* * *
Rick Winger touched the blood on his head. Then he took the wrench from his pocket. He rose quickly, swung the wrench like a hatchet and clobbered James Gold on the crown of the head. Once, twice, three times. He shoved him aside and then said to Christine:
“You’re a very disobedient girl, aren’t you? Snooping where you don’t belong. Sneaking out when you’re supposed to stay home. See what happens? Now you pay with two lives: yours and your father’s.”
She said, “I’m not afraid of you.”
He laughed and again raised the bloody wrench. “I can fix that.”
As he swung, he saw her grabbing for something atop the bedspread. He’d forgotten that she’d freed one of her hands. He had no idea what she had clutched, but by the time he saw that it posed a threat to him, it was too late to arrest his motion.
Just before the wrench missed her head and clanged against the bed frame with a resounding gong-like toll, his wrist was split open with a hellish, fiery pain unlike any Rick Winger had ever known.
He screamed and fell to his knees, dropping the wrench. Behind him, someone was entering the room.
“Help – security!”
It was a nurse. On his way out of the room, he backslapped her, sending her reeling. Then he raced for the stairs. Opening the door, he heard footsteps behind him. Someone tried to tackle him. He tripped. He was going to fall down the stairs, and he was not going to survive.