Chapter 6 - Cornered Beast
The maternity ward on the third floor of Saint Mary’s was eerily quiet compared to the chaos at Greenfield Health. The lights were dimmed to a soft amber, designed to soothe laboring mothers.
But at the end of the corridor, outside Room 302, the illusion of peace was shattered.
One of Miller’s private security guards lay slumped against the wall, groaning and clutching his head where he had been struck with a heavy fire extinguisher. The heavy double doors to Room 302 were latched from the inside.
Inside the room, I heard screams.
Taylor’s screams.
“Mom! MOM! HELP ME!”
I didn't wait for Miller. I sprinted down the hallway, the pistol gripped tightly in my hand.
Miller slammed his shoulder against the heavy wood door, but the interior deadbolt held firm. “He jammed the deadbolt with an orthopedic wedge!” Miller yelled, drawing his sidearm. “Stand back, ma'am! I’m breaching the lock!”
*BANG! BANG!*
Two high-caliber rounds shattered the lock mechanism. Miller kicked the door inward with a thunderous crash.
The scene inside the room stopped my breath.
Dr. Sarah Chen was pinned in the far corner, her scrubs torn, holding a pair of surgical shears in front of her to keep Marcus at bay.
Marcus was drenched in sweat, his expensive suit jacket discarded, his dress shirt covered in dirt and soot from the tunnels. His eyes were wide, bloodshot, completely vacant of sanity. In his right hand, he held a long, stainless-steel surgical scalpel.
And on the hospital bed lay Taylor.
She was in advanced active labor, writhing in pain, her hands tied to the bed rails with heavy restraint straps Marcus had ripped from the emergency supply cart. She was sobbing, hyperventilating, her eyes fixed on the man who had terrorized her for three long years.
“Don't come any closer!” Marcus shrieked, pressing the flat edge of the cold scalpel against Taylor’s bare neck.
A tiny bead of crimson blood welled up where the razor-sharp blade met her skin.
Taylor whimpered, freezing entirely. “Mom...”
Miller raised his weapon, his laser sight dancing across Marcus’s forehead. “Drop the blade, Hale! Drop it now!”
“Shoot me and my hand twitches! She dies before I hit the floor!” Marcus screamed, his voice cracking with madness. “You took my hospital! You took my reputation! You destroyed my family legacy!”
He leaned down, his face inches from Taylor’s ear, whispering loudly enough for the whole room to hear. “I told you, didn't I, sweetheart? I told you that you were nothing without me. You thought your mommy could save you? You thought some old money could buy you a life away from me?”
I took a slow, deliberate step forward, raising the pistol Miller had given me until the sights aligned perfectly with the bridge of Marcus Hale’s nose.
“Evelyn, don't move!” Marcus warned, pressing the blade deeper.
Taylor let out a sharp cry of pain.
“Marcus,” I said. My voice was steady. It didn't shake. It didn't waver. It was the calmest sound in that room. “Look at me.”
His wild, bloodshot eyes flicked to mine.
“You’re right,” I said softly. “I destroyed your hospital. I bankrupted your accounts. I gave the FBI the recordings of your voice planning to murder my child.”
Marcus’s lips pulled back in a hideous grin. “Then she dies with me.”
“She’s not going to die,” I said, taking another step forward. “Because you’re not a killer, Marcus. You’re a coward.”
“I’m a surgeon!” he roared.
“You’re a parasite who preyed on a gentle girl because you couldn't stand the thought of anyone seeing how small, pathetic, and hollow you truly are,” I continued, my words hitting him like physical blows. “Your father bought your way into medical school. Your board bought your reputation. And I bought the roof over your head. You have never owned a single thing in your entire life. Not even your own pride.”
Marcus’s face twisted in violent indignation. “I OWN HER!”
In that fraction of a second, his focus broke. His eyes left Taylor and locked onto mine in pure, unbridled fury.
Taylor, feeling the blade’s pressure lighten by a millimeter, reached deep down into the reservoir of strength she had hidden for three years.
With a guttural scream of rage, Taylor pulled her legs back and kicked out with both feet, slamming her heels squarely into Marcus’s bruised ribs and groin.
Marcus stumbled backward with a gasp of shock, the scalpel flying from his grip and clattering across the floor.
“NOW!” I screamed.
Miller lunged forward like a striking viper. He caught Marcus by the throat, driving him backward into the sterile medicine cart. Glass vials of saline and medications shattered everywhere as Miller pinned him to the floor, driving his knee into Marcus’s shoulder blade with bone-crushing force.
Marcus screamed in agony as Miller wrenched his arms behind his back, snapping heavy steel cuffs onto his wrists.
“Suspect secured!” Miller yelled into his radio.
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I dropped the gun onto the side table and threw myself onto the bed, wrapping my arms around my daughter.
***