As Miller swung the wrench toward my shoulder, I ducked hard to the right, letting the heavy metal smash into the glass wall behind me. The glass cracked with a deafening spider-web fracture.
I drove my elbow straight upward, catching Miller directly under the chin. His teeth snapped together with a sickening crunch. He staggered backward, dropping the wrench, his hands flying to his mouth.
I dove for the desk. I grabbed the leather notebook and the silver flash drive, shoving them deep into my hoodie pocket.
Vance lunged at me, his face purple with rage. He was bigger and heavier, and his hands locked around my throat before I could dodge. He slammed me down onto the glass desk.
“You stupid little girl!” he spat, his grip tightening.
I clawed at his hands, black spots dancing in my vision. I kicked out wildly, my sneakers scrambling for purchase on the edge of the desk.
Suddenly, the pressure on my throat vanished.
Vance bellowed in pain, stumbling backward. Chloe was standing behind him, clutching a heavy brass lamp she had grabbed from the side table. She had hit him squarely in the back of the head.
Vance fell to his knees, disoriented, blood beginning to pool in his thick hair.
I rolled off the desk, coughing violently, gasping for air. Chloe dropped the lamp, her hands shaking uncontrollably. She looked at me, her eyes wide with terror.
“Run,” she whispered.
I didn't hesitate. I grabbed Chloe’s wrist and pulled her toward the door.
Miller was still on the floor, groaning and clutching his jaw. We scrambled past him, bursting out of the heavy mahogany doors and sprinting down the carpeted hallway.
“The fire alarm!” I yelled, my voice hoarse.
Chloe slammed her hand against the red pull station on the wall. A piercing, deafening siren instantly erupted throughout the building, accompanied by flashing strobe lights.
We threw open the stairwell doors and ran down the metal steps. The sound of the alarm was completely disorienting. We burst through the side door and spilled out into the cool night air, running blindly toward the front gates.
As we reached the edge of the parking lot, the flashing red and blue lights of three police cruisers cut through the darkness, screeching to a halt outside the chain-link fence.
My mother had woken up. When she found me missing, she had checked my computer, saw the security bypass for the school, and called the police.
Officers swarmed the gate. I collapsed onto the damp grass, pulling the leather notebook from my pocket and holding it up in the flashing police lights.
Chloe collapsed beside me. She didn't try to run. She just pulled her knees to her chest and buried her face in her hands, weeping as the officers approached us.
Three weeks later, the air was crisp and cold as I walked up the concrete steps of the hospital.
Marcus Vance had been denied bail. The flash drive contained everything—the forged water reports, the bribes, and the panicked emails he sent to Coach Miller the night Chloe’s car forced Leo’s off the bridge. Miller had flipped on Vance immediately to save himself from an attempted murder charge.
Chloe was in juvenile detention. I had watched her get into the back of a squad car that night. She had looked at me through the window, her face stained with tears, and gave a small, almost imperceptible nod. It wasn't an apology, but it was an acknowledgment. She was finally free from him.
I pushed open the door to Room 412.
The rhythmic beeping of the heart monitor was still there, but the room felt different. It felt lighter.
I sat down in the plastic chair next to the bed. I placed the leather notebook on the tray table. The town was safe. The water supply was being audited by state officials. And Marcus Vance would never hurt anyone again.
I reached out and took my brother’s hand. His fingers felt warm.
“We did it, Leo,” I whispered into the quiet room. “I didn't keep my head down.”
For a long time, nothing happened. The monitor beeped. The wind rattled the windowpane.
And then, very weakly, Leo’s fingers squeezed mine.
THE END