Before she can reach the door, it swings open. Yvonne and Jean-Claude burst in. They look from their daughter to me, their faces a mixture of shock and anger. They must’ve heard a noise and got up to investigate.
Yvonne is staring at Stella, disbelief in her eyes. “What are you doing down here?”
Jean-Claude pulls a syringe out of his pocket, the liquid inside glinting in the light of the ceiling lamp. Is it the usual sedative or something worse this time? Something to put me to sleep for good?
Stella rushes toward her father. “I won’t let you hurt Darrel!”
“You silly girl!” Yvonne blocks her way. “We’re doing this to protect you, to protect us all!”
Stella lunges at her mother.
Jean-Claude charges at me, the syringe raised and poised to pierce my skin. I react on instinct. With every ounce of recovered strength in my arm, I catch his wrist before he can jab me. We grapple for control of the syringe. As we draw nearer, the needle’s tip brushes my flesh. I can feel Jean-Claude’s breath as he towers over me. In this position, it’s almost impossible to overpower him. He has a clear advantage.
I grit my teeth and push myself up from the bed, my muscles straining under the pressure. My legs are shaky. I’m teetering on the edge of collapse and wincing from the strain. Still, I manage to brace myself against Jean-Claude’s onslaught and remain standing. This is my only chance to defend myself.
I’m still weak, but my skill and precision make up for it. We fight dirty—punches, kicks, bites—anything goes. Our fists fly, echoing in the room every time they connect with flesh. We grunt and pant. Jean-Claude spits out a broken tooth.
My body screams in agony as he kicks my legs. But I push through the pain, knowing that if I fail now, I won’t make it out alive.
When I see an opening, I lunge forward, barely able to dodge Jean-Claude’s outstretched arms. Bellowing in rage, I strike his jaw with a powerful hook. While he’s off balance, I wrestle the syringe from his hand and jab it into his neck, delivering the sedative straight to his vein. His eyes flash wide with surprise as he struggles to remain upright. But, seconds later, his legs wobble, and he drops to the floor in a heavy, crumpled heap.
If it was lethal poison in the syringe, then he’s lying in the bed he’s made.
I turn my attention to Yvonne, who’s still struggling with Stella. Their arms and legs are locked in a tangle as I limp toward them. Fueled by adrenaline and blinded by rage, I punch Yvonne between her eyes. She loses her footing. I grab her arms, restraining her as Stella backs away. Yvonne thrashes and yells curses at me, but I ignore her and focus on finding something to tie her with.
“Get me the bedsheet!” I bark at Stella.
She yanks it off the bed.
I twist it around Yvonne’s wrists and ankles, knotting it tight enough that she can hardly move. The screaming that comes from her mouth is more than I can bear right now. I ask Stella to grab the pillowcase. Once again, she complies without hesitation. I stuff it into Yvonne’s mouth to shut her up.
Good.
My breath comes in ragged gasps as I step back, surveying the scene. Stella rushes to Jean-Claude and takes his pulse.
“Is he breathing?” I ask.
His chest is rising and falling steadily, but confirmation would be nice.
“Yes.” She exhales, sagging to the ground. “Yes, he is.”
“Good.”
She crawls to the wall and leans on it. Her face is the color of her white pajama top. She looks at me and then at her parents, trying to make sense of everything that’s happened.
I limp back to the bed, my legs threatening to give out beneath me.
“Go upstairs, call,” I say to Stella, my voice faint and my breath coming in ragged gasps.
She pushes herself up and takes a step toward the door when I hear a commotion outside. Sounds of footsteps, muffled voices… They grow louder. I can tell that there are three, four, or more individuals out there. It can’t be Adam’s people. Assuming he saw Stella’s text at once, there is no way he could’ve flown a team from Pombrio to here so quickly.But then who is outside that door?
Stella darts to my side. “Can this be your people? Or Philippe and his parents? Local gendarmerie?”
“I don’t know.”
The men’s voices are muffled, but there’s a sense of urgency in their tone.
“Get away from the door!” someone shouts.
