Chapter 17 - Hunted on the GroundsThe upstate New York night was pitch black, a thick blanket of fog rolling across the manicured lawns of the Whitmore estate. The perimeter security lights flickered ominously as a rusted black sedan crashed through the side security gate, tearing up the flowerbeds before slamming to a halt near the grand fountain.
The driver’s side door flew open. Out stumbled Richard Sterling.
His prison jumpsuit was torn, his face smeared with grease and dried blood, his eyes wild and bloodshot with unadulterated madness. In his right hand, he clutched a heavy iron pipe he had ripped from the prison transport van’s interior.
“Emily!” Richard screamed into the fog, his voice echoing hysterically across the empty courtyard. “Open the damn doors! You think a concrete wall can keep me from what’s mine?!”
He charged toward the grand front entrance, swinging the iron pipe and smashing the reinforced glass sidelight into a million glittering shards. He reached inside, unlatching the deadbolt, and stepped into the grand foyer where his murder plot had begun weeks earlier.
“Come out and play, my sweet wife!” Richard snarled, his boots crunching on the polished marble floor. “You and that meddling old maid think you won? I built this empire! I am invincible!”
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Silence answered him. The mansion was pitch black, save for the pale moonlight filtering through the shattered skylight above.
Suddenly, a soft click echoed from the grand staircase landing above him.
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