Chapter 6 - Confrontation in the Fog
I couldn't stand by and watch them kidnap my father a second time. Overcome by a wave of protective rage, I grabbed a heavy wooden log from a nearby firewood stack, pushed past Arthur, and kicked open the side kitchen door with all my strength.
The heavy door slammed against the wall, echoing like a gunshot through the cottage. Clara froze, her eyes widening in absolute horror as I stepped into the warm glow of the living room.
"Sarah?!" she gasped, taking a step back.
"Leave him alone, Clara!" I shouted, holding the log like a bat.
Vance immediately reached for a holster beneath his jacket, but Arthur rushed in right behind me, tackling Vance into a glass-topped coffee table. The table shattered into a thousand pieces as the two large men grunted and wrestled on the floor.
"Dad!" I screamed, turning toward the armchair.
My father turned his head slowly. His blue eyes, once so bright and full of life, looked clouded and confused. He looked at me, then at Clara, his hands trembling. "Sarah...? No... my daughter died... she died in the accident..."
"No, Dad! I'm alive! Look at me!" I rushed to his side, dropping the log and grabbing his weathered hands. "Clara lied to you! She’s been drugging you! I’m here, Dad. Ariel is three years old today. You have a granddaughter!"
A flicker of recognition flared deep within his eyes. He reached up with a trembling, calloused thumb and touched the tear sliding down my cheek. "Your... your scar... under your chin... from the bicycle crash when you were seven..."
"Yes! Yes, Dad, it's me!" I sobbed.
"Enough!" Clara screamed. She had pulled a small silver pistol from her handbag and was pointing it straight at my chest. Her face was contorted with madness. "He belongs to me, Sarah! Your father never loved me when he was sane—he always looked at me like I was just an intruder in his perfect little family with you! But when he lost his memory... he was mine! I cared for him! I gave him everything!"
"You turned him into a ghost so you could steal his fortune!" I shouted back, stepping between her gun and my father. "You forced him into a living nightmare!"
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Behind us, Arthur managed to pin Vance’s arm, slamming the guard's wrist against the hardwood floor until his gun skittered away across the rug. But Clara was still holding her weapon, her hand shaking violently on the trigger.
"If I can't keep him, nobody will," Clara whispered sinisterly, her finger beginning to tighten on the metal curve.
