Page 66 of Justice

"We take him to the basement," Christopher continues, his voice low and menacing. "There, we can take our time. Make him suffer in ways he never imagined possible. We'll break him, piece by piece, until he's begging for the sweet release of death."

A shiver runs down my spine at the cold, ruthless intensity in Christopher's voice.

My dad's face twists into a grim, satisfied smile, a spark of dark anticipation glinting in his eyes. "The basement," he echoes, nodding slowly.

Mason and Reid exchange a look of silent agreement, their postures relaxing slightly as they realize the situation is under control. Lane moves to the door, his hand resting on the handle as he prepares to ensure a clear path to the waiting vehicle outside.

Christopher leans down, his face mere inches from Mr. Evans's. "You hear that, you sick fuck?" he whispers, his words dripping with venom. "We're going to take our time with you. By the time we're done, you'll be begging for the mercy of a quick death. But we won't grant it. Not until you've experienced a fraction of the hell you put Elle through."

Mr. Evans's lips curl into a sickening smile, his eyes glinting with a crazed, obsessive light as he stares up at me from his pinned position on the floor. "You don't understand, do you?" he hisses, his voice dripping with a twisted, perverted affection. "Elle is mine. She's always been mine, from the moment I first laid eyes on her in my classroom."

He lets out a maniacal laugh, the sound echoing off the hospital room walls and sending chills down everyone's spines. "I watched her, day after day, as she sat in my class, so innocent and pure. I knew I had to have her, to possess her in every way possible."

I tremble on the bed, clutching Miracle tighter to my chest as tears stream down my face. Christopher's grip on Mr. Evans tightens, his knuckles turning white with the force of his rage.

"That night in the woods," Mr. Evans continues, his voice taking on a sickening, dreamy quality, "was just the beginning. The way she struggled, the way she cried out… it was exquisite. I savored every moment, every scream, every tear. It was a symphony of pain and pleasure, and I was the conductor." Helicks his lips, his gaze roving over my body with a predatory gleam. "I couldn't get enough of her. I needed more. So, I followed her, watched her every move. I was there, in the shadows, always waiting for the perfect moment to strike again."

Mr. Evans's eyes flick to Miracle, a twisted grin spreading across his face. "And then she gave me the greatest gift of all. A child, a perfect blend of her beauty and my power. That baby is mine, just as Elle is mine. And I will have them both, no matter what it takes."

He strains against Christopher's hold, his face contorting with a manic determination. "You can't keep me from them forever. I'll find a way. I'll always find a way. Elle belongs to me, body and soul. And I will never stop until I possess every inch of her, until I've broken her completely and remade her in my image."

The room is silent, save for the ragged breaths of the men and my muffled sobs. Christopher's face is a mask of pure, unadulterated hatred, his body trembling with the effort to restrain himself from ending Mr. Evans's life right then and there.

"You're wrong," Christopher growls, his voice low and deadly. "Elle is not yours. She never was, and she never will be. You're nothing more than a delusional, sick monster who preys on the innocent. But your days of torment are over. We're going to make sure of that."

With a swift, brutal motion, Christopher slams his fist into Mr. Evans's face, the sickening crunch of bone echoing through the hospital room. The force of the blow sends a shock wave up Christopher's arm, the delicate bones in his hand fracturing under the impact. But he barely registers the pain, his focus solely on the monster beneath him.

Mr. Evans's head snaps back, blood spraying from his shattered nose and split lip. His eyes roll back in their sockets,a gurgling moan escaping his throat as he teeters on the brink of unconsciousness. But Christopher isn't finished, not by a long shot.

He rains down blow after blow, his fists pummeling Mr. Evans's face and body with a relentless, savage fury. The once pristine hospital floor is soon slick with blood, the coppery scent mingling with the sterile odor of disinfectant. Christopher's knuckles split open, his own blood mixing with Mr. Evans's, but he doesn't stop, can't stop, until the monster is reduced to a broken, whimpering mess.

The room is silent save for the dull, rhythmic thud of knuckles meeting flesh and the ragged breaths of those in the room.

I’m in complete shock.

Finally, after what feels like an eternity, Christopher relents, his chest heaving with exertion, his hands dripping with blood. Mr. Evans lies motionless on the floor, his face a swollen, unrecognizable mess of bruises and lacerations. His chest rises and falls in shallow, labored breaths, the only sign that he still clings to life.

Christopher turns to face the others, his eyes wild and haunted, his face splattered with crimson droplets. "Get him out of here," he rasps, his voice raw and hoarse. "Take him to the basement. I'll be there soon."

Mason and Reid move forward, their expressions grim and determined as they haul Mr. Evans's limp form up from the floor. They drag him from the room, his feet trailing behind him, leaving a smeared trail of blood in their wake, down into the hospital hallway.

Christopher turns to look at me. I clutch my baby to my chest, horrified by what happened.

The fact that my teacher is the one that assaulted me, someone that I trusted and was a part of my life.

Christopher’s eyes soften as he takes in my trembling form and the way I clutch Miracle protectively to my chest. He takes a step toward the bed, his hands held out in a placating gesture, as if approaching a frightened animal.

"Elle," he says softly, his voice breaking with emotion. "I'm so sorry. I'm sorry you had to see that, to relive that nightmare.”

My lips are trembling like the rest of my body, tears streaming down my face as my dad comes over to take my baby from me and hold her.

I nod mutely, trying to process the shock and horror of the revelation. My mind reels with the knowledge that the man I trusted, the teacher I looked up to, was the monster who violated me in the most heinous way possible.

Christopher approaches the bed slowly, his arms outstretched, offering comfort and solace. I collapse into his embrace, burying my face in his chest as heart-wrenching sobs rack my body. His strong arms wrap around me, holding me close and enveloping me like a protective cocoon.

"Shh, it's okay, Elle. I've got you," Christopher murmurs, his voice low and soothing, like a balm to my shattered soul. "You're safe now. He can't hurt you anymore. I won't let anyone ever hurt you again."

His hand strokes my hair, fingers gently untangling the knots and smoothing the strands. The tender gesture, so filled with love and care, only makes me cry harder, my tears soaking through his shirt. But Christopher doesn't seem to mind, only holding me tighter, rocking me gently as he whispers words of comfort and reassurance.

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