Chapter 9 - The Basement Flames
A deafening blast ripped through the living room as the shotgun fired wildly into the ceiling.
My husband ripped the weapon out of my mother's hands and struck her hard across the jaw.
She collapsed to the floor, completely unconscious before she even hit the wood.
I didn't wait to see if she would get back up.
I sprinted down the dark hallway and flung open the basement door.
I practically fell down the steep wooden stairs in the total darkness.
The basement was lit by dozens of burning candles scattered across the floor.
The social worker was standing over a rusted metal furnace, holding my baby dangerously close to the open flames.
I screamed with a primal, feral rage that I didn't know I possessed.
I tackled the woman with immense force, sending us both crashing into a stack of old wooden crates.
I snatched my baby from her arms and curled my body around the child to protect against the fall.
The social worker scrambled to her feet, pulling a sharp hunting knife from her belt.
She lunged at me, determined to finish her sister's insane ritual.
Suddenly, the basement was flooded with incredibly bright tactical flashlights.
Armed police officers swarmed down the stairs, shouting deafening commands.
The social worker dropped the knife and raised her hands in immediate surrender.
Paramedics rushed down the stairs right behind the police forces.
They took my baby and immediately began checking the burn wounds and vital signs.
My husband ran down the stairs and wrapped his strong arms securely around both of us.
The police dragged the social worker and my mother out of the cabin in heavy steel chains.
The nightmare was finally, truly coming to an end.
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A paramedic looked up at us with a grim, intensely serious expression.
He stated that the baby's fever had spiked dangerously high again, and the heartbeat was becoming fatally irregular.
