Chapter 16 - The Drop
I didn't pull the trigger on the shotgun.
Instead, I slammed my left heel down hard onto the recessed brass floor peg hidden beneath the edge of the dining room rug—a release mechanism my father had installed forty years ago when the room served as a secure grain and root cellar loading hatch.
The heavy oak trapdoor beneath the center of the great room dropped open with a thunderous *bang*.
Ethan shrieked as the floorboards vanished beneath his boots.
The gasoline jug tumbled from his grip, bouncing harmlessly across the stone hearth, while his arms flailed wildly into the empty air. His pistol fired once as he fell, the bullet splintering harmlessly into the ceiling plaster, before his body plummeted eight feet straight down into the reinforced stone root cellar below.
A sickening crunch of breaking bone echoed up through the opening, followed by a raw, agonized howl of pain.
"Clara! Clara, you bitch!" Ethan screamed from the darkness of the cellar pit, his voice vibrating with agony. "My leg! My goddamn leg is broken!"
I stepped to the edge of the hatch opening, looking down into the pit.
The light from my heavy-duty Maglite cut through the gloom, illuminating Ethan sprawled across the hard-packed gravel and stone floor. His right leg was bent at an unnatural, grotesque angle at the knee, bone tenting the denim of his trousers. His pistol had skittered ten feet away into the darkness, completely out of his reach.
"Stay right there, Ethan," I said calmly, resting the shotgun across my forearm. "Ray! Call the state police. We have an intruder in custody."
"Clara! Please!" Ethan sobbed, the arrogance completely draining from him as the shock set in. He clawed at the gravel, dragging himself a few inches toward the light before collapsing in agony. "You can't let them arrest me! If the syndicate finds out I didn't get the ledger, they'll kill me in prison! They have guards on their payroll! Clara, please... we have children together! Think of Emma! Think of Ben!"
"I am thinking of them," I said, my voice cutting through his pathetic whimpering. "I’m thinking of how you abandoned them in a hotel room in Florence while you took your mistress to buy luxury watches. I’m thinking of how you told me to get out of our home because you didn't want old things around you."
"I was sick! I was stressed!" he wailed, tears streaming down his grimy cheeks. "I didn't know what I was doing! Clara, I still love you! It was always you! Lily meant nothing to me!"
May you like
"You don't love anyone, Ethan," I said, stepping back from the pit. "You never did. You only love what you can steal."
Outside, the wail of police sirens pierced the night, echoing through the apple orchard as three state trooper cruisers, followed by the county sheriff's squad car, tore down the long gravel driveway, their red and blue strobe lights painting the bare branches of the trees in brilliant, flashing colors.
