Chapter 5 - The Struggle
The crack of metal against bone was sickeningly loud.
Marcus let out a bloodcurdling scream, his leg buckling instantly. He crashed hard onto the hardwood floor, dropping the pry bar and Eleanor's mahogany keepsake box. The wooden box hit the ground and popped open, scattering my late wife's pearl necklaces and silver rings across the rug.
"You dead old bastard!" Marcus roared, clutching his shattered knee.
I stepped back, breathing heavily. I wasn't a young man anymore. That one swing had taken an enormous amount of energy, and my shoulder flared with intense, agonizing arthritis.
Marcus, fueled by pure rage and adrenaline, didn't stay down. Dragging his broken leg, he lunged forward, grabbing my ankle.
I fell hard, my elbow striking the corner of the wooden dresser. The tactical flashlight rolled out of my grip and under the bed.
"I'm going to kill you!" Marcus spat, crawling on top of me. He pinned my chest to the floor with his good knee, his hands reaching for my throat.
His fingers dug into my windpipe, choking off my air. I thrashed, kicking my legs, grasping blindly at his forearms. Black spots danced in the corners of my vision. The room started to spin. I was losing strength fast, the weight of the younger man completely overpowering me.
I thought about Eleanor. I thought about Sarah. I wasn't going to die on this bedroom floor.
May you like
My right hand desperately swept the carpet. My fingers brushed against something cold and heavy.
The steel pry bar he had dropped.
