by Jon Mills
“Run!” Jack cried.
Propelled away from Vincent, he scrambled, pounding the gravel as he sprinted away.
Chapter 31
DANA HAD NEVER RUN so far or so fast in her life. Propelled by Jack’s words as much as the fear of Vincent harming her son, she put one foot in front of the other and hightailed it around the other side of the house as her son went the other way. Her throat burned and her heart pounded inside her chest.
The last thing she heard before rounding the house was Jack’s firm voice. “Vincent, let’s finish this.”
What she didn’t see was that Vincent had taken advantage of Jack’s leg wound and took off in pursuit of Jason.
For Dana and Jason, the single thought of escaping was all that mattered now. As they made it to the rear of the house they raced for the dock. Dana caught up with Jason. As she cast a glance over her shoulder, what she saw next made her blood run cold: Vincent.
Vincent’s angry voice called out to them. “There’s nowhere to go.”
They didn’t allow themselves to breathe until they heard the sound of the water. Bursting down the dock, Jason was first in the boat. It was a small fishing boat, white, with a black band around it. Pushing the onboard motor into the water, he began tugging on the cord to start the engine. It coughed and spluttered from years of not being used. Dana was in the process of untying the mooring line when the sound of Vincent’s boots hit the wooden dock.
With desperation in his eyes, Jason tried unsuccessfully to get the motor started. Dana didn’t stand a chance. Vincent pounced on her faster than a bloodhound.
“Get away from me!” she bellowed.
Tugging her by the back of the hair, he tossed her to the ground. Jason looked on in utter terror.
“Get out of the boat, kid.”
He hesitated.
“Now!”
Reluctantly, Jason climbed back up onto the dock. As soon as he was within reaching distance, Vincent took his arm and threw him down by his mother. Dazed and spent from racing to the dock, all Dana could do was grasp her son. With both of them on their knees, Vincent glanced over his shoulder as if making one last check before doing the unthinkable.
“Understand, I find no pleasure in doing this, but he forced my hand,” Vincent rasped as he brought up the knife.
Dana wasn’t about to let her son die at the hands of some maniacal lunatic. She’d have rather died than let him touch a single hair on her son’s head. In full-blown panic mode, she lunged with every ounce of her strength at him.
“Go!” she screamed, putting herself between Jason and Vincent.
“Ouf!” Vincent croaked.
Dana struck him in the ribs with a diving tackle that was hard and completely unexpected.
In that instant, between life and death, two things had happened. She felt the searing heat of the knife penetrate her shoulder and saw Vincent’s knees buckle like a stack of cards. She fell over him, tumbling and rolling. The knife clattered on the dock.
What she didn’t know was Vincent had been shot in the leg.
Instinctively her hand reached for her shoulder. When she pulled it back she felt warm, sticky blood. Her heart pumped with adrenaline, her mind blank to the pain. Staring down at the blood, hands trembling, she looked up to see Jack at the far end of the dock. He was dragging one leg but moving forward. In his hands was the sheriff’s handgun.
By the time she turned her head to check on Jason, Jack had fired another round, collapsing Vincent’s second leg as he tried to get up. Dana didn’t hesitate another second to put as much distance as she could between her and Vincent. Jason had already slipped into the water the moment she yelled for him to go. Still swimming in an arc toward the safety of the shore, the sounds of sirens wailing in the distance gave her the smallest amount of relief.
“Go, I’ll take care of this,” Jack said, his eyes fixed on Vincent.
Gripping her bloodied shoulder, she hurried past him to join Jason.
Vincent writhed on the ground in pain, a smear of blood marking where he’d dropped from the first bullet to where he’d dragged himself. The stained wood became a dark shade of crimson.
“I guess you wouldn’t consider calling it even?” Vincent said, half-joking as each breath came out as a series of choking gasps.
With little fight left in him, Jack drew close.
“It didn’t have to be this way,” Jack said as he tried to slow his breathing.
“Of course it did. If not me, someone else would have come.”
“Maybe.”
“Let me go, Jack. You owe me that.”
“I owe you nothing.”
As Jack angled the gun, Vincent cried out. “Go on then, shoot me, you coward.”
Jack paused with the gun leveled at the man’s head. Vincent sneered, letting out his pain through clenched teeth.
“Cowardice is taking the life of a mother and child.”
“Then you should know, since you took mine the day you killed my father.”
Jack stared into his eyes. Vincent’s words cut into him. He was right. All these years he’d lived by a code. A rule that he thought somehow made him different than those in the same line of work. But he was no different. How many mothers and children had been destroyed by the lives he’d taken?
Vincent groaned, gripping his legs.
He shook his head. “Your father would have died either way,” Jack said.
Vincent spat at him.
“You think you’re better than me?” he asked, steadily crawling his way to the boat. Bloodied fingerprints and a thick smear of blood trailed behind him. The sound of emergency sirens was even louder now. They might have been only minutes away. “We are cut from the same cloth, Jack. Hell, you made me.”
Vincent let out a stifled laugh.
“So go ahead, shoot me. Do what you should have done years ago.”
“I’m not going to shoot you.”
Few would understand what he did next. Jack walked past Vincent, pushing his gun into the small of his back. He took hold of the mooring line and untied it, then walked back with it in his hands. He took hold of Vincent.
“What are you doing?” Vincent croaked.
“Adapting.”
With that said, he wrapped it tightly around his neck. All of Vincent’s attempts to push him away were futile. His face turned a beet red; his eyes bulged as the rope cut into his neck. Vincent clawed at the rope in utter desperation as Jack returned to the boat. Hopping in, he began emptying the plastic gasoline tank all over the boat. Once done, he tossed it and yanked on the outboard motor’s starter cord. One, twice, four more times before it roared to life. Thick coils of smoke rose from it. Leaping back on the dock, he paid no attention to Vincent’s strained cries as he frantically attempted to free himself from the coil around his neck. Neither did he watch as his body slipped past him and disappeared beneath the surface of the water.
Only after taking a few more steps did he turn.
For a moment he watched the boat slowly drag Vincent through the water. Within seconds his legs stopped struggling and all that could be heard was the sound of the engine. Jack raised his gun and fired a round at the boat. In an instant, it burst into flames.
He felt no sense of satisfaction after, only pain taking over his body. Knife wounds stung along with what felt like a cracked rib which stole his breath. He’d been operating on pure adrenaline. Now every step back to the shore was excruciating. In the distance, Dana and Jason cautiously approached, but as they did dark walls closed in at the corners of his eyes, squeezing out the light.
Slipping into unconsciousness from the loss of blood, he never felt himself hit the dock.
Chapter 32
ONCE ROCKLAND POLICE and medics arrived on scene, it felt like she’d been caught up in a sudden sandstorm. Each grain of sand, a question, blasted her mercilessly in the face. Were there more threats? What happened? How many were injured? Who shot who? Her mind whirled, unable to offer them mu
ch more than a gesture of the head. Officers were shocked to find Frank clinging to life. Medics began tending to her bleeding. The wound was minor, but felt intensely painful. Dana entered the house to retrieve her purse before leaving, only to find the interior in complete disarray. Blood was splattered and smeared on walls, counters, furniture, and floors. Sitting in the back of an ambulance, she watched as they slid in a stretcher. Jack was still unconscious.
As quickly as they had arrived, they were gone. Out the back of the ambulance window, Dana stared blankly at the wreckage left behind.
The emergency room at Rockland Cove’s Medical Center was nothing short of chaotic that afternoon. A crowd of patients and families clogged the waiting room and hallways. Nurses in blue scrubs darted back and forth between rooms. With doctors few in number, staff overworked, and an unusual amount of patients, it was lucky if you got seen within six hours. The severest cases were dealt with first, then the rest. This time was no exception. She had only once visited the hospital in all the years she’d lived in the town. Jason had broke his arm falling out of a tree when he was eight. She recalled that the bone had punctured through the skin. Back then she hadn’t enjoyed the sight of blood, and this was far worse.
Bloodstained and distraught, Dana burst through the doors behind the paramedics. Jason followed in step. A face full of desperation, her mind hadn’t stopped racing even though the bumpy ride in the back of the ambulance had been fast. The moment they were inside, a shock trauma team swarmed them. Respirators covered faces and doctors yelled words like cardiac arrest, he’s not breathing, and intubate him.
Dana watched in pure horror as they disappeared through a set of double doors further down the hall.
Her last visual was seeing them wheeled away. Both looked deathly pale. Frank’s body had begun to spasm violently. Jack’s remained motionless.
Despite her protests that she was okay, a nurse immediately shuffled her into a separate room as the staff took over. Thankfully her wound required nothing more than a few stiches. Once she had been attended to, she took a seat in the waiting room.
As the hands on the clock turned over painfully slow, the shock of what had taken place began to sink in. There was little to do except reflect. She had trouble holding back tears at the terrifying thought of losing her son and her own life. Wracked by emotional pain that hurt in ways she hadn’t experienced before, she braced up under the weight of the event as her mind sifted through the rubble. Faced with the truth of Matt’s disappearance, the betrayal of her father-in-law, and Jack’s involvement in the whole ordeal, she stared ahead, trying to get a hold on reality.
Trembling, Jason gripped his mother’s shaking hand tightly as anxiety coursed through her. Flashing a sideways glance, the corner of her mouth creased ever so slightly, a sign of appreciation or perhaps relief. Still, fear, confusion, and the unknown fought for her attention. Was it really over? Would others come? And what now?
Then her mind would circle back. There was no doubt that if it hadn’t been for both of the men, they would be dead. While she was grateful for Frank’s change of heart—or need to redeem himself—she couldn’t help but wonder about Jack.
He could have fled, she knew that for sure. But he had returned for them at the risk of his own life. Why? It’s not like she had given him reason to care in light of his arrest. And what of the money?
She spent the following few hours churning it over even as her friend, Sophie, rushed to her side to offer comfort and aid. An officer briefly took her statement, but wouldn’t elaborate on Frank’s condition. Between watching people come and go, downing several cups of bitter coffee from a vending machine, and stealing some shuteye on the shoulder of Jason for minutes at a time, she was physically and emotional exhausted.
She checked in at the nurses’ station every thirty minutes like she’d done since arriving. Each time the nurse would tell her there was no new information and reassured her that once they had an update she’d be the first to know. They had suggested she go home, but she felt safer among the crowd of patients. By her eighth trip to the desk, she could hear frustration in the woman’s tone. Dana knew better than to pester her any further. She thanked her and returned to the waiting room.
The clock continued to tick over in slow motion. Strangely, Jason appeared to be unfazed by it all, although she knew that couldn’t be the case. He was used to burying his worry, only to mention it late at night.
Finally, after what seemed like forever, Jason nudged her. A doctor approached them. She rose to her feet, bracing herself for the worst. She scanned his face for any indication of the outcome, but it gave nothing away.
“I’m Doctor Harris. Would you mind?” He waved his arm, beckoning her toward a set of double doors. After leading her into a quiet area, away from prying eyes and ears, he spoke.
“I was told you are the next of kin for Frank?”
A grim reminder that she was all he had. “That’s right, how is he?”
The doctor hesitated before speaking. “I’m afraid he didn’t make it.”
She clenched her eyes shut, torn by emotion. Despite a part of her that wanted to hate him for turning a blind eye, she couldn’t feel anything except pity for him. Frank’s single obsession with policing had destroyed his marriage and his relationship with his son. His need to maintain the persona he’d created in the town of Rockland Cove was all he had left. His entire identity was wrapped up in how the townsfolk perceived him. He had known her since she had been a child. After marrying Matt, that bond had only drawn them closer. They had had their differences, and up until Matt’s abuse had become evident, they had possessed a mutual respect for one another.
No, it was Matt who should have known better. Everything else was simply the downfall of his actions. She recalled Frank’s final words to her as they loaded him into the back of the ambulance at the lighthouse.
“I’m sorry, Dana. For everything.”
The memory of those words faded in the doctor’s own condolences.
She nodded. “And the other?”
“He’s not awake, but he’s stable for now.”
Her heart lightened ever so slightly. “Do you know when I can see him?”
“You’ll have to speak to one of the deputies. We’re under strict instructions that no one is to see him.”
Dana glanced down the hall. An officer sat in a chair outside a room.
“You should go home. Get some rest. I’ll have one of the staff notify you when he’s awake.”
“Thank you, doctor.”
Chapter 33
THE LATE AFTERNOON sun hung low over the pines as they returned home. An officer by the name of Flynn Thompson had been given the responsibility of escorting them. Unsure if any other cop was involved, she was a little apprehensive to go with him. But without her vehicle and with him insisting, she had little choice. Previously she’d only met him two or three times when Frank had swung by the house. He was a young cop, fresh out of the academy, who had only just completed his one year probation period. Freshly polished shoes, crisp uniform, and a haircut buzzed tight made him stick out like a sore thumb. He’d always made a point of being polite, unlike some of the other grouchy officers who’d been with the department for far too many years.
On the way back, she inquired if there was a chance she could see Jack, to which he replied in a monotone voice that it wasn’t up to him. When asked if he knew why they were preventing anyone from seeing him, he told her that they were investigating the incident and following up on what Frank had told them on the way to the hospital.
She pressed for more details, but he tightened up.
His lips pursed. “Sorry, Dana, I really can’t say anymore.”
As they approached the motel, Dana noticed that the lot in front had disappeared, only to be replaced by an ocean of faces. Reporters, cameramen, sound engineers, and several locals covered every inch. They passed by seven TV station mobile units along the side of the road, all of which had satelli
te units on the top and colorful graphic emblems on the sides indicating what station they belonged to. She recognized the local one, but the others were from out of town.
“What the heck?”
“When we get out, just stick close to me,” the officer said, flipping his siren on to force the crowd apart.
The mob divided just enough to let the car through. The onslaught of bodies pressed up against the cruiser almost blocked out the light of day as he killed the engine. Like piranhas itching to devour fresh meat, they elbowed each other and shoved their microphones at the windows, vying for that first interview. Dana felt like canned bait.
The very second she cracked the door, a firestorm of shouting began.
“What’s it like to be a survivor?”
“How did you know these men?”
“What is your connection to this New York crime family?”
“Ms. Grant, is this anything to do with your husband’s disappearance?”
“Keep back,” Officer Thompson bellowed, using his one arm as a barrier and the other to guide her and Jason through the mass.
Dana was at a loss for words. One moment she was about to reply, the next her train of thought was interrupted by another series of questions. Was she meant to answer them? Dana wasn’t ready for this. Never in her life had she witnessed such a circus. In the sea of media, her mind spun.
The officer forced his way through the swarm, using as much force as possible. Microphones jabbed against them; Jason swatted them away while doing his best to keep moving forward.
“Get lost.”
Nearly trampled by the crowd, the officer pushed back on a cameraman who had managed to knock his hat to the ground. Any attempt at retrieving it was futile. It vanished quickly beneath a centipede number of feet. Soon, questions became incomprehensible. Finally they managed to budge the mass of reporters back enough to climb the steps to the house. Red-faced and panting hard, Dana let out a lungful of air as the door closed behind them. Only the dark silhouette of faces could be seen beyond the glass window.