Page 48 of Once Marked
“Talk to me, Grace,” Beeler urged, keeping his tone even, struggling to bridge the gulf between them.
*
Ann Marie’s heart pounded against her ribcage, a metronome of fear and adrenaline as she burst into the dimly lit living room.She had been checking the deck when she heard voices that drew her back inside.
Her eyes locked onto the scene unfolding before her—Grace Mitchell, the elegance of her attire at odds with the desperation in her eyes, was holding Sheriff Beeler at gunpoint.
“Stay back!”Grace’s voice was a venomous hiss, slashing through the tension like a sharp blade.Ann Marie’s muscles tensed, ready to spring into action, but her training held her in place.“I’m leaving, and neither of you is going to stop me.”
Grace moved toward the broken front door without diverting the gun from its target.Ann Marie could only watch, her breath caught in her throat, as the woman began to retreat with careful steps.
Suddenly, the night was shattered by the wail of police sirens; red and blue lights sliced through the darkness outside, painting the porch in surreal hues as cars skidded to a halt, tires screeching.An ambulance joined the chorus, its presence an ominous portent.Silhouetted against the pulsating glow, Grace’s figure took on an ethereal quality, as if she were a specter caught between worlds.
Her eyes widened, the whites stark in the strobe of emergency lights.Her hand, once steady, now trembled, making the gun seem even more threatening.Ann Marie’s breath hitched; she knew this scene all too well—the moment when life teetered on the edge of a knife, when a single heartbeat could mean salvation or ruin.She saw it in Grace’s eyes, the glint of someone cornered, wild with fear and capable of anything.
“Suicide by cop” whispered through her mind.It was a path she’d learned of in somber academy lectures, a tragic outcome that seemed to hover over Grace now.In the cold embrace of the night, with lives balancing on a razor’s edge, Ann Marie Esmer was aware that the next words spoken might tip the scales irrevocably.From her upbringing in a mortuary, she knew the value of a gentle touch, the power of quiet assurance amidst the storm of grief.It was a skill honed beside caskets and whispered over condolence books.
“Grace,” Ann Marie said, her voice soft in the tense air, “I understand you’re scared.I see you’re hurting.”She took a careful step forward, her hands open and non-threatening.“But this—this moment right here—is not the end of your story.”
Grace’s breath hitched, the gun’s tremble growing more pronounced.
“Your life is precious, Grace.And I believe in second chances,” Ann Marie continued, her tone soft but resolute.“Let us help you find a way back.You don’t have to do this alone.”
Grace’s hand lowered ever so slightly, the lethal dance of the gun slowing as Ann Marie’s words seemed to reach something buried deep within the woman before her.
“Think of the people who care about you,” Ann Marie pressed on.“There’s a path forward, Grace.You can choose it.”
For a moment, Grace’s eyes flickered with doubt, then with a clarity that spoke volumes, her decision was made visible in the slackening grip on the weapon.With a shuddering exhale, the gun clattered onto the wooden boards of the porch, its echo a testament to the fragile victory wrought by words and understanding.
Ann Marie’s breath released, relief flooding her senses.
Beeler moved in, his seasoned instincts kicking into gear.He secured the firearm, while Ann Marie stepped closer to Grace, her hands gently grasping the woman’s arms.
“Grace Mitchell, you are under arrest,” Ann Marie declared.She felt Beeler’s presence behind her, a solid reassurance as they guided Grace down the steps, away from the edge of no return.
The flashing lights played over their figures as Grace was led to the waiting vehicle.Ann Marie’s heartbeat finally slowed, the adrenaline receding like a tide going out, leaving behind the sands of reality.
“Upstairs,” Beeler commanded the ambulance team as they piled out of their vehicle.
*
Riley knelt on the cold tile of the bathroom floor, her hands steady as she administered chest compressions to the victim lying before her.A silent mantra ticked through her mind with each push —Stay with me— a rhythm punctuated by the faint echo of her own breathing.The woman’s chest rose and fell under Riley’s force, a battle against the grip of death that dared to claim another soul.
“Come on,” Riley urged, her voice gruff with determination.She paused, searching for the pulse at the woman’s neck, hoping for any sign of life.Then, a cough shattered the stillness, rough and wet, like the first gasp of air after emerging from underwater.The victim’s eyes fluttered, confusion and fear in their depths as she sputtered, trying to expel the shadows that clung to her consciousness.
Relief surged through Riley, but she didn’t let it soften her focus.She had been through too much, seen too many false hopes snuffed out.
“That’s it, keep breathing,” she coaxed, her tone softer now.
She’d heard the sound of help arriving and no indication of a gunfight.Surely if she could just hold on …
The sound of footsteps clattered on the stairs, multiplying.Riley’s head snapped up, dark hair framing her face, eyes scanning the entrance.
“In here!Help!”she called out, her voice cutting through the clamor.
Paramedics burst into the room, a flurry of uniforms and medical equipment.They moved with professional urgency, crowding around the victim as Riley stepped back, giving them space.She watched as they assessed the woman, tubes and monitors quickly deployed in practiced emergency care.
Riley felt a twinge of warmth for the victim, whose life had nearly slipped away in this impersonal space.Her job was done — for now.Riley knew the work would begin again once the victim spoke, once she could piece together the fragments of this mystery that had nearly ended with one more body to count.
