Chapter 8 - The Ghost of the Past
Mark raised his hands slowly, keeping his body completely still so as not to startle the stranger.
"Marcus, wait!" Sarah shouted, tumbling out of the passenger side door.
"It's me! It's Sarah!"
The shadow moved, and the dim beam of an overhead work light flickered on inside the shed.
A tall, broad-shouldered man in his late forties stepped into the light.
He had a thick, graying beard, deep scars along his jawline, and eyes as cold as ice.
Marcus lowered the shotgun slowly, staring at his sister in utter disbelief.
"Sarah?" Marcus rasped, his voice sounding like grinding stones.
"Are you out of your mind coming here?"
"The police radio has been buzzing with your name for the last hour."
"They say you helped a dangerous kidnapper escape from the docks."
Sarah walked around the truck and stood directly between Marcus and Mark.
"He isn't a kidnapper, Marcus," Sarah said fiercely.
"He's a father trying to protect his daughter from Arthur."
Marcus scoffed bitterly, turning his back on them.
"Arthur again," Marcus muttered, shaking his head.
"I told you five years ago to drop it, Sarah."
"That man isn't human."
"He owns this state, and anyone who touches him gets destroyed."
"Look at me!" Marcus yelled, turning back around with sudden, explosive rage.
"Look at what he did to my life!"
"I live in a swamp like a hunted rat because I thought I could bring him to justice!"
Mark stepped out of the truck, carrying Lily carefully wrapped in his jacket.
The movement caught Marcus’s attention.
The ex-detective’s eyes locked onto the small child sleeping in Mark’s arms.
He saw the dark, ugly bruises running down her tiny cheeks.
He saw the white gauze wrapping her burned forearms.
Marcus’s angry rant died instantly in his throat.
The room went completely quiet.
"What... what happened to her?" Marcus asked, his voice suddenly losing its rough edge.
"Arthur’s family," Mark said, his voice dropping to a terrifyingly calm level.
"They locked her in a bathroom during a family dinner."
"Aunt Stephanie burned her with cigarettes while Arthur watched and called it discipline."
"When I took her away, they edited the security footage and set the police on me."
Marcus stared at the little girl for a long, agonizing moment.
His breathing grew heavy, his large hands trembling slightly as he tightened his grip on the shotgun.
A deep, long-buried pain flickered across Marcus’s eyes.
"My daughter was five when Arthur framed me," Marcus whispered softly.
"They took her away from me, too."
"I never got to see her grow up."
Marcus turned around and slammed his heavy fist against a wooden workbench, shattering a wooden plank.
He turned back to Mark, his eyes burning with a dark, dangerous fire.
"Put the girl on the bed inside the cabin," Marcus ordered coldly.
"We have a lot of work to do."
"If we're going to war against Arthur, we aren't just going to defend ourselves."
"We're going to strip away everything he owns until he's begging for mercy."
Mark nodded, feeling a cold rush of determination fill his chest.
"Tell me what we need to do," Mark said.
Marcus walked over to a metal table and pulled back a dirty tarp, revealing a bank of computer monitors and tactical equipment.
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"First, we break into his vault," Marcus said with a dark smile.
"And I know exactly where he keeps his dirt."
