Chapter 6 - The Rain Beyond the Oak
The heavy pine panel struck Richard’s shins with brutal momentum.
His footing broke on the loose brass screws scattering across the floorboards.
THUD.
Richard crashed down hard on his side, his shoulder striking the iron base of a flower pedestal.
The black handgun slipped from his fingers, spinning across the polished oak until it hit the wall baseboard ten feet away.
Toby didn't look at the weapon.
He grabbed his mother’s bare wrists, pulling her straight out from the ruined satin lining.
"Run, Mom," Toby whispered, his small fingers digging into her skin.
"The doors are unlocked."
His mother’s red high heels were sitting on the bottom shelf of the altar stand—forgotten in the rush.
She didn't stop to put them on.
Her bare feet struck the cold oak floorboards in rapid, quiet slaps as they ran together down the center aisle.
Slap-slap-slap.
Behind them, Richard scrambled to his hands and knees among the broken lilies and white pine splinters, his jacket torn at the seam.
The heavy mahogany doors of the chapel burst open as Toby threw his weight against the brass bar.
Outside, the autumn rain swept across the gray stone steps, cold, clean, and relentless.
May you like
Toby squeezed his mother's hand tightly, the iron claw hammer still clutched firmly in his left fist.
They stepped out into the storm, leaving the dark, quiet hall and the white pine box behind them forever.
