Chapter 9 - The Confrontation
David didn't flinch. He stood up slowly, twirling the knife in his hand.
"You brought a toy to a knife fight, darling," he sneered, his eyes filled with a terrifying, ecstatic madness. "You shouldn't have gone in the basement. We could have been happy."
"You don't know what happiness is, Elias," I spat, using his real name.
His face contorted in absolute fury at the sound of the name. He lunged at me. I swung the crowbar, catching him hard on the shoulder. He roared in pain but grabbed the iron bar with his free hand, yanking me forward.
We crashed to the floor, rolling in the dust and grime. He was too strong. He pinned me down, raising the knife high above his head. I closed my eyes, bracing for the end.
Suddenly, a deafening crack echoed through the cabin.
David froze. The knife dropped from his hand, clattering to the floor. He slumped sideways, collapsing heavily onto the wooden planks.
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Standing in the doorway, drenched in rain and holding a smoking police-issue revolver, was Stan. Behind him, the red and blue flashing lights of State Police cruisers illuminated the forest.
"I told you," Stan breathed heavily, lowering the gun. "I wasn't letting him get into another rig."
