Page 34

Marcus Cole was a statue of desperation in the center of the room, gun clutched in his trembling hand, its metallic surface catching the scant light that seeped through the blinds. The air, thick with tropical humidity, seemed to congeal around us, stifling any movement. Olivia's eyes flickered to mine—a silent plea.

"Mom…." Her voice was a thread, nearly lost in the charged stillness.

"Stay calm," I mouthed back, my heart pounding against the confines of my practical blazer. The subtle smile that usually played on my lips had vanished, replaced by a determined line. My gaze never wavered from her, projecting every ounce of assurance I could muster.

"Nobody moves." Marcus's voice was ragged, serrated with pain and anger. His finger twitched on the trigger.

"Marcus," I said, stepping sideways, inching closer to Olivia under the guise of steadiness. "Talk to me."

"I have nothing to say." His eyes were two dark whirlpools, drowning in his own torment.

"You must have something you need to get off your chest," I countered softly, willing him to see reason beyond the barrel of his gun. “Why else are you here?”

"Tell that to the years they took from me!" His voice cracked like a whip, and several guests flinched.

"Years you should get back," I offered, easing another step closer to Olivia. "Starting now, with this moment."

"Years…," he repeated, hollow. The gun dipped an inch, then steadied.

"Let me help you, Marcus." My words were a lifeline thrown into turbulent waters. "Trust me."

"Stay where you are!" Marcus's command sliced through the silence, a jagged edge to every syllable. He paced like a caged animal.

I edged forward, hands aloft as if to catch the words that hung heavy between us.

"Marcus," I kept my voice even, a counterbalance to his unraveling. "Let's talk this through."

"Talk?" The word twisted into a snarl as he whipped around, the gun's muzzle a roving spotlight.

"Put the gun down," I coaxed, one cautious step at a time, bridging the gap with each measured breath. "I’m here to listen."

"Listening…."

Skepticism laced his tone, yet he didn't move to stop me.

"Tell me your story," I urged, feeling Olivia's eyes on my back, trusting me to defuse the imminent catastrophe.

"My story…."

A flicker of something softer crossed his hardened features.

"Your truth," I pressed, closer now, close enough to see the strain in his eyes. “Your side of the story. You were betrayed, weren’t you?”

"Betrayal," Marcus spat, the word slicing through the silence. "Yes, that’s what it was. You want to know why?" His fingers whitened around the gun, a pale echo of his rage.

I nodded once, sharply. My heart pounded in my chest, every beat a silent drum echoing in the tense air. "Yes, tell me."

"They said it was an open-and-shut case." His laugh was hollow, eyes haunted as they fixed on some unseen point in his past. "A kid from the wrong side of the tracks, easy to pin it on."

"Who?" I asked, voice low, stepping a fraction to the right—closer to Olivia so I could protect her should this end badly.

"Doesn't matter!" he barked, then sighed, his shoulders sagging ever so slightly. "They promised me money. Said my mom's surgery… that it would save her. If I said it was me. That I did it, that I killed Isla."

"Your mother…." I let the words hang, a bridge for him to cross.

"She needed surgery," he whispered. "And I… I caved."

"Marcus," I said, softer now but with a steely undercurrent. "Look at me."

He did, and for a split second, I saw the boy he'd been, scared and alone.

"False confessions can be overturned," I told him, my gaze holding his. "Injustice has a way of coming to light."

"It’s too late for justice," he muttered, but there was a plea in his eyes. “I lost my youth in that prison.”

Marcus's jaw clenched, a visible pulse throbbing at his temple. His finger twitched on the trigger as someone tried to escape but was stopped as he pointed the gun at her.

"Nobody moves," he growled, the threat hanging heavy in the air like Florida humidity.

Heat crept up my spine as I caught Olivia’s gaze. Her sneakers squeaked faintly against the polished floor as she edged closer, the gap between us narrowing with each breath I dared to take.

"I was locked away for ten years," Marcus spat, the gun weaving a dangerous arc through the air. "You know what that does to a man?"

"Survival changes you," I said, my voice steady despite the drumbeat of my heart. "But it doesn't define you."

"Define me?" He laughed, hollow and sharp. "They took everything!"

"Then let's get it back," I countered, my stance firm yet open. "Starting with your story."

"Story?" His lips curled into a sneer. "It's a damn tragedy!"

"Let me help write a new chapter," I offered, hoping to reel him back from the edge. "One where you're heard."

"You can't undo time," he shot back, the gun dipping for a moment before he caught himself.

"Maybe not," I conceded. "But we can start by setting the record straight."

"Set it straight?" Marcus echoed, desperation creeping into his voice. "After all this?"

"Truth has a way of outlasting lies," I told him, keeping my words crisp and clear. "Give it a chance."

His breathing turned ragged, the gun's barrel now a quivering compass of uncertainty.

"How do I know you won't betray me, too?"

"Because I'm standing here with you," I said, my resolve unwavering. "And I won't move until we see this through."

The gun quivered in his hand, a metallic bird about to take flight. Guests clung to each other, their breaths held hostage. The room, a gallery of silent sculptures, waited on the precipice of chaos.

“Marcus,” I said, my voice a calm breeze over angry waters, "these people, they're not your enemy.”

"Enemies…." His eyes flicked across the faces before him, each one a mask of fear. "They don't even know me."

"Let's change that." I took a step forward, each movement deliberate, unthreatening. "Let them see who you really are."

"See me?" He spat the words out like bitter seeds. "As what? A victim?"

"Survivor," I corrected gently. "A man wronged, standing here now seeking justice."

"Justice…." The word seemed to echo in his mind, finding corners of hope long abandoned. "My mother…." His voice cracked. "She needed me."

"And she still does, Marcus," I reminded him. "But it's not just about clearing your name now. It's about living for her, for the future."

"Future?" His laugh was a dry leaf in the wind. "What future?"

"One where this—" I gestured to the gun, "—isn't the last chapter of your story."

He hesitated, the weapon's ominous dance slowing. I watched a battle wage behind his eyes, the scales of fate tilting with every silent second.

"Your story isn't over," I pressed on, my heart pounding Morse code against my ribs. "You can still rewrite it."

"Rewrite…?" Uncertainty flickered across his face, a candle in the wind.

"Marcus, let me help you," I coaxed, my gaze locked onto his. "Don't let this be where your story ends."

"Ends…" he murmured, his grip on the gun loosening ever so slightly. "Maybe…."

"Marcus, now," I urged.

His arm wavered, the gun's muzzle drifting toward the polished floor. The line of his mouth softened, and for a moment, I could see who he used to be—that seventeen-year-old boy, lost.

"Okay," he breathed, almost inaudibly.

Marcus's gaze clung to mine, a silent pact forming in the space between us.

"Tell me who offered you the money if you confessed to killing Isla," I said.

The room's air felt thick and sticky with anticipation as if time itself was holding its breath. His shoulders bent forward, surrender etching into his posture. The gun's sheen dulled as it descended, an inch from my outstretched palm.

"Marcus—" I started.

And then, something shattered within him. A flicker, a spark. His eyes darkened, retreating into the fortress of his resolve. The gun snapped back up, a barrier between us once more.

"It was her mother," he spat, the word like a bullet. “Victoria. She wanted the scandal to go away. She wanted the case closed and asked me to say I did it.”

He wheeled around, a blur of motion and turmoil. He shoved past the frozen bodies of guests, their collective gasp a discordant choir to his retreat. The tropical air swallowed him whole as the door slammed shut behind his fleeing form.

"Wait!" My heart lurched, adrenaline surging.

I cursed under my breath, my mind already racing through the next steps. The chase wasn't over; it had just taken an unexpected detour.