Dennis flew down the stairs, but stopped short. Something in his mind clicked;a flash of memory.
The mop water.
Earlier that day, his mom had forgotten to throw it out after cleaning. He turned his head sharply, spotting the bucket still near the wall. If he slipped in it just once... Dennis grabbed the handle and yanked it forward, tipping the dirty water straight onto the floor near the base of the stairs.
Then he bolted for the door.
Right on cue, Nick came storming down the steps hot on Dennis's trail, full of rage. But the moment his foot hit the slick tiles, his balance vanished. Arms flailing like a drunk dancer at a wedding, Nick's legs kicked into the air.
Then CRACK.
His back slammed onto the floor, his head smacking down right after. A wail of agony burst from his throat. "Aaarghhh!"
Upstairs, the second man still in the room with Mina froze. He had been lost in cruelty, unaware of the chaos below, until Nick's screams echoed up through the house. Swearing under his breath, he zipped up his pants and stormed toward the door.
But Mina, bloodied and weak, reached out with what little strength she had left and grabbed at his arm. Her grip was fragile, trembling.
"I won't let you hurt my son," she whispered through broken breath.
He turned, snarling, and struck her hard across the face. She collapsed to the floor like a puppet with cut strings.
Without another word, he pulled a gun from his pocket.
Mina looked up slowly, fear swimming in her eyes. "P-p-please… let… my son… go."
He didn't even blink
The trigger clicked.
The bullet tore through her skull.
Her body hit the ground with a sickening thud, blood pooling fast around her head like a halo made of horror.
Downstairs, Dennis froze.
The sound of the gunshot ripped through the air like lightning through a clear sky.
He whispered, "No… no, no, it can't be…" His voice cracked, then broke completely. "Momma?!"
Then he saw him;the man from upstairs, the gun still warm in his hand, stepping into view at the top of the stairs. Their eyes locked.
Dennis ran.
He didn't think, didn't look back. He tore out the front door, every step a scream of survival. His chest burned, his legs blurred, but he didn't stop.
The boss reached the bottom of the stairs and saw Nick still sprawled on the ground, groaning like a wounded dog.
"For God's sake, stop whining and get up," he growled. "The kid's getting away and he might not be dumb enough to keep running in circles."
Nick whimpered, "Forget it… he's just a kid. No one'll believe him anyway."
The boss didn't waste time arguing. He stepped outside, scanned the distance—and there, not too far ahead, he saw Dennis sprinting across the field like a frightened deer.
He started walking, then jogging, then running.
With every step, he closed the gap.
Dennis had no idea the man was gaining on him until he turned slightly and saw the figure getting closer. His heart leapt. He pushed harder, lungs heaving, legs pumping furiously.
Trees rose in the distance. The woods.
Dennis hadn't meant to head that way. But right before the forest line was a railway crossing and just as he reached it, he made a desperate leap over the tracks.
Something caught.
His jeans snagged on a twisted piece of bent metal wedged into the rail line. He landed hard, skidding forward.
He reached down to free himself but froze.
The jagged metal had torn through the fabric and into his skin. Blood trickled down his leg. He winced, trying to pull away, but every tug sent a spike of pain through his body.
Then he heard it.
The train.
Its horn screamed through the air like a warning from hell.
Dennis's eyes widened. His breath came in short gasps. He yanked harder, teeth gritted, crying out from the pain.
He looked up and saw the man sprinting toward him, eyes locked on his prey.
The train horn blared again.
Dennis knew he had seconds.