Chapter 8 - The Confrontation
Ethan scanned the room frantically, his eyes darting from me to Richard's seemingly lifeless form.
"Where is she?" Ethan demanded, his voice thick with panic.
"Where is who, sir?" I asked, keeping my tone perfectly steady despite my racing heart.
Ethan ignored me and marched directly toward his brother's wheelchair.
He grabbed Richard by the shoulders and violently shook him.
"Stop faking, Richard, I know you took the pills!" Ethan screamed.
Richard let his head loll to the side, maintaining his facade of heavy sedation perfectly.
Ethan grunted in frustration and turned his wrath toward me.
"What did you do with the nurse I sent in here?" he snarled, taking a threatening step forward.
"I haven't seen anyone, Mr. Vance," I lied, slowly backing toward the heavy oak dresser.
Ethan's eyes suddenly narrowed as he looked down at Richard's lap.
In the chaos, the blanket had slipped, revealing the tense, flexed muscles in Richard's right calf.
Paralyzed muscles do not hold tension.
A twisted, malicious smile slowly spread across Ethan's face.
"You almost had me, brother," Ethan whispered, taking a slow step backward.
He reached inside his tailored suit jacket and pulled out a sleek, black handgun.
He pointed the barrel directly at Richard's chest.
"I guess I will just have to do this the old-fashioned way," Ethan said, his finger tightening on the trigger.
May you like
I didn't think; I just reacted.
I grabbed the heavy brass lamp from the dresser and hurled it at Ethan's head.
