Grace felt the exhaustion, but she forced herself to continue running. God, I’m out of shape. I can’t believe Eric is the killer. Fucking Eric killed my sister.
She could hear the rustling of branches and high grasses behind her. Eric was getting closer. He was gaining on her. Grace’s T-shirt was drenched with sweat. Her hands and knees were dirty from numerous falls she took. She wondered if she could escape. As she ran through the muddy terrain, she came upon a small creek about twenty feet wide. She thought if she could get across it, get down the hill, and across the next open area, she would reach the road. If she ran to the right, it would lead to the same location where she found her sister’s body. The thought frightened her, but she couldn’t stop her mind from the crazy, erratic thoughts that were now consuming her brain. The heavy feeling in her chest grew with every breath she took. Had she asked for this? By leaving Sandman, Jay, and Duke, had she asked to become another one of Eric’s victims? The police would know it was him. Sandman and his brothers would track Eric down and kill him. She felt the urge to give in. Give up and die out here, too. Would Eric kill her like he killed Clara? My mom. My mom would never survive all of this. Clara’s murder, Eric as the killer, and me dead, too.
No one was coming. This was all her fault and she blamed herself for everything. She should have stayed with her men, in their cozy private cabin, lost in their embraces and lovemaking, and now she may never see them again. They would be too late if they even found out the truth. Her brothers would lose another sister and her mom would lose another daughter. The thoughts kept repeating in her mind, pounding away at her will, her determination. She was losing the battle physically and mentally.
Just then she heard her name.
“Grace!”
Someone was calling her and it wasn’t Eric. She ran through the creek, tripping over branches and rocks beneath the water’s surface. Then she fell in the water slamming her knees against the jagged edges of a cluster of rocks. She grabbed the ground through the water, pulling herself up and pushing herself to continue to run. She made it to the hill. It was in front of her now as she dove at it grabbing fistfuls of dirt, scratching, clawing, using all her might to climb it and make it to the road just yards ahead.
She screamed with terror as Eric grabbed ahold of her ankles pulling her back down the hill. Her belly scraped across the dirt. She struggled to hold on, grabbing more dirt, ripping her nails and fingers, feeling the stinging caused by each attempt.
He jumped on top of her tackling her as he rolled her onto her back. He backhanded her once, twice across the mouth, then again with his forearm. This was it. She couldn’t take it anymore. She had dropped the ice pick that now laid only inches away from her.
“Grace!” She heard the voices screaming her name. Frank, John, Sandman, Duke? They were coming. They found her. She scraped together what little strength, momentum, and hatred she had left and threw her body to the side and attempted to grab the ice pick. She would not die, not without a fight. Eric would not be the one to survive.
“Help!” she screamed as loud as she could, feeling the strain, the ache in her throat and voice as she grabbed hold of the pick, striking Eric in the shoulder with it. She let go of the handle as she backed up the hill on her elbows, crying as she watched the hatred fill Eric’s eyes. He pulled the pick from his shoulder yelling like some wild beast and raised it over his head aiming it toward Grace’s heart.
“Time to die,” he said and Grace heard the shots. One, two, three, large bangs rang out as she covered her head and pulled herself into the fetal position for protection as Eric fell to the ground beside her then rolled down the hill.
She was crying now with her hands over her face, lying in the dirt, weak and exhausted.
“Grace, thank God you’re alive.” She heard Sandman’s voice, Frank’s, then John’s. They were at her side as she opened her eyes. All three men were still holding their guns in their hands as Sandman pulled her into their arms. Each of them had saved her life by firing at Eric.
“Jesus, is she okay?”
She heard Duke’s voice and saw him and then Big Jay through blurry eyes. Her three ginormous men had come to her rescue. Her brothers were there, too.
“You’re bleeding, baby, are you all right?” Sandman asked as he gently checked the wound on her arm.
“I’m okay and I’m so glad to see you guys. I love you.”
* * * *
Sarah slowly opened the door to the hospital room where Donald was resting. She had spent the last two days trying to recover from the shock that Eric was a killer. Eric had killed Clara and all those other innocent people. The thrill of killing consumed him. Then there was his involvement in the housing projects in Colton. He didn’t want Donald or the other contributors to succeed. Eric had received election endorsements from some business tycoon that wanted to buy the land and use it for vacation home development. They didn’t want low- income families living on the same property. They wanted it all to remain high class. It was disturbing. Those involved had a lot of questions to answer for the district attorney.
Then she thought about Donald.
He had risked his life for Grace, for all of them and she nearly lost him, too. She wondered if he would even want anything to do with her now. After Eric tried to frame Donald for the murders. Why would he? She just wanted to stop by to see him. He meant so much to her and it was the right thing to do.
The tears welled up in her eyes as she walked closer to the bed.
He opened his eyes and she was grateful that he appeared surprised not angry.
“Sarah?” he whispered, his voice a little rough and groggy.
She moved beside the bed and placed her hand over his and used the other hand to clutch her purse to her chest for support.
“I’ll leave if you don’t want to see me.”
“What? No, stay. Why would you think that?” he asked then clasped his hand over hers and brought it closer to his chest.
She loved the feel of him touching her. His strength, his charismatic way.
“I thought you would hate me for what Eric did to you.”
“Baby, no way. No freaking way would I blame you for that sick bastard. God Sarah, all I thought about, all I ever think about is you. I care about you.”