The Price Of Hatred

Chapter 9 - The Sound of a Deadbolt

​Todd squeezed with everything he had left, ignoring the white-hot fire screaming through his own stitched flesh. He cut off the oxygen to the man's brain, holding the grip with a terrifying, calculated precision until the nurse’s limbs finally went entirely slack. The man’s eyes rolled back, his body becoming a heavy, lifeless weight in Todd’s arms as he drifted into instant unconsciousness.

​Todd lowered the unconscious man gently to the floor, ensuring his head didn't strike the hard concrete. Working with frantic, trembling hands, Todd quickly stripped the crisp, white clinical uniform off the nurse’s body. He dragged his own shirt off, grimacing as a line of fresh blood began to seep through his gauze, and threw the nurse’s white jacket over his shoulders, buttoning it up to his chin. He took off his canvas cap, tossing it into the corner with the flowers, and smoothed down his sweat-matted hair.

​When he stepped out of Room 28 a minute later, he was entirely disguised as a male nurse. He walked gently, his posture straight, his head held with the quiet authority of a medical staff member as he walked directly toward the lone cop standing in front of Room 32.

​The police officer adjusted his posture as Todd approached, his eyes narrowing slightly but remaining unalarmed by the white uniform.

​“Hey,” Todd said, keeping his voice urgent, completely devoid of fear. “The lead doctor needs you down at her primary office right now. She just finished reviewing the admission paperwork for the trauma patient inside, and she has something specific for you to log. It’s an urgent update for the precinct report.”

​The cop blinked, his brow furrowing as he reached down to adjust his heavy utility belt. “Me? She asked for me specifically? There's supposed to be a second unit arriving in ten minutes.”

​“Yes, you,” Todd said, his tone sharpening with a perfect imitation of administrative annoyance. “She’s waiting right now, and she’s incredibly impatient. Go down the hall to the left. You can't miss it.”

​The cop let out a heavy, irritated grunt, muttering something under his breath about hospital bureaucracy. He turned on his heel and began walking briskly down the corridor, his heavy boots echoing loudly against the walls as he headed toward the main administrative wing.

​The instant the cop’s back was turned and he disappeared around the far corner, Todd’s calm demeanor vanished. He spun around, gripped the silver handle of Room 32, and entered the room, closing the heavy wooden door gently behind him until the latch clicked into place.

​The room was bathed in a dim, eerie green light from the various heart monitors and life-support machines lining the wall. Todd moved swiftly, his boots sliding across the floor as he approached the center bedside, his chest heaving with a sudden, desperate relief.

​But as he reached the edge of the mattress, his breath caught violently in his throat.

​The bed was completely empty. The white sheets were torn back, a tangled mess of linen stained with faint patches of old grease and dry blood. The IV lines had been brutally ripped from their plastic bags, the clear saline fluid dripping steadily onto the linoleum floor with a slow, maddening pat... pat... pat.

​“What...?” Todd whispered, his voice cracking with a sudden, terrifying panic. “No...”

​Suddenly, a heavy shadow shifted violently from the dark alcove behind the bathroom door. Before Todd could even spin his head around, a slender, iron-strong hand shot out of the gloom, grabbing the fabric of his white nurse's jacket and throwing him forward with a savage, visceral force. Todd stumbled, his boots losing traction on the wet floor as he slammed heavily against the steel frame of the empty bed.

​By the time he recovered his balance and turned around, the door to the room was already swinging shut. Tidder stood in the threshold—her face a mask of pale, manic determination, her hospital gown soaked through with fresh blood where her abdominal stitches had stretched. Her eyes blazed with a terrifying, feral survival instinct. She didn't say a single word. She darted out into the hallway and pulled the heavy door shut behind her.

​A sickening, metallic click echoed through the wood. She had thrown the exterior security deadbolt, locking him inside the room from the outside.

​“Fuck! Tidder, open the door!” Todd screamed, his voice bursting with a raw, desperate emotion that tore at his throat. He lunged at the door, slamming his uninjured fist against the heavy frosted glass pane until the frame rattled. “Tidder! It’s me! We’re here to get you out! Open the goddamn door!”

​But there was no response from the corridor. Through the frosted glass, he could see her pale silhouette turn and sprint down the opposite end of the hallway, heading straight toward the glowing red neon sign of the back exit door.

​“Dammit!” Todd cursed, a wave of pure frustration washing over him. He knew he couldn't waste time trying to kick through a reinforced hospital security door with a ruined arm. He reached into his pocket with trembling fingers, pulling out his mobile phone and violently dialing James’s number.

​Outside, in the pitch-black gravel lot at the rear of the hospital, the sedan’s engine hummed in the dark. James sat with his foot lightly hovering over the accelerator, his eyes fixed on the rear fire exit. Suddenly, the phone on the passenger seat vibrated violently, its screen illuminating the dark cabin with a harsh white glow. James snatched it up, pressing it to his ear before the first ring could even finish.

​“Talk to me,” James demanded.

​“James! She just locked me up in the room!” Todd’s voice exploded through the receiver, frantic and laced with static panic. “She’s loose! She ripped her IVs out and she already left the room! I’m completely trapped inside Room 32! I’m sure she will be taking the back door to escape the building! You have to get her before she hits the streets! Get her, and then find a way to come get me out of here!”

​The call cut out.

​James didn't hesitate for a single microsecond. He threw the phone onto the floorboards, yanked the keys from the ignition, and threw his door open. He lunged out of the car, his long legs eating up the distance as he sprinted across the dark gravel lot, heading straight toward the heavy iron push-bar of the back exit door. He reached out, his hand wrapping around the exterior handle, preparing to force his way into the building.

​But before his fingers could even tighten on the metal, the door was violently thrown open from the inside.

​Tidder burst out into the cool night air, her breath coming in ragged, painful gasps, her bare feet hitting the cold concrete sidewalk. The moment her eyes adjusted to the darkness and she realized a massive figure was standing directly in her path, her survival instincts took complete control. She didn't look to see who it was.

​With a speed born of pure, unadulterated adrenaline, she coiled her body and threw a brutal, calculated punch straight from her shoulder, driving her knuckles directly into the center of the man's face.

​CRACK.

​The impact was visceral. James’s head snapped back, a sharp, white-hot flash of agony exploding behind his eyes as the cartilage in his nose fractured under the force of the blow.

​“Fuck!” James roared, a raw, emotional burst of pain tearing from his throat. He stumbled backward two steps, his hands flying up to cup his face as a thick, hot trail of dark crimson instantly began to pour from his nostrils, leaking through his fingers and dripping onto the collar of his black jacket.

​Tidder didn't stop to apologize. She didn't even flinch. The moment she recognized his face through the shadows, her eyes narrowed into dangerous slits of pure, burning resentment. She sidestepped his towering frame, her bare feet flying across the gravel as she sprinted straight toward the idling sedan parked under the trees, her hand reaching for the driver's side door latch.

​“Tidder, wait!” James shouted, his voice thick and muffled by the blood filling his mouth. He spun around, his boots skidding in the loose stone as he tried to bridge the gap between them. He didn't reach for a weapon. He raised his hands, completely open, defenceless. “Tidder, please! Just stop for one second! I just want to talk to you!”

​Tidder stopped her hand an inch from the car door. She twisted her torso around, her chest heaving violently beneath the blood-stained hospital gown, her dark hair matted with sweat against her neck. “Talk?” she spat, her voice dripping with a bitter, venomous scorn that cut deeper than any blade. “We have nothing to talk about, James! I told you back at the station—I don't know you!”

​James stood five feet away, his chest heaving, the blood still dripping steadily from his nose and staining his teeth pink. The rigid, cold armor he had worn his entire life felt incredibly heavy, suffocating him. He looked at his sister—the only living person who shared the memory of the empty kitchen, the blood on the floorboards of their childhood, and the jagged laughter of the village school.

​“What you said back then... at the oil station... you’re right,” James said, his voice dropping into a quiet, desperate murmur that trembled with a vulnerability he had never allowed another human being to see. “You were completely right, Tidder. I mostly came looking for you when I needed something from you. When I needed an asset, a contact, a place to hide from the people trying to kill me. I didn't treat you like my sister... I never behaved like a real brother to you. I let the hatred and the money cook everything soft out of me... and I’m sorry. I'm so goddamn sorry, Tidder. I know it makes you hate me. I know I earned that hatred.”

​Tidder stared at him through the deep shadows of the parking lot. For a fraction of a second, the manic, feral light in her eyes flickered, revealing a deep, exhausting hollow of profound grief. But the moment was fleeting. Her features hardened back into a wall of unyielding arctic ice.

​“You never owed me an apology, James,” Tidder said, her voice dropping into a low, deadly purr that carried no forgiveness. “I wasn't really fucking angry about you not caring about me. We grew up in a slaughterhouse; I never expected you to be a nice man. I was just pissed off about what you actually came to ask me for after all these years.” She took a step closer to the car, her fingers wrapping tight around the handle. “The package, right? The ledger? That’s all I am to you. A key to another vault.”

​Suddenly, before James could form a response, the heavy iron fire door behind him crashed open with a deafening metallic clang.

​The two uniformed police officers lunged out into the night air, their tactical flashlights cutting through the darkness, their bright white beams painting James’s back and illuminating the crimson dripping from his chin.

​“Stop right now! Hands in the air!” one of the cops screamed, his voice booming through the empty lot as his sidearm snapped up, pointing directly at James’s chest. “Don't even think of moving a single muscle!”

​The sudden intrusion broke the spell. Tidder didn't waste a single heartbeat. With a fluid, instinctive grace, she yanked the sedan’s door open, lunged into the driver's seat, and slammed the door shut. Before the officers could even pivot their weapons toward the vehicle, she threw the transmission into reverse and slammed her bare foot onto the accelerator.

​“Tidder, wait!” James shouted, turning his head in a blind panic.

​The tires let out a high-pitched, deafening scream of burning rubber against the gravel, kicking up a thick cloud of dust and stones as the car rocketed backward, spun sideways into the lane, and then tore away into the darkness, its taillights vanishing into the rushing Spanish traffic. She had left him.

​“On your knees! Now!” the second cop roared, rushing forward and delivering a brutal kick to the back of James’s knee.

​James’s leg buckled, and he collapsed heavily onto the rough gravel floorboards of the lot. He didn't fight back. The iron resolve that had sustained him for years felt utterly shattered. He stared blankly at the empty road where his car had been, the copper taste of his own blood filling his mouth.

​The officers slammed him face-down into the dirt, grabbing his arms and pulling them roughly behind his back. The cold, heavy steel of the handcuffs clicked tightly around his wrists, locking with a definitive, crushing finality.

​“You’re under arrest,” the first cop growled, hoisting him upward by the chain of the cuffs. “You’re done running, asshole. You’re matched to one of the most wanted criminal profiles in the central sector, We've been finding you for a year .”

“And now that we got you, You're dead gone…. No coming out of the prison this time”.