Page 35 of A Sister's Secret

Lisa's heart thrummed against her ribcage, the beat a relentless drum that countered the stillness. Her mind flashed through memories—narrow escapes, close calls, moments when life hung on a knife's edge. She had faced her demons before and survived them with grit and grace, but this was different. This was home, tainted by terror.

"Oliver, I—" Her words fractured as a new presence emerged, a cold whisper that slithered across her senses.

"Ah, the lovely couple." The voice was a shard of ice cutting through the thick air. "So determined, so brave—it's almost a shame."

Sheriff Jim Coleman stepped from the embrace of shadows, his form outlined by the faintest glimmer of light from a lamp outside. The blade gleamed in his hand—a cruel silver curve that promised pain. Lisa's pulse quickened; she knew the menace that waited in that steel.

"Jim, why?" Oliver's query was half-plea and half-accusation, a demand for answers where none could satisfy. “I have known you my entire life.”

"Because you can't have light without the dark," came the reply, cryptic and cold. "And because I can."

Oliver positioned himself between Lisa and the looming figure, his stance solid despite the trembling ground of betrayal beneath him. His life, spent navigating tumultuous seas and shaping stubborn wood, had honed his resolve. He would not let this darkness consume them.

"Lisa, behind me," he instructed, though it was more a comfort than command. He felt her nod against his back, her presence a fierce flame in the encroaching night.

"Bravery won't save you," taunted Coleman, the knife dancing in his grip, a serpent poised to strike.

"Maybe not," Oliver conceded, his voice steady. "But love will."

In those words lay their defiance, a declaration that they would not be undone by fear or malice. Together, Oliver and Lisa stood ready to face the abyss, their bond a beacon that no darkness could extinguish. Their love was a fortress, and within its walls, they prepared to defend the future they had built with every scrap of courage they possessed.

Then, Coleman swung the knife.

Oliver's breaths came in ragged gasps as he dodged another vicious swipe of the knife, his movements a testament to years of physical labor on the docks and in the workshop. The blade cut through the air, a whisper away from flesh. Lisa's eyes darted around, her mind racing for a solution, her body taut with adrenaline.

"Oliver!" she cried out as the sheriff feinted left and lunged right, the knife's edge glinting dangerously close to Oliver's arm. He staggered back just in time, his hands seeking any advantage, his fingers brushing against the rough wood of the cabin's interior.

The dance of death continued, Coleman’s laughter slicing through the tension as sharply as the weapon he wielded. Lisa watched, heart pounding, as Oliver narrowly avoided another strike, his footing almost betraying him.

It was now or never.

Her gaze fell on the remnants of a chair, shattered in the commotion—a leg lying innocently beside the overturned table. She lunged for it without hesitation, her fingers wrapping around the splintered wood. The weight of it felt reassuring, grounding amidst the chaos.

"Hey!" she shouted, her voice laced with fear and determination. As Coleman turned toward her, distracted by the challenge, she swung with all the might her café days and protective maternal instincts had instilled in her.

The chair leg connected with the assailant's wrist, a satisfying crack echoing through the room as the knife clattered to the floor. The world seemed to pause for a split second, the balance of power teetering on a precipice.

Seizing the moment, Oliver barreled into the killer with the force of an Atlantic gale, his body driven by the primal need to protect his family—his love for Lisa transforming into raw kinetic energy. They hit the ground hard, the killer's breath huffing out in surprise.

Lisa watched as Oliver pinned the assailant beneath him, every muscle in his body straining to maintain control.

"Call for help," he grunted, his focus unyielding as he wrestled to keep the killer subdued.

But Lisa couldn't tear her gaze away from Oliver, who stood as a bastion of safety in their turbulent lives, now grappling with the embodiment of their nightmares. Together, they were a symphony of survival, their love the melody that played on despite the darkness that sought to silence it.

Panic still clawed at her throat, but the sight of Oliver's unwavering resolve steeled her spirit. This was their life, their love, their fight—and together, they were unstoppable.

Oliver's arms tensed, his grip on the killer's wrists like iron bands. But in a desperate contortion, the assailant twisted free, sending Oliver stumbling. Time fractured as Lisa's scream pierced the air, her terror a tangible force.

The killer surged forward, knife glinting anew in the dim light, aiming for Lisa's heart. But Oliver, propelled by an instinct as deep as the ocean he once sailed, launched himself into the blade's path. The edge bit into him, stealing his breath, pain flaring where flesh gave way to unyielding intention.

"Oliver!" Lisa cried out, her voice a beacon in the sudden storm of chaos.

Her world narrowed to the sight of Oliver's crumpled form, to the blood that started to stain his shirt—a crimson testament to his sacrifice. Heat seared through her veins, love and fear melding into a singular force that drove her forward. A mother and a wife—her roles fused into a shield of fierce resolve.

"Get away from him!" she roared, her voice echoing off the cabin walls with an authority born of battles past and present.

She swung the broken chair leg with all the might her trembling muscles could muster, her strike an arrow loosed from the bow of her soul. It connected with a heavy thud against the killer's temple. He staggered, stunned by the ferocity of her retaliation, his eyes clouding with confusion and pain.

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