Chapter 9
The heavy thud against the wooden door shook dust from the rafters of the maintenance shed. Elena clutched the telephone receiver tightly to her ear, her heart pounding in her throat.
“Mrs. Oakridge, stay on the line,” the dispatcher’s voice urged firmly through the earpiece. “Deputies are less than two minutes away. Do not open that door under any circumstances.”
“He’s outside,” Elena whispered back, pressing herself flat against the workbench to stay out of sight of the grime-covered window. “He’s going to break the door down.”
Outside, the sound of splintering wood signaled that Daniel had found a heavy iron crowbar or a splitting maul from the nearby woodpile. Each strike reverberated through the small shed, sending shivers down Elena’s spine. The latch began to give way, the old iron screws groaning under the immense mechanical pressure.
“Elena, you’re only making this worse for yourself!” Daniel shouted from the other side, his voice thick with unbridled rage. “Open the door! We can handle this inside the house like family!”
“You’re a murderer!” Elena yelled back, finding a sudden surge of defensive courage that pushed past her terror. “The police are on their way, Daniel! You can’t hide what you did to Catherine anymore!”
A final, massive crash echoed as the wooden latch shattered entirely, and the shed door swung wide open. Sunlight flooded the interior, silhouetting Daniel’s imposing figure in the doorway. He held a heavy iron crowbar in his right hand, his dark polo shirt stained with sweat and dirt, his face twisted into an expression of cold fury.
Daniel stepped into the shed, his eyes locking onto Elena standing by the workbench. He didn't say a word at first; he simply raised the crowbar, ready to silence her permanently before the authorities could arrive.
“It’s over, Daniel,” Elena said firmly, holding the telephone receiver out as if it were a shield, though the line was still active with the dispatcher recording every word.
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Just as Daniel took a menacing step forward, the sharp wail of approaching sirens pierced the country air. The distinctive sound of police cruisers tearing down Blackwood Road echoed clearly through the open doorway. Daniel froze, his expression shifting from murderous rage to sudden, frantic calculation. The sirens grew louder, turning onto the gravel driveway of the estate.
Dropping the crowbar with a heavy metallic clatter onto the concrete floor, Daniel turned and bolted out of the shed, sprinting back toward the safety of the main manor house in a desperate attempt to fabricate an alibi before the deputies arrived.
