had still been at his throat. His abrupt movement caused it to pierce his skin. No sooner did I see the trickle of blood on his neck when I heard the barest whisper of the sniper’s rifle as the gunman pulled the trigger.
I let out a scream I had been holding inside for months. It carried in the wind across the barren land, echoing off the old farmhouse and barn.
The sniper was well trained to hit his mark.
What will happen to Elizabeth Marshall? Will she survive the sniper’s bullet? Is she really pregnant? What about the baby? Find out in “Meet the Family”.
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