Page 98 of Liberating Bells
Mark told Izabel he wouldn’t hesitate to kill me, and now we’re here. I face him head on, hoping that I come off braver than I’m feeling right now. Time seems to slow down as my brain jolts into overdrive.
I don’t want to die. Especially not now that Izabel and I have finally found our footing together. Distantly, I think about what will happen to my family—my mom will be devastated. Thalia, though young, will still feel the lasting effects of this for the rest of her life.
No, I don’t want to die. I won’t.
Not today.
“You’ve had this coming,” Mark growls at me and moves his finger to the trigger. The fear coursing through my body amplifies, and I know if I don’t act now, everything will be over.
Everything happens in a split second. I see Mark’s finger flex, and I lunge myself off to the right as the gun fires. Searing pain shoots through the side of my arm as I fall onto the ground. Idon’t take the time to observe the damage, but keep my eye on Mark.
He’s glaring at me, his expression even more murderous than it was before. Then he laughs humorlessly. “You’re a real piece of shit, you know that, Ryan?” He raises the gun to me again as he steps closer.
I push to my feet, ignoring the pain in my shoulder. We’re facing off, but I don’t offer him any type of reaction at this point.
“TheKing of Bennett,” Mark taunts me. “Everything always works out for you, doesn’t it. You got the career, the job, the girl.” He shakes his head, strands of dark hair falling over his forehead. “And what do I get? My fiancée left me at the altar because you manipulated her into thinking she loves you.”
“I’m not the manipulator here,” I finally say, hoping my voice comes out firmly rather than shaky.
“I HAD IT ALL!” Mark shouts. He’s unhinged. His face is red with emotion as he shakes the gun in my face. “Everything was perfect. After so many years of trying to show her how perfect we are together, I finally had Izabel. Everything was going the way it was supposed to untilyoushowed up again, and now I have nothing. NOTHING.” He laughs again, a manic sound. “This is all your fault.”
“Put the gun down,” I instruct as I take a step toward him. I raise my hands as if in surrender, hoping he doesn’t see the way they’re trembling. “And we can figure this out.”
“Take another step, Miller. I dare you,” Mark sneers and returns the gun to my face. I freeze as I stare down the dark abyss of the barrel. Apprehension crashes through me with the wild glint in his eye as he moves his finger to the trigger once again.
My arm aches and my head is throbbing from where he clocked me over the head earlier, but I shove it down. I can’t let myself get distracted. “Mark, put the gun down.”
His eyes narrow at me, and then he shakes his head, his nose wrinkling up in disgust. “Ihateyou, Ryan Miller. You’ve ruined my life. I don’t even have anything left to live for. She’s gone. You win.”
“I didn’twinanything,” I say.
But Mark does not hear it. He’s still shaking his head. Tears spill out of his eyes, and he finally drops the gun away from me, but then raises it to his temple. “You won. You always win.”
A new type of dread settles deep in my gut and my blood turns to ice.
I observe Mark, our eyes locking. Body thrumming, I ready myself to move. He’s not going to do it, but I can’t take that risk. My leg muscles coil together as I get ready to lunge. Sirens echo faintly in the distance. Mark hesitates for only a second when he hears them, giving me the perfect opportunity to make my move.
I throw myself at Mark, catching his arm holding the gun to his head, and maneuver it away from his body. The shot goes off, a chain reaction to me grabbing him. Mark howls out as I tackle him to the ground and kick the gun out of his hand. We tussle and fight until I bring my fist back, clocking him in the jaw. Mark is stunned for long enough for me to scramble off of him and grab the gun. I release the magazine and pull back the slide to quickly remove the bullet from the chamber. I tuck both safely into my pocket while I place the gun in my belt.
A loud exhale escapes me, and I slouch against the wall. It’s over. Mark is still sprawled on the floor, lying there without moving. I hear the sirens shut off, and then car doors slamming outside.
The police shout their arrival, and I push myself up, staggering over to the door and slowly pulling it open. I hear guns cocking and aiming at me as I step out into the light and put my hands up behind my head in surrender. My eyesimmediately latch on to Izabel, who is collapsed against the grass.
Her face is a mess, blotchy and red from crying. Still, I see the relief overwhelm her at my appearance, and she collapses against the elderly woman next to her.
The police officers move up to me and pull my hands behind my back, securing my wrists in handcuffs. I hiss through my teeth as the forced movement sends shoots of pain through my injured arm. “There’s an unloaded gun in my waistband,” I explain to the one who’s locking me up. “The magazine and spare bullet are in my pocket. The man in the house tried to murder my girlfriend and me.”
“Do you know of any other weapons?” the cop asks me as he removes the gun from my belt.
“No, but there’s a safe in the living room. There might be another one in there,” I tell him. The safe is what tipped me off that something wasn’t right in the first place. When I was bringing the boxes to Izabel, I noticed that the door was wide open, and I could have sworn it wasn’t that way when we first walked in. But before I had gotten the chance to explain to Izabel, Mark clonked me over the head and everything went black.
The police maneuver into the house in their tactical formation, and my eyes go back to Izabel. I can see she’s a mess. I give her a small nod, trying to let her know everything will be okay. She falls into another round of hysterics, and all I want is to go to her. I need to feel her in my arms, know that she’s safe. Know that I still have the other half of my heart on this earth with me.
“You get shot?” one of the cops asks me, motioning towards my arm.
“I guess,” I say blandly as I look down at my arm. Sure enough, there’s blood seeping through the fabric of my shirt. Ahumorless laugh escapes as I stare down at my shoulder. That fucker shot me. “It burns something fierce. And he knocked me over the head with a gun.”
Even though I know the words I say are an accurate depiction of what happened in that house, it still feels surreal. Like something out of a soap opera TV show. How did this become my life?
