Chapter 9 - The Last Gambit
The sight of steel handcuffs locking around Eleanor Vance's manicured wrists felt like a scene from an unreal drama.
She didn't scream or fight; she simply glared at Marcus with eyes full of absolute hatred as Miller led her away.
"You will regret this, Marcus!" Eleanor called out down the hallway. "The family will tear you apart!"
The heavy door clicked shut, leaving only Arthur, Marcus, and me in the sudden, eerie quiet of the room.
Marcus slumped into the chair beside my bed, burying his face in his hands as quiet sobs wracked his shoulders.
I reached out, my fingers tracing the back of his neck, feeling the heavy burden he had carried alone.
"Marcus," I whispered.
He lifted his head, his eyes pleading for redemption. "I'm so sorry, Khloe. I should have told you from day one."
"You should have," I agreed, not letting him entirely off the hook. "We're partners, Marcus. You don't hide death threats from me."
"Never again," he swore, pressing a kiss to my palm. "I swear on my life, never again."
Suddenly, the overhead fluorescent lights flickered violently twice, then plunged the entire room into pitch darkness.
The steady hum of the fetal monitor died with a sickening electronic whine.
"What was that?" Arthur said, his phone flashlight immediately clicking on, casting long, sharp shadows.
"Backup generators should have kicked on instantly," Marcus said, standing up and reaching for his own phone.
From the hallway outside, a muffled thud echoed, followed by the sound of someone groaning on the floor.
"Arthur, check the door," Marcus ordered, moving defensively to stand between my bed and the entrance.
Arthur stepped toward the door, turning the handle slowly and peering out into the darkened corridor.
"Officer down!" Arthur yelled, turning back into the room. "The guard at the door is unconscious!"
Before Marcus could react, a figure dressed in dark blue surgical scrubs darted through the doorway.
A flash of surgical steel glinted in the flashlight beam—a twelve-inch prep scalpel.
"If I can't have your life, Marcus, nobody will!" a shrill, hysterical voice screamed.
It was Isabella.
She hadn't fled the hospital after Eleanor posted her bail; she had hidden in the staff locker rooms, waiting for the dark.
She lunged directly toward my bed, the scalpel aimed straight for my swollen belly.
"KHLOE!" Marcus roared, throwing his entire body across the bed to shield me.
The blade sliced down through the darkness, tearing through the heavy fabric of Marcus's coat.
A sickening sound tore through the room as Marcus let out a guttural roar of agony.
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Isabella raised the bloody blade again, her face wild, her eyes completely unhinged under the flashlight glare.
"Die! Both of you, die!" she screamed, plunging the scalpel down a second time.
