Tristan backed up to the wall, ready to fight. Being in fight mode for over forty-eight hours straight does strange things to your body and mind. She could feel her calf muscles flex and prepare for the onslaught as her strength radiated throughout her body. She was prepared to take him down. While her mind was racing, Tristan allowed fight mode to take over once more. His silhouette now darkened the doorway of the cellar and she would not wait for him to strike first. As the shadow crossed into the foyer, Tristan reached for Frank’s gun from the cabinet that stood beside her and flipped off the safety.
Finally, he emerged from the cellar and staggered into the foyer, eyes wild and face grim. He stalked around the room until he was directly in front of Tristan, trying to intimidate her with each of his movements. She didn’t falter, she didn’t move, and she didn’t break eye contact. Tristan didn’t recognize him at first; his face was badly bruised from the car accident. His nose appeared to be broken, courtesy of Frank Kilpatrick, and there were bruises all over his arms – a combined contribution from Tristan and the car accident. Kendricks watched her, searching for an ounce of panic in her eyes. It wasn’t there. His stomach lurched. Was it fear? He allowed a smile to form on his face before taking a step forward. But as slow and slick as his movement was, hers were fast and predatorial. She lifted the gun, held it with both hands, stance strong and serious, and aimed the pistol square at his chest.
“Now, Catherine…”
“Call me Catherine again and see what happens! I am Tristan. Your student, Mr. Kendricks!” Her tone was stern and serious, all traces of exhaustion and weakness removed. A single click sounded from the gun. Tristan didn’t allow a blink. Kendricks, speaking in his most charming voice, appealed to her kind nature.
“Truly, there is no need for any of this. I would just like to talk. You know how I feel about you…” Kendricks moved closer, testing Tristan’s mettle.
“One more step, and I will not hesitate,” she warned him.
She didn’t raise her voice, but she didn’t falter either, her tone remaining cool and lethal. Bernard stared at her. She wasn’t as similar to her mother as he thought. She was cool under pressure. Catherine would have cracked by now. He remembered how calm she was just before she left him on the side of the road. Suddenly his thoughts were aflame with rage.
“Catherine…”
Tristan changed her aim from his chest to his head. A determined look took over her face as she looked him in his eye.
“Try me.”
*
“What are we supposed to do?!” yelled Blake looking at the others for direction.
“We need to go for help!” explained Shane, beginning to lose his cool.
“My mom still has Tristan in the house, and my Dad is around here somewhere. We need to find a pay phone and call the cops. “
“We can’t leave her,” yelled out Cole, “I won’t. I refuse.”
“Cole’s right. We have to get her and Aunt Bridgette out. We have guns, too.”
Tommy gave the pair a troubled look and replied, “We have a gun. We need to go for help. You too, Cole. We’ll go to your father’s place and wait there for word from the others.”
“I won’t leave her!” insisted Cole.
“Listen to me. In order to help her, in order to help everyone, we have to go for help. This is above our heads. We aren’t doing her any good by charging in there and getting ourselves killed,” explained the typically hot-headed Tommy. In a situation of true emergency, he proved to be the most level-headed of all the boys. Shane reached into his cargo pants and tossed Tommy a set of keys. “Let’s go.” Reluctantly, Cole and Blake got in the truck, allowing charged glances to linger back at the Morrow house.
*
DiNolfo moved closer to the tiny shack, moving quietly, stealthily through the brush as leaves crackled under foot. Finally, she reached the door of the tiny house. She took her flashlight and put it on the padlock which was unlocked and just dangling. She removed the lock from the door, and swung the rusted door open, unaware of the figure that was standing directly behind her.
“You lost?!” said a voice, startling DiNolfo into action. Gun out, she pointed her flashlight into the face of Liam Morrow.
“Jesus Christ, kid! That’s a good way to see angels!” Bent over and trying to catch her breath, DiNolfo stared up at the curly haired, rosy cheeked teenager, giving him a look as if she wanted to scream.
“Sorry. We were keeping watch up in our father’s tree stands. That way if anyone came through here, we could stop them.”
“Who is ‘we’?”
Adam climbed down from his tree stand and greeted the Sergeant quietly.
“We were going through the fishing hut when you showed up. We turned off the light quickly, hoping you didn’t see us. Liam thought you were Kendricks.”
“It looks like he was using it. There is a bunch of stuff in there that we didn’t leave in there last fishing season. Rope, masking tape, a couple of fake IDs, hunting knives, and that lock. We never lock up the fishing hut. It’s just a hole in the floor and a couple of benches,” explained Adam.
“I think this is where he took your sister the first time he took her. When you guys searched the land, didn’t anyone check in here?”