Chapter 4
"You think you scare me, old man?" Ryan shouted, spit flying from his lips. His fair skin was flushed a deep, blotchy red. "You're nothing but a washed-up soldier! I'll break your jaw!"
Ryan wound up his arm, shifting his weight clumsily on the polished hardwood, and swung again with all his remaining strength, aiming a desperate, sweeping punch directly at James’s face.
James slipped outside the punch with terrifying, practiced grace.
In one fluid, explosive motion, James pivoted on his heel and drove a devastating counterpunch directly across Ryan’s face. The sickening crunch of cartilage echoed sharply in the bright, cinematic room. Ryan’s eyes rolled backward instantly. The sheer kinetic force of the blow lifted the younger man entirely off his feet, spinning him backward into the hallway.
Ryan flew wildly through the air and crashed directly into the tall, antique grandfather clock standing against the floral wallpaper.
The impact was catastrophic. The heavy wooden door of the clock burst open in a shower of splinters. The massive decorative brass weights snapped from their chains, swinging violently and smashing through the glass casing. The kinetic shockwave of the collision rattled the nearby console table, sending heavy framed family photographs tumbling to the floor, the glass cracking as they hit the wood. Ryan collapsed like a broken ragdoll beneath the heavy, tilted clock casing, blood pooling beneath his cheek.
For a long, agonizing moment, there was absolutely no dialogue in the room. The only sound was the metallic, dying twang of the clock’s pendulum swinging erratically inside the shattered casing, and the ragged, terrified breathing coming from the bed.
James slowly lowered his fist. His Army dress uniform was completely immaculate, the gold buttons catching the bright natural light. He did not look at the ruined man bleeding on the floor. His cold, calculating eyes were already scanning the rest of the room, assessing the remaining threats.
"Ryan!" Linda shrieked, the horrific silence finally breaking. She stared at her son's motionless body trapped beneath the grandfather clock, her eyes wide with unadulterated terror.
"He is breathing," James stated, his voice completely devoid of emotion as he adjusted the cuffs of his uniform. "For now."
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Emily clutched the thick blanket to her chest, her wide eyes moving from her father to her unconscious husband. "Dad... is he dead?"
"It doesn't matter what he is," James replied, his gaze shifting back to Linda. "What matters is what happens next."
