Page 47 of Silent Trail

"Then tell your story to the world," she urged, her heart pounding like a drumbeat in her ears. "Let them see the power you hold." She pulled out her phone and showed it to him. "I can record you right now—live-stream this, if you want. Otherwise, you're just wasting a perfect opportunity."

"And I suppose you want me to hold the phone, right? You're just going to hand it to me without trying any funny business?" He chuckled darkly. "No, I'm afraid I'm not that simple-minded."

Sheila's heart raced as she watched the man's grip tighten around the knife at his victim's throat.

"How many more people are on your list?" she asked. "How many do you plan to make pay for their actions?"

The man smirked, a twisted glint in his eyes. "There are more names, of course. The ones who stood by and did nothing while I was tormented—they're just as guilty as those who pushed me over the edge." His gaze turned steely. "It's only right that justice is served and they're punished for what they've done."

"Justice," Sheila murmured, trying to hide her disgust behind a facade of admiration. She needed him to believe she was on his side, even if it made her stomach churn. "You could really make a statement, you know. Have you considered speaking to a reporter? Sharing your story might inspire others to fight back against their own bullies."

He eyed her suspiciously, and she held her breath, praying he'd take the bait. "You think I should just hand myself over to the authorities? Is that it?"

"No, no," she assured him. "I meant what I said earlier. I find what you're doing...admirable. If you share your story, maybe more people will have the courage to stand up to their tormentors."

The man seemed intrigued by her suggestion, his grip on the knife loosening ever so slightly. "Maybe," he mused.

"Imagine the impact your message could have on a national stage," Sheila persisted, her voice steady despite the fear clawing at her insides. "You'd be giving a voice to all those who've been silenced by bullies."

The man seemed to consider her words, his expression shifting like quicksilver as he weighed the possibilities. She could see the allure of fame and recognition in his eyes, and she pressed her advantage. "You'd reach millions of people, make them understand why you're doing this. They'd see that you're not just some mindless killer but a man with a cause."

"National TV, huh?" He tilted his head, the knife still dangerously close to his hostage's throat. "I could make them all listen...make them all pay attention."

"Exactly," she said, her heart pounding faster as she sensed him wavering. "You'd become more than just a name in the headlines. You'd be someone they couldn't ignore. A legend."

His gaze froze. All at once, Sheila realized she'd made a mistake, tried too hard to sell the ruse.

The man's eyes narrowed, and he sneered in contempt. "You think I'm an idiot? You're just stalling, trying to save your own skin." He tightened his grip on the knife, pressing it against the trembling girl's throat. "You don't care about my cause. Admit it!"

"No, I..." Sheila stuttered, but her voice failed her as the panic surged through her veins. She had come so close to winning him over, but now her desperation was laid bare.

"Jump!" he snarled, his patience clearly at its end. "Or she dies."

Sheila hesitated for a moment, searching for another way out, but there were no other options left. With a heavy heart, she took a step toward the edge of the bridge, her boots crunching on the gravel. The wind roared around her as she peered down into the inky darkness, the river below a cold, unforgiving abyss.

Her thoughts turned to Natalie as she teetered precariously on the edge of oblivion. Would this sacrifice be enough to make amends for the pain she'd caused her sister? Or would it all be for nothing, leaving the man free to continue his bloody rampage?

"Three seconds, Miss Stone!" the man said, his voice echoing through the dark expanse. "One!"

Sheila's breath came in ragged gasps as she desperately searched for any other option. She clenched her fists, nails digging into her palms as she tried to steady herself.

"Two!"

Time seemed to slow as the wind whipped around her, tangling her hair and tugging at her clothes. She could feel the rough, weathered wood beneath her feet, the damp chill of the night air clinging to her skin. Her mind raced, drawing on every ounce of her Olympic training and experience, but it all felt futile in the face of this impossible choice.

"Thr—"

"Wait!" she cried out, her voice choked with fear and desperation. But her plea fell on deaf ears as the man raised the knife, its blade gleaming menacingly in the faint moonlight.

Sheila's heart ached for the girl who stood trembling beside her tormentor. The girl's eyes were wide with terror, tears streaming down her face. She didn't deserve this fate.

Sheila knew there was only one thing left to do. Summoning every ounce of strength and courage she possessed, she closed her eyes.

And then she leaped into the abyss.

CHAPTER TWENTY EIGHT

As Sheila plummeted toward the dark abyss below, her instincts kicked in, and she reached out desperately. Her fingers brushed against something cold and metallic—a frayed cable that had once been part of the bridge's structure. Rusty and forgotten, it dangled precariously from the crumbling framework.

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