Chapter 4 - The Roadblock at County Line
"What the hell is going on?" Marcus yelled from the passenger seat, gripping the dashboard as Vance slammed on the brakes to avoid rear-ending a massive black SUV that had materialized out of the thick morning fog and cut directly across our lane.
The emergency lights of our ambulance painted the rear bumper of the SUV in flashing red and white. Emblazoned on the driver’s side door of the blockade vehicle was a seal I recognized instantly from the wedding invitations: the crest of the Vance family—a twisted oak tree with roots shaped like clutching human hands.
"Hold on!" Vance shouted, throwing the ambulance into reverse, but before he could clear the shoulder, a second vehicle—a county sheriff cruiser—slammed to a halt behind us, blocking our escape completely. The cruiser’s lights flashed blindingly, washing out the misty dawn.
"This is completely illegal," Marcus muttered, reaching for the cab radio. "I'm calling this in—"
"Don't bother," I said, my voice dead calm as I pulled the micro-cassette recorder back into my palm and secured my phone in my coat pocket. "They own the county lines. Remember?"
The driver’s side door of the black SUV opened, and out stepped Sheriff Thomas—a man who had smiled warmly and shaken my hand at our wedding reception less than twenty-four hours ago. Now, his face was carved out of granite, his hand resting casually on the butt of his service weapon as he stepped through the gravel toward our ambulance.
Behind him, another figure emerged from the passenger side: not Beatrice, but someone even more terrifying. A tall, impeccably dressed man in a charcoal suit, with silver-streaked hair and eyes that looked like shattered glass.
Julian’s uncle. The one Beatrice’s tape had casually mentioned taking "that unfortunate trip off the cliffside road."
Except he wasn't dead. He was standing right here in the middle of a deserted highway at dawn, looking healthy, wealthy, and infinitely dangerous.
The back doors of the ambulance rattled as Sheriff Thomas struck the metal exterior with the flat of his hand.
"Open the doors, EMS," Thomas called out, his voice carrying an easy, practiced authority. "Routine transport diversion. State health protocol regarding localized contamination at the Vance estate. We’ll take the patient from here."
"The hell you will!" Vance yelled from the front, shoving the partition door open. "This patient is in active medical distress with potential toxic poisoning! We are legally obligated to deliver him to St. Jude’s ER!"
"And you will be delivering him," Uncle Arthur said softly, his voice cutting through the morning air as he stepped up behind the sheriff and peered directly into the back of the ambulance. His eyes locked onto mine with a sickening, familiar warmth. "Just not to the public ward, Clara. Family matters are handled by the family. Step away from the gurney, dear. You’ve caused quite enough disruption for one honeymoon."
Julian let out a ragged, choking gasp behind me. His eyes flew open, wide with sheer terror as he stared past my shoulder at the man standing in the doorway.
"A-Arthur..." Julian wheezed, his body arching off the mattress in a sudden, violent spasm. "You... you died... twenty years ago..."
Arthur smiled—a thin, cruel line that didn't reach his dead eyes.
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"Death is just a technicality in this family, nephew," Arthur replied smoothly, resting his hand on the latch of the ambulance door. "And it's time to come home."
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