Chapter 8 - The Crimson Floor
Eleanor lunged forward, swinging the heavy kitchen knife directly toward my chest with surprising speed.
I rolled desperately to the side, feeling the cold steel slice through the fabric of my damp hospital gown.
The blade buried itself deep into the drywall where my heart had been just a fraction of a second before.
Before she could yank the weapon free from the wall, I kicked my legs out, sweeping her feet from completely under her.
She crashed heavily onto the hardwood floor, the breath escaping her lungs in a loud, wheezing gasp.
I scrambled to my feet, my primal maternal instincts completely overriding my physical exhaustion.
I grabbed the heavy, wooden base of a shattered floor lamp and brought it down hard on her wrist, forcing her to release the knife.
She shrieked in pain, cursing my name and swearing that David would ensure I was buried in an unmarked grave.
I ignored her threats, grabbing a thick extension cord from the corner and quickly binding her hands and ankles together.
The house alarm was still screaming, meaning the corrupt local police were only seconds away from swarming the property.
I dragged Eleanor into the master bathroom and locked her inside, taking a brief second to stare at the broken doorframe where this entire nightmare began.
I sprinted down the stairs and out the back door, practically flying over the wooden privacy fence into the neighbor's yard.
I stole a rusty bicycle resting against the neighbor's shed and pedaled furiously toward the small private airfield on the edge of town.
My lungs burned, and my vision blurred from the physical trauma, but the thought of Leo's tiny face kept my legs churning.
I reached the perimeter of the airfield just as a sleek, private jet began fueling up on the tarmac.
David was standing near the boarding stairs, holding my baby tightly in a gray car seat, speaking to a pilot.
I dropped the bicycle and sprinted across the open runway, screaming David's name with every ounce of air I had left.
He turned around, his face turning pale as he realized I had somehow survived his mother's ambush.
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He reached inside his designer jacket, pulling out a small, metallic object, but it wasn't a gun.
He held up a remote detonator, smiled wickedly, and pressed the bright red button directly in the center.
