Chapter 4 - The Family Trap
My mother wept uncontrollably through the phone speaker, begging me endlessly to save her life.
She claimed that Sarah had completely lost her mind and was holding her hostage in our old childhood dining room.
Vance shook his head vigorously, warning me that this was an obvious, highly coordinated, and deadly trap.
I absolutely refused to listen to reason, blinded by the terrifying thought of losing my innocent mother.
I grabbed the steering wheel and violently forced Vance to turn the car toward my childhood suburban neighborhood.
We parked two dark blocks away from the house and approached quietly through the freezing, heavy rain.
The property was eerily dark, with all the curtains drawn tightly shut to block out the streetlights.
Vance kicked the back kitchen door open, leading the way with his assault rifle raised and ready.
We stepped into the kitchen and found the entire house completely covered in thin, nearly invisible tripwires.
Military-grade plastic explosives were strapped securely to the structural pillars of the living room ceiling.
We carefully stepped over the deadly wires, holding our breath with every single, agonizingly slow movement.
In the exact center of the dining room, my mother was tightly bound to a heavy wooden chair with thick ropes.
A thick strip of silver duct tape covered her mouth, and terrified tears streamed down her wrinkled cheeks.
I rushed forward immediately to untie the thick ropes painfully binding her delicate wrists.
Vance stayed near the doorway, scanning the dark hallways through his scope for any sign of Sarah's ambush.
I ripped the tape off my mother's mouth, expecting her to thank me profusely for risking my life to save hers.
Instead, her weeping, terrified expression instantly vanished, replaced entirely by a cold, deeply calculated smirk.
She looked at me with an icy, sociopathic detachment that chilled me to my absolute core.
She casually slipped her hands completely free from the supposedly tight, inescapable ropes.
My mother reached beneath the floral cushion of the dining chair and pulled out a heavy, suppressed pistol.
She aimed the weapon directly at Vance and pulled the trigger without a single moment of hesitation.
Vance groaned in horrific agony as the bullet tore through his shoulder, sending him crashing heavily to the floor.
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My mother slowly turned the smoking gun toward my chest, stepping carefully over the explosive tripwires.
She proudly confessed that she had helped Sarah plan the entire framing operation from the very beginning.
