The Crossroads

Gerda Spratling was on her knees, ferociously praying to revive Eberhart’s wounded soul.

The baby kicked and screamed.

“Miss Spratling?” Willoughby held his head. “The baby?”

Miss Spratling kept mumbling prayers.

“They’re going to arrest you, too,” Zack said to Willoughby. He was chained to the pipe again. “Accessory to murder, I figure.”

“Be quiet!”

“They’ll probably give you one of those lethal-injection deals.”

“Miss Spratling?”

“You know how they do that? Well, they have this huge needle,” Zack said. “I hear it’s like three or four feet long.”

“Miss Spratling?”

“They stick that needle in your butt.”

“Miss Spratling!”

The baby screeched.

“And that needle’s full of rat poison.”

“Miss Spratling?”

The baby sent his bottle skidding across the floor and let loose a squeal. Willoughby lunged toward Spratling and shook her.

“Miss Spratling!”

“How dare you interrupt my prayers!”

“I can’t do this! I can’t!”

“Pray with me, Mr. Willoughby.” Her right hand disappeared under the folds of her gown.

“I don’t want to die from a lethal injection!” He shambled over to the pole, fumbled in his pocket for the keys.

“Rodman?”

The old chauffeur undid the lock behind Zack’s back.

“What do you think you’re doing?”

“What I should have done ages ago: say no to one of you miserable Spratlings!”

“Mr. Willoughby? Are you forgetting certain documents I keep locked in Father’s safe?”

“I don’t give two hoots about it anymore! I’m old! I have no children! Who cares if you blackmail me?”

While the old folks argued, Zack slowly slid across the floor…easing over to…the baby…the portable car seat….

“Why, you ungrateful, insolent old man!”

Miss Spratling reared up. The knife blade came out from under her wedding gown and glinted over her head.

“Don’t do it!” yelled Zack. He grabbed the handle on the baby seat. “Leave Mr. Willoughby alone or I swear I’ll take this baby so far away, you and your boyfriend will never find him!”

“Hah! You wouldn’t get far! I’d catch you!”

“Really? And just how fast can you run in that wedding dress?”

The old lady slowly lowered the knife but kept it aimed at Mr. Willoughby’s heart. “Fine. We’ll simply wait for Clint to return. He’ll deal with you,” she sneered. “He’ll deal with you both!”