“Isabella, I need you to tell me where your father is.”
“This is wrong, you must know that. It’s all so very wrong and I don’t believe this is really you. Please.” I’m begging. I’ve resorted to begging because it’s all I can do. “None of this is going to bring the dead back.”
“That’s not the point. Your father has to answer for his crimes.”
“Yes, I agree with you. But this isn’t the way. Tristan… Sacha is like a father to me. Not the devil you seek. The other day you said you would have tried to save Eric if you could. If you meant it, stop this. It’s madness. Save the living. Have compassion on the living. Don’t become worse than Mortimer Viggo. You aren’t. Don’t take away the last person I have left in this world. Please….”
I hold his gaze not knowing if he’s going to listen to me or kill Sacha.
He looks away from me, switching his focus back to the man on the TV screen and stares, looking on in deep contemplation while Sacha screams in pain. Seconds pass that feel like eons then Tristan shakes his head.
“Stop,” he orders and my whole body sighs with relief.
I don’t, however, rejoice just yet though because Sacha has stopped moving. He’s not moving at all and he’s not making a sound.
My heart squeezes and I rush closer to the screen pressing my hands on the surface like I can go through it.
Everything inside me stills when I see blood dripping from his nose on to his lap.
Everything else fades when he doesn’t move and all I can think of is the obvious. He’s dead.
Sorrow closes my throat, and constricts my lungs, and I can’t breathe.
I back away, not knowing where I’m going and then I run not knowing where to go.
I head to the front door I saw on the way down as tears pour from my eyes and I run outside.
I run into the rain as it falls from the sky and joins with my tears. I run until I see sand and then I trip over something and fall into the mud.
I don’t notice the heavy thud of footsteps behind me until I’m on the ground then I see Tristan running up toward me.
Realizing I must be in trouble because I ran outside, I try to back away from him but keep slipping in the mud.
He grabs me and pulls me toward him, but I try to fight.
“Let go of me, you monster, you killed him! You killed Sacha,” I shout. “I hate you. I hate you so much. Let go of me.”
The tears fall harder when he tightens his hold around my waist and I genuinely believe this is it for me. He’s going to kill me now.
Shock, however, suffuses me when he envelopes me with his arms, cocooning me within the walls of his chest to hold me.
“Sacha’s alive,” he says against my ear. Those words are the only thing that stop me from thrashing against him. “He’s alive, Isabella. I’m sorry.”
I lift my head to look at him as he cups my face and I search those eyes. That’s when I see him. The real him. The man from the park who showed me compassion.
“I’m sorry,” he repeats with more fervency, his tone calming my racing heart.
“I don’t know where my father is Tristan. You have to believe me. I don’t know where he is. If I did, I promise you that I would tell you.”
He rivets his gaze to mine and when he nods, hope sparks my heart.
“I believe you,” he replies.