Lisa's eyes, once filled with warmth and laughter, now burn with a rage I never thought possible. Her hand trembles as she raises the gun, the barrel pointed directly at my chest. My heart pounds in my ears, drowning out the crackling fire and the rumble of collapsing stone.
"Move," she hisses, her voice raw with pain. "You're getting us out of here." Bob, if that’s even his name, snickers and pushes Brock forward.
Brock tries to protest, but Lisa cuts him off with a venomous glare. "Not a word. One wrong move, and she's dead."
With a heavy heart, I obey. Brock and I stumble through the labyrinth, each step a heavy burden. The gun remains trained on me, Lisa's eyes never leaving mine. I see the anguish in her face, the betrayal, the hatred.
But beneath it all, I see a flicker of something else. Pain. Deep, raw pain that has festered for years, poisoning her heart and twisting her love into something dark and unrecognizable.
We navigate through the maze, the heat and smoke growing more intense. The ground shakes beneath us, and chunks of stone rain down from above. But Lisa doesn't falter. She pushes us forward, her resolve unwavering.
Finally, we emerge from the labyrinth, blinking in the harsh sunlight. The ruins lie behind us, a smoldering testament to the destruction we've left behind.
Lisa lowers the gun, but her eyes remain fixed on mine. "I never forgave you, Patrice," she says, her voice barely a whisper. "Not for what you did to Emily."
A chill rushes through me as she recounts that fateful summer in 1984. Six couples, on a prom date in the Spanish Fork mountains, their lives forever changed by a single, tragic event. Emily's death. I remember the words I said before she crossed the bridge.
“Come on Emily, it’s not that bad.”
“The bridge looks rickety; I don’t trust it.”
“If you go slow, you should be fine. Take off your shoes if you think it might help. Come on, we all did it. Just one foot in front on the other. Just think of the story you could tell your kids and grandkids.”
“Okay. I don’t want to let you all down. Just one foot in front of the other. I can do this.”
Emily started across the bridge, we all encouraged her on. Halfway through, a wooden plank cracked and then a second, and before we could react, Emily lost her footing, teetered, and fell off the bridge. We all stared in horror as she plunged down to the raging river below.
A few of the guys tried to go down the mountain to search for her while the rest of us headed back to get help. A few hours later, search and rescue pulled her lifeless body out of the river. Lisa screamed and collapsed in her boyfriend’s arms. After that night, the town mourned. We graduated a month later, but it was a somber day without Emily. The principal had her friends say some things about her, but Lisa only cried and had to be helped off the stage. They had been best friends since toddlers, and after Lisa was never the same.
I blamed myself, knowing that if I had not pushed her, she wouldn’t have fallen to her death. It took years before I could process her death and move on. I never thought Lisa would be coming after me 40 years later.
As if she could read my mind, Lisa snaps me back to the present with those dreaded words. "You pushed her," she accuses, her voice rising. "You told her to go, even though she was scared. You killed her."
Tears stream down my face as I shake my head. "Lisa, it wasn't like that. It was an accident. The bridge collapsed. I have blamed myself for her death for years, but I realize this was a freak accident and could have happened to any one of us."
But my words fall on deaf ears. Lisa's face contorts with rage, and she raises the gun again, this time aiming at Brock.
"If I can't have her back," she snarls, "I'll take away the one thing you love most. See how you like it."
My heart leaps into my throat. I can't lose Brock. Not like this. Not because of me.
"No, Lisa!" I scream, lunging towards her.
But it's too late.
A deafening roar echoes through the air as the gun goes off. I feel a searing pain in my chest, a white-hot agony that sends me stumbling backward. My knees buckle, and I collapse onto the ground, my vision blurring.
Brock screams my name, his voice filled with panic and despair. He rushes to my side, cradling my head in his lap.
"Patrice! Stay with me!" he pleads, his voice thick with emotion.
I can barely make out his face through the haze of pain. My body feels heavy, my limbs leaden. I reach out to touch his face, but my hand falls limply to my side.
In the distance, I hear footsteps fading away. Lisa and her partner are gone, leaving me bleeding on the ground.
Brock rips off his shirt and presses it against my wound, trying to stem the flow of blood. His hands are shaking, his eyes wide with fear.
"Help!" he yells, his voice echoing across the desolate landscape. "Somebody help us!"
But there's no one around to hear his cries. We're alone, stranded in the middle of nowhere.
I try to speak, to reassure him, but the words won't come. My eyelids flutter closed, and darkness envelops me.
***
I awake to the rhythmic rocking of a vehicle and the sound of Brock's voice, frantic and urgent. He's talking to someone on the phone, explaining our situation.
"She's been shot in the chest," he says, his voice breaking. "We need help. Please, hurry."
I try to open my eyes, but the pain is too intense. I groan softly, and Brock's hand finds mine.
"It's okay, Patrice," he whispers. "We're almost there. Just hold on."
I cling to his words, the only anchor in this sea of agony. I don't know how much time passes before the rocking stops and I'm lifted out of the vehicle. I hear the clang of metal doors, the muffled sounds of voices, and then the cool sensation of antiseptic on my skin.
I'm vaguely aware of hands probing my wound, of needles piercing my flesh. A doctor's voice cuts through the fog, "She's lucky. The bullet missed her heart, but we need to get her into surgery now."
I cling to those words, a glimmer of hope in the darkness. I'm alive. I made it. But the pain is still there, a constant reminder of the betrayal and the loss.
I drift in and out of consciousness, the world a hazy blur of beeping machines and hushed voices. Then darkness for who knows how long. When I finally open my eyes, I find myself in a sterile hospital room, the smell of disinfectant heavy in the air. Brock sits beside my bed, his face pale and drawn.
He reaches for my hand, his eyes filled with relief. "You're awake," he whispers, his voice thick with emotion. "I was so scared."
I try to speak, but my throat is dry and raspy. Brock gently helps me sip water from a straw, his eyes never leaving mine.
"What happened?" I manage to croak out.
"Lisa shot you," he says, his voice barely audible. "But you're going to be okay. The bullet missed your heart, and they were able to go in and remove it."
I look down and see a white piece of gauze with sterile tape holding it in place.
The memories come flooding back, the fire, the labyrinth, Lisa's betrayal. A wave of nausea washes over me, and I close my eyes against the pain.
"She's gone," Brock continues, his voice filled with sadness. "She and her partner disappeared."
I open my eyes and look at him, my heart aching. "Why, Brock? Why did she do this?"
He shakes his head, his expression pained. "I don't know, Patrice. I don't understand it."
We sit in silence for a moment, the weight of what has happened hanging heavy between us. Finally, Brock breaks the silence.
"We have to tell someone," he says, his voice firm. "We can't let Lisa get away with this."
I nod, knowing he's right. We must expose the Shadows, and we have to bring Lisa to justice. But first, I have to heal.
The days that follow are a blur of medical procedures, pain medication, and restless nights. Brock stays by my side, his unwavering support a constant source of comfort.
When I'm finally released from the hospital, I'm weak and battered, but my spirit is unbroken. We return to the hotel in Athens, the scene of our initial encounter with the Oracle Collective. We need their help now more than ever.
It’s been over two weeks now that we’ve been here, but we can’t leave now. Thankfully, Brock has enough vacation saved that we can stay for a while longer, and I put a hold on my consulting and gardening videos.
We meet with Athena, Hermes, and Hestia in a secluded café, the tension thick in the air. We recount the events at the ruins, the fire, Lisa's betrayal, and my near-death experience.
They listen intently, their faces etched with concern and anger. When we finish, Athena speaks, her voice calm but resolute.
"We’ll help you," she says. "and try and find Lisa and her partner and expose the Shadows for what they truly are."
A glimmer of hope flickers in my heart. With the Oracle Collective by our side, we might actually have a chance.
But we’re running out of time.
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