“Get out!” He reached for the door handle but froze.
He heard the dry click of a hammer being cocked. He slowly turned his head. In the dim light of the cabin, he saw the dark silhouette of a pistol, the barrel pointed directly at the back of his head.
“Drive,” her voice was quiet but trembling with tension. “Slowly. Toward the old quarry. I just want to talk.”
Ian realized she wasn’t joking. But fear was quickly replaced by his usual arrogance and sense of superiority. He saw not a killer, but just a frightened woman with a gun. He gripped the wheel, and the car moved.
They drove off the main road onto a deserted dirt path that led to the old flooded quarry and stopped at the edge of the cliff. Below, in the headlights, the black, dead water sat still.
“Talk,” Ellen said, keeping the gun on him. Her hands were shaking. “Tell me what you did to my daughter. Tell me everything. Into the recorder.”
Ian slowly turned. He looked at her. He saw her fear, saw her shaking hands. In that moment, he felt like he was back in control.
“What, decided to play vigilante?” he hissed. His smile was more of a snarl. “Yeah, we did it. All of us. Because she wanted it. And you know what? She was good. Your daughter’s a real firecracker.”
Ellen struck him across the face with her free hand. The sound of the slap echoed in the car like a gunshot. Ian spat on the dashboard. His eyes filled with rage.
“You bitch…” He didn’t say anything else. He acted.
With a sudden, lightning-fast movement, he threw an elbow back, aiming for her face. Ellen wasn’t expecting it. The blow caught her shoulder, and the gun fell from her weakened hand onto the seat between them. Ian spun around instantly, his large frame filling the space. He lunged at her, reaching for her throat.
“I’ll kill you right here!” he growled, pinning her into the seat.
They rolled across the back seat in a violent, blind struggle. He was stronger, heavier. His fingers were already tightening around her neck. Ellen was suffocating. Dark spots danced before her eyes. Her hand frantically searched the seat.
Her fingers brushed against the cold, textured grip of the pistol. She didn’t aim. She just squeezed it in her hand and, with the last of her strength, pulled the trigger.
The shot thundered right by her ear, deafening her. Ian’s body jerked, went limp, and slumped heavily on top of her. A ringing silence filled the car, broken only by her own ragged, desperate breathing.
With great effort and a feeling of revulsion, she pushed his lifeless body off her. He slid to the floor. A dark stain was spreading across his chest, right over his heart.
Ellen sat for several minutes, stunned, unable to move. She hadn’t wanted to kill him. She wanted the truth. But he hadn’t given her a choice. He’d attacked her, and she’d defended herself. But who would believe her? Panic, cold and clear, replaced the shock. She had to cover her tracks.
She climbed out of the car. With great difficulty, she dragged Ian’s heavy body out and, pulling him to the edge, pushed him over. There was a dull splash. Then she got back in the car. She took it out of park. She turned the wheel toward the cliff. She opened the door and, flooring the gas, jumped out at the last second.
The car gathered speed, flew off the cliff, and hit the water with a deafening splash, taking all the evidence to the bottom. Ellen, soaked to the bone, turned and walked back toward the highway, disappearing into the rain and the dark.
Ian Sterling’s disappearance rocked the town. This wasn’t the quiet death of a “depressed” teenager. This was a direct, bold challenge thrown at the Police Commissioner. The black Cadillac belonging to the Commissioner’s son had simply vanished. Ian was gone too. No body, no car, no witnesses.
Commissioner Sterling was losing his mind. He could no longer pretend nothing was happening. He mobilized the entire city and county police force. Every corner, every alley, every dive bar was turned upside down. Hundreds of people were questioned. Divers searched the rivers and lakes. But it was all in vain. The Commissioner’s son and his car had seemingly vanished into thin air.
For the rest of the town, the official story was that Ian Sterling had fallen victim to a gang hit. The papers were full of headlines about the “brazen challenge of organized crime,” and officials promised to find and punish the guilty.
But Sterling and Vance Taylor’s father knew the truth. Or rather, they knew *who* was behind it. They were gripped not just by fear, but by a raw, primal terror. The avenger, whoever they were, had moved to a new level. They weren’t just hurting or killing. They were making people disappear. And that was the most terrifying thing of all.
The last one left, Vance Taylor, found himself in a literal fortress. His father, the State Senator—a man with massive connections and a paranoid mind—turned their lake house into an impenetrable bunker…
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