Lizzy’s POV
Lizzy crept beneath the door frame, slowly peering over the crevices of the glass. The house had been eerily silent since the “Sawyer pack”, as referred to by the sheriff returned, with her, and Hartman as captives along with a barely conscious Jackson. The two men had hauled Lizzy and Hartman to a filthy, deserted room, tied them up, then left. Lizzy attempted unsuccessfully to strain her ears for any sudden movement behind the door. Her heart hammered against her chest as it had for these several days. Her thoughts were filled with uncertainties, dread, and agony. She pondered how her life devolved abruptly into this absurdity. “Elizabeth?” She shifted her attention to the voice from behind her. Sheriff Hartman lay on his back, wrists bound, a large cut on the right side of his stomach; like her, he was sweating profusely and his clothing was splattered with blood, but it was nothing compared to Lizzy, who had blood, dirt, and who knows what else all over her body. She regarded him with suspicion. “Please, Elizabeth, untie me.” His voice was hoarse and harsh. Lizzy locked her gaze on him. Her initial instinct a few days earlier would have been to do his bidding without inquiry, that’s what you do when it comes to law enforcement.
The preceding days’ events flashed before her eyes. Clarice was on her knees, forehead wounded, and a gun to her face. Jackson’s face torn up, his eyes bloody, both of his cheeks destroyed, she herself trapped in the police car, handcuffed and then dragged like a ragged doll. “Why?” Her voice was strange to her, full of rage. “After what you did? You shot Clarice in cold blood, Jackson and I were both shot by you.” “You forgot what occurred in that diner? Those who were slain were innocent people. Clarice was a criminal, a psychotic murderer?” The Sheriff responded obstinately. “Instead of doing things the right way you beat her then executed her, without a word, I saw you!” Lizzy exclaimed, her voice rising with rage, not just at Hartman but also herself, despite her best efforts to remain silent. Jackson had warned her about him being terrible news, and he attempted to explain what would happen if she ran away, but she refused to believe him because she was too terrified and confused, and as a result, Jackson’s one friend, sweet and misunderstood Bud. The only person in the world he genuinely loved, had been ripped away from him because of her.
This is your fault; look at what you did said the voice inside her head. The memory of Jackson’s words reverberated in her mind like a mantra. “You’re just like everybody else! You fuckin’ liar! He screamed at her. “Why’d I think you’d be any different!?” She had not allowed the agony and disdain in his words, the grief, and anger, to set in until now. Her heart jumped once more, but this time pain poured through her. She’d been incredibly foolish, oblivious, and self-centered. She’d promised Jackson she’d be there to rescue them, that it was her duty, and he’d trusted her, but now everything had fallen apart: Bud was dead, Jackson despised her and was now in the clutches of his lunatic family, and she and Hartman were imprisoned with little hope of escaping. Her inner voice whispered, “You must fix this.” She needed to get Sheriff Hartman, Jackson, and herself out of this hell, but she didn’t know-how. “Listen, Elizabeth, you need to untie me, we need to get out of here, those guys will murder us, that’s what they do, they’re lunatics....they took my baby girl” his voice breaking. For the first time since she’d known him, Lizzy could catch a glimpse of the man’s anguish, the immense loss he had endured. Despite her previous feelings, it made her feel saddened for him. There has been so much pain, death, and bloodshed. It had to come to an end.
“I’m not going anywhere without Jackson.” She stated and was taken aback by her own words; she hadn’t considered them when they flowed out. “It’s too late for that kid Elizabeth, he’s a Sawyer; they’re all rotten. No matter how much faith you have for him, He isn’t capable of change.” Hartman was adamant, his words dripping with venom. Lizzy shook her head, avoiding his gaze. No, she refused to accept it; she could sense that there was still hope for Jackson, and it wasn’t too late. If that’s the case, she’ll die trying. She owed it to him and Bud, she must make this right. Hartman tried to rise, but it was difficult in his current position, so he begged for her assistance once more, which she accepted, knowing she needed all the aid she could get. She untied him, helped him to his feet, and led him to the door. When they opened the door to the remainder of the home, the insane and horrible became much worse. Bones. Skulls stacked up on top of each other to form horrible furniture, entire skeletons sitting on the chairs in a sickening copy of a family dining, all lighted by dozens of candles in every corner, and a foul odor permeated the room. A home built in the pits of hell.
The two staggered across the room to the door in front of them, Lizzy grabbed for the handle, and the door flung open, snuffing out all hope in one swift motion. The broad insane smiles over two men’s faces indicated that they were anticipating them. Lizzy screamed as powerful arms wrapped around her waist and lifted her off the ground; she fought, punched, and screamed some more, but her tired body was no match for the man having a steel grip on her. The sheriff fought back as well, putting up a valiant battle, but in the end, his defeat was sealed by the wound in his chest. Lizzy watched as the two of them were driven to their breaking point through weeping eyes. Lizzy stood there watching as the two of them were ushered into what looked to be the living room, a huge couch smack dab in the middle of a window. There wasn’t nearly as much light in there as the rest of the home, which just added to her despair. Hartman was thrown on the sofa by one of the men, the taller of the two, who moaned in agony but said nothing and simply glared at his captors with utter contempt.
The man stood a few steps away from Hartman, while the person in charge of Lizzy stood in the opposite doorway, leaving the door open. Verna Sawyer, Lizzy recalled, crossed the doorframe, arms crossed over her chest; she gave her a harsh, look before shifting her focus to Hartman, who matched her gaze with equal amounts of disdain. “You made a mistake by messing with the wrong family,” Verna remarked. Hartman sarcastically replied, “Oh yes, you’re very proud of this family.” Lizzy wished she could tell Hartman to be quiet. Something inside her warned her that she shouldn’t make that woman furious, and her presence sent a cold chill down her spine, confirming her suspicions. Verna turned away from him, her gaze falling on the empty corridor. “Jed!” she called out. Lizzy’s pulse skipped a beat again, and she snapped her head towards the direction Verna was gazing. Jackson. Her mind was racing with images of the young man, and her body ached to see him. “This isn’t over, Verna; you’re not getting away with it this time,” Hartman continued, his breathing heavy and sluggish. Verna locked her gaze on his. His warnings had plainly failed to impress her. Heavy footsteps could be heard somewhere within the home. “It’s over for you, Hartman; no one bothers my children anymore.” “Likewise,” he said, suddenly wonderfully calm and composed, much to Lizzy’s dismay and perplexity. The sheriff cocked his head and locked his gaze on the woman.
“Tell me, Verna, how long has it been since we’ve been in this hellhole you call home?” He inquired. Everyone was staring at him, and went silent, causing the footsteps to ricochet loudly over the walls. Lizzy heard it at the same moment as everyone else before Verna could reply. The sound of police sirens. Lizzy felt herself being flung to the ground in the following few seconds. The three Sawyers stormed out of the living room, armed with knives, hooks, and their shotguns. Lizzy got up, limping towards the window, ignoring the throbbing in both knees. She drew the curtain away, and what she saw was both a comfort and a terrifying sight. At least eight police cars encircled the house, and scores of policemen drew their guns and pointed them at the residence. One of them, a middle-aged man who appeared to be in charge of the group, started advancing toward the property with his hands armed.
