"You're awake," Thorne said pleasantly, placing the USB drive on the edge of the nearest lab table. He pulled a heavy metal hammer from the broken closet.
I watched in silent horror as Thorne raised the hammer and smashed it down on the silver drive. The plastic casing shattered, exposing the green motherboard. He hit it again, and again, until the drive was nothing but unrecognizable metal dust and shards.
"There," Thorne sighed, tossing the hammer onto the table. "The only existing copy. The original files on the server were overwritten weeks ago. That solves our digital problem."
"You're insane," I rasped, my throat feeling like it was lined with sandpaper. I struggled against the zip-ties, but they didn't budge. "You think destroying that drive saves you? I already saw it. I'll testify."
"Testify?" Thorne chuckled darkly, walking closer to me. "Maya, you aren't going to testify to anything. You're a deeply disturbed teenager who assaulted our valedictorian today. You broke into the school tonight. And tragically, the grief over your sister drove you to steal pharmaceutical supplies from the health lab."
He reached into his pocket and pulled out a small, unlabeled glass vial and a sealed syringe.
A spike of pure, unadulterated terror pierced my heart. He was going to stage an overdose. Right here in the lab. And with my family’s financial stress, my sister’s coma, and the suspension, everyone would believe it was suicide.
"No," Chloe suddenly spoke, her voice shaking violently. She took a step forward, grabbing Thorne’s arm. "Uncle Richard, no. You said we were just going to scare her into giving the drive back. You said nobody else was going to get hurt."
Thorne yanked his arm out of Chloe's grasp, fixing her with a terrifying glare.
"I am protecting this family, Chloe," Thorne snapped. "Your grandmother’s donation keeps this school afloat. The medical scholarship was yours. It has been yours since you were born. That charity case and her sister tried to steal it."
"But Sarah didn't do anything!" Chloe cried, the queen bee persona completely shattered. She was just a frightened, guilty teenager. "She just studied harder than me! And you pushed her!"
"I pushed her because Arthur over there was too weak to finish the conversation!" Thorne yelled, pointing at Davis, who flinched. "Sarah had a voice recording of him bribing her on her phone. If that got out, it was over. We’d go to prison. All of us."
"So you're going to kill Maya?" Chloe sobbed, backing away in horror. "I can't do this. I'm not a part of this."
"You are a part of this!" Thorne roared, closing the distance and grabbing Chloe fiercely by the shoulders. "Who do you think wiped Sarah’s phone when it fell down the stairs? You did. Who do you think intimidated every student who asked questions? You did. You are in this up to your neck, Chloe."
As Thorne screamed at his niece, completely distracted by her rebellion, I frantically twisted my wrists. The zip-ties dug into my skin until I felt warm blood trickling down my hands, but they were too thick.
I looked wildly around the desk I was strapped to.
This was the main instruction desk. During class, Mr. Davis kept his demonstration tools in a small tray bolted to the side of the desk, just inches below the armrest.
I stretched my fingers down, ignoring the agonizing pain in my shoulder socket. My fingertips brushed cold metal.
Trauma shears. The heavy-duty medical scissors used to cut clothing off accident victims.
I contorted my hand, grabbing the plastic handle of the shears. I slowly pulled them up, flipping the blade backward so the serrated edge pressed against the plastic zip-tie binding my left wrist.
"I won't let you," Chloe was saying, tears streaming down her face. "I'm calling my dad."
"Your father already knows," Thorne said coldly, his words hitting the room like a bomb.
Chloe froze, her jaw dropping.
"You think the police just conveniently closed the investigation?" Thorne sneered. "Your father cleared the scene. He's the one who told me the cameras caught it. We are a family, Chloe. We survive."
I began sawing the shears frantically against the thick plastic band, timing my movements with Thorne’s loud voice to mask the grinding noise.
"Please, Richard," Davis stammered, stepping forward. "Chloe is right. This has gone too far. We can just lock her up. Have her committed. The drugs... it's too much."
"Shut up, Arthur," Thorne snapped, turning his back on Chloe and walking toward me. He uncapped the syringe. "Hold her down."
Davis hesitated.
"I said hold her down!" Thorne barked.
Davis moved forward, his eyes full of cowardly tears. He grabbed my shoulders, pinning me against the back of the chair.
My heart battered against my ribs in a frantic, dying rhythm. I squeezed the shears, putting every ounce of my remaining strength into the blade.
SNAP.
The zip-tie around my left wrist broke.
Thorne stepped closer, holding the syringe up. "Hold still, Maya."
Before Thorne could plunge the needle into my arm, I exploded upward. I swung my freed left hand as hard as I could, driving the heavy metal trauma shears directly into the side of Thorne’s neck.
I didn't hit the artery, but the blunt impact of the metal handle against his jaw made him stagger backward with a shout of pain. He dropped the syringe, it shattered on the linoleum floor.
I grabbed the broken edge of the zip-tie with my left hand and violently ripped my right arm free, leaving behind a trail of torn skin.
Davis lunged at me, trying to tackle me back into the chair.
I kicked both of my legs up, using my tied ankles to launch myself backward. The chair tipped over. I hit the floor hard, pulling my legs free as the cheap plastic ties around the bottom legs snapped under the weight of the metal chair.
I scrambled to my feet, diving past Davis, and sprinted toward the front of the lab.