Richard Hale - Frozen Past

“Leave her alone! Leave her alone!” She scooted in the chair, trying to move, but she must be tied to the chair her brother was in and he was a big kid. The chair barely moved.

“Come on Patrick! Wake up! Wake up!” Tears were falling down her cheeks and she was rocking the chair front to back trying to get him to respond, but he was passed out. The shouting above her grew louder and then she heard a loud thump and her mother’s voice suddenly cut off. Silence.

“Oh no!” she whispered. “You bastard! Leave her alone! Leave her alone! Bastard! Bastard!”

Then she heard a gunshot.

Luke went to the meter box and pulled the switch. He watched the lights go out in the living room. John was out back in the woods and Jimmy was across the street in some bushes in case Worthington made a run for it. Luke was going in alone.

The fear he felt was a crushing force that threatened to suffocate him and render him useless. He kept telling himself Ellie was going through worse and had been for two days. She needed him to be strong. Needed him to rescue her. Needed him to be her savior. He took a few deep breaths and moved. If he kept moving, he wouldn’t freeze up.

He crept to the basement sliding glass door and peered inside. What he saw surprised him. Patrick Pemberton was facing the glass, his head down, his feet tied to the chair he was in and his arms wrapped behind him. He was not moving. Then he saw movement just behind Patrick and Ellie’s head came into view. He gasped and felt elated. She was alive!

He quickly moved to the door handle and pulled. It was unlocked and he slid the door open quietly and slipped inside. The basement was dark since he had killed the electricity and the outer edges of the room in shadow. He could see Ellie and her brother from the dim light through the sliding glass door.

“Ellie!” he whispered and he saw her head jerk up.

“Luke? No! Get out of here! He’s in the…”

A huge blast sounded in Luke’s head and he was flung back against the glass by an invisible truck. He sank to the floor, the air sucked from his lungs and he looked around not understanding what had happened. Faintly, he heard Ellie’s voice as if coming through a fog.

“No! No! No!”

He watched a big shadow emerge from the gloom, a pistol leading the way as the rest of the huge man followed, grinning behind it. Then the pain hit him and Luke realized he’d been shot.

Jaxon was standing at the front door, his pistol out and up. Victoria he had sent around back and he waited the full minute they had agreed upon to enter the house. A gunshot sounded and Jaxon decided he couldn’t wait any longer. He kicked the door in and burst through it, his gun leading the way, but he found nothing but darkness and silence. Then he heard Ellie’s voice from somewhere deep in the house wailing ‘No!’ over and over again and it broke his heart. He knew Luke was around here somewhere, but they had not been able to beat the kid to the house. He hoped the gunshot had been Victoria taking Worthington down.

He ran to the kitchen and tripped over something in the doorway. Slamming his shin into a chair he cursed and sat up, feeling for his gun. He found Madison Pemberton instead. Leaning in close, he could just make out her open eyes and the dark mass of blood which surrounded her upper body. He realized he was kneeling in it. Her throat had been cut and she was dead.

More wailing from Ellie, and Jaxon felt around until his hand struck his pistol. He snatched it up and jumped to the basement door. Opening it slowly, Ellie’s sobs grew louder but no other sound could be heard. He knew Worthington was down there.

He crept down into the darkness and reached the bottom landing without feeling a bullet hit him. He pushed the thought out of his mind. Turning into the room, he tried to see into the gloom. His eyes adjusted just enough for him to make out Ellie tied to a chair and crying. Another figure was bound behind her, though it did not move or make a sound. He saw another shape slumped against the glass sliding door and heard a wet rasping sound as if someone was breathing through a damp rag. He realized it was Luke Harrison.

Movement in front of Luke caused him to jerk as a huge silhouette emerged from the left, backlit by the moonlight shining in through the door. Someone was struggling in its arms.

“Drop it, Detective.” The voice was Worthington.

He moved away from the door and the light shown onto Victoria’s face. He was holding a pistol to her head and she was struggling feebly against him. He jerked her in his arms and she stopped fighting.

“Let the kids go,” Jaxon said. “This is about you and me.”

“Now, why would I do that? I’ve finally gotten to know them.”

Ellie cried softly now, and Luke’s breathing was getting worse. The ragged sound grew louder by the second and Jaxon knew he didn’t have much time.

“I’ll put it down if you let them go,” Jaxon said.

“No!” The voice boomed in the room. Ellie squealed and started sobbing harder. Victoria remained still.

“I’m not putting the weapon down,” Jaxon said.

“Fine. Then die.” Worthington pointed the pistol at Jaxon and fired. It was like being struck with a fire hydrant. His shoulder jerked back, the gun flying from his hand, and he was flung against the wall like a rag doll. The blast from Worthington’s gun shook the air like a cannon going off in confined quarters.

There was no pain. Just a feeling of weakness, as if someone was letting the air out his body. He was deflating like a tire and could no longer stand. He slumped to a sitting position and watched as Worthington struck Victoria in the head with his gun, her body slumping to the ground and then he strode over to Jaxon, kicking his gun out of the way and picking him up like he weighed nothing. The man grinned into Jaxon’s face.

“You took my family from me,” he said through clenched teeth and Jaxon could smell his sour breath. “Now, I will finish taking yours and then take your life.”

He turned and fired the gun into Victoria’s prone body. Jaxon moaned as he watched it jerk and then lay still. He had lost again. The bastard had beat him and taken everything that mattered to him. A pain flared in his shoulder. Ice and fire screaming into his back and neck, and he welcomed it. It was like a jolt of electricity, jumpstarting his heart. He embraced the pain, moving his shoulder and creating more, a molten hot spike striking the core of his body. It made him angry, and angry was good.

Worthington was leering at Victoria, watching his handy work drain the life from her. Jaxon’s pain grew to a growling, menacing thing and it made his body tremble from the power of it. Worthington felt Jaxon shake and turned back to him.

That’s when he struck.

Thrusting his head back and then launching it forward, he struck Worthington in the face with his forehead, a loud crunching noise echoing through the room as his nose was crushed from the blow. Jaxon brought his knee up into his groin and Worthington bent over double, the gun dropping from his hand and Jaxon breaking free. As Worthington was down, Jaxon brought both hands up, his shoulder screaming in protest, but it only spurned him on. He brought both fists down on Worthington’s neck. Once. Twice. Three times, but the slab of meat that he was refused to go down. On the fourth strike, Worthington moved his head, and Jaxon’s locked fists struck his skull and he felt the bones in his hand shatter.

Worthington got to his feet and launched a blow to Jaxon’s abdomen that lifted him off his feet. The world spun and he felt his energy leave him. He sagged to the ground, but Worthington picked him up and pinned him to the wall, striking blow after blow to his body, his face, his ribs. Jaxon was losing consciousness and he knew he couldn’t hold on much longer.