Page 48 of One Last Breath

He lunges toward me, and I swing the shovel wildly. It catches the bolt cutter and knocks it out of George’s hands. I grab it, but he grabs the other end. After a brief struggle, he tears it from my hand.

I shriek again and grab the shovel. It has a longer reach than the bolt cutter, which is probably the only reason I’m still alive.

“The police are coming!” I cry.

My voice is trembling and thready. Rather than sounding intimidating, I sound terrified. Well, I am terrified.

“You called the police?” He seems genuinely shocked, as though it would never occur to him that someone would involve the authorities in this.

“Yes! They’re on their way! They know you’re here, and they know you broke into the garden. If you kill me, they’ll know it was you.”

George glances at Lila’s body. He reddens and glares at me. “They’ll already know it was me, idiot!”

"You can say it was the Greenwoods!" I argue, desperate to keep him at bay until the police arrive. "You can say you just wanted the document and that you had nothing to do with the body."

“Oh, sure,” he says, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “So that’s what? Trespassing, abusing a corpse, burglary, and maybe they won’t think I’m a murderer? That’s at least five years in prison, maybe ten, and while that happens, I just end up in more and more debt so I can declare bankruptcy when I’m out and end up homeless. Sounds damned wonderful, doesn’t it?”

“It’s either that or you get life in prison. Or the death penalty.”

“Or, I kill you, take what I need and buy myself a new life somewhere else. Yeah, I think I’ll take that option.”

He rushes forward, murder in his eyes. I swing the shovel again, but this time, he anticipates the strike. He sidesteps and lunges with the bolt cutter. I barely avoid the blow and swing again with the shovel. He reaches for it, but I manage to pull away and maintain control of the shovel.

I’m fighting for my life right now. I open my mouth to scream, but he lunges again, and instead of calling for help, I gasp, backpedaling and nearly falling. He presses his advantage, stabbing and slashing with the tool.

I swing the shovel and catch him on the face. It’s a glancing blow and not enough to knock him out, but it stops him and gives me time to regain my feet.

He clamps one hand to his jaw and glares at me. “You bitch! Oh, you bitch!”

He pulls his hand away, and I see that I’ve opened a cut in his cheek. Blood trickles down his chin in rivulets, and when he sees the blood in his hand, his eyes widen.

He looks up at me, and then his eyes narrow again. “I’ll kill you!”

He runs toward me, and I swing the shovel with all of my might. He catches it with one hand and, with the other, thrusts the bolt cutter toward me. I release the shovel and jump back. The blade doesn't pierce my chest, but as I trip and fall backward, it slices a ragged line through my dress. The fabric falls open, but I don't have time to be concerned with my modesty.

I scramble backwards, but before I can get to my feet, he lifts the bolt cutters high and with a roar brings them down. I roll over and feel the blade tear into my dress again. I get to my feet, the fabric tearing further.

“Help!” I cry out. “Someone help! He’s trying to kill me!”

His fist moves like a blur. I feel it crash into my temple like a club, and the world goes dark for a moment.

Light returns when I hit the dirt. I gasp and roll onto my back. My vision swims, and my head feels furry. I see George pull the bolt cutter from the ground and try to call for help, but no sound comes out. I try to move, but it’s all I can do to stay conscious.

He lifts the bolt cutter, and time slows to a crawl. This is the end, I fear. I have finally come across an opponent I can't bring to justice. The knowledge that the killer is nothing more than a greedy failure galls me, but what I feel more than anything is guilt.

I’ll never know what happened to my sister. I’ll never know if she was killed or if she’s still alive. I’ll never know if she suffered. I’ll never know if she ran away or was taken or changed her name and appearance and hid in plain sight.

I had a chance. I could have investigated her death, and I chose not to. Now that chance is lost to me forever.

I’m sorry, Annie. I’m so sorry.

The bolt cutter descends.

“Hey!”

The bolt cutter freezes. I frown and blink to clear my vision.

George stands over me, his eyes wide with shock. He doesn’t look at me, though. Instead, he looks over at the gate.

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