Chapter 7 - The Race Against Time
“What did you do with her?” Eric roared, lunging forward with a ferocity I had never seen in him before. He grabbed the wooden railing of the stairs, ready to charge upward.
Uncle Dave caught Eric by the collar of his shirt, hauling him back just in time. “Hold on, Eric! Don't play into her hands. It’s a distraction.”
“A distraction?” Vanessa smiled, her eyes gleaming in the dim light. She didn't retreat up the stairs; instead, she leaned against the railing, entirely unbothered by Dave’s crowbar or our presence. “Think about it, Dave. When we left the barbecue, where did Mom take Lucy? Did she drive straight home, or did she stop at the grocery store like she always does on Sunday afternoons?”
My blood ran cold. Mom always stopped at the local market on Sundays to pick up fresh produce after family gatherings. She had taken Lucy with her in her sedan.
“She’s bluffing,” I said, though my hands were shaking so badly I could barely hold the edge of the table. I pulled my phone out of my back pocket and tapped frantically on the screen, dialing my mother’s number.
The phone rang once. Twice. Three times.
“Please pick up, Mom, please...” I muttered under my breath.
On the fourth ring, the line connected.
“Claire?” My mother’s voice came through the speaker, breathless and strained, accompanied by the muffled background noise of a bustling grocery store aisle. “Claire, honey, I’m so glad you called. We’re at the market, but—something’s wrong.”
“Mom, listen to me very carefully,” I said, my voice cutting through the panic. “Do not leave the store. Do not let go of Lucy. Where are you right now?”
“We’re near the checkout counters,” Mom replied, her voice trembling. “A woman... a woman in a delivery jacket just approached us. She said she was sent by Eric to pick up Lucy because of the family emergency, but she didn't look right, Claire, so I said no—and she’s blocking the exit aisle—”
Before Mom could finish, a loud crash echoed through the phone speaker, followed by a sharp gasp and the sound of shattering glass.
“Mom!” I screamed.
“Get away from her!” my mother’s voice rang out, fierce and protective, followed by a scuffle and a high-pitched cry from Lucy.
Then the line went dead.
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The phone slipped from my fingers, clattering loudly against the concrete floor of the basement.
Vanessa smiled brightly from the top of the stairs. “Tick-tock,” she whispered.
