Chapter 15 - The Edge of the Canyon
The old logging bridge loomed out of the swirling fog like a skeletal monster of rotting timber and rusted steel cables. Halfway across the gorge, Mrs. Gable’s sedan had spun out on the icy planks, slamming hard into the rotted wooden barrier. The front wheels hung precariously over the dark, roaring abyss of the river five hundred feet below.
Vincent slammed on the brakes, his SUV sliding sideways across the frozen road before coming to a halt twenty yards from the broken entrance of the bridge.
He kicked the driver’s door open and stepped out into the freezing sleet.
The wind howled through the canyon, rattling the loose planks underfoot. The sedan was teetering, its suspension groaning with every gust.
Through the cracked rear window of the car, Vincent saw Clara. She was pinned by the rear seatbelt, her small face pressed against the glass, crying silently. Her gray leg brace was wedged tightly beneath the buckled front passenger seat.
Mrs. Gable was trying to crawl out through the broken driver's window, her face bloody, clutching a heavy revolver.
""Stay back, Morelli!"" she shrieked, the wind whipping her hair into a wild frenzy. ""One step and I shoot the gas tank! We all go into the river!""
Vincent walked onto the bridge, his footsteps slow, measured, and deliberate. He held no weapon. His hands were open at his sides.
""You're not going to shoot the tank, Margaret,"" Vincent said, his voice cutting through the howl of the storm. ""Because if you wanted to die, you wouldn't have spent five years stealing from my trust funds.""
""I took care of that brat!"" Gable screamed hysterically, her gun shaking wildly. ""I raised her while you and Michael played your mafia games! I deserve that money!""
""You deserve nothing,"" Vincent said, stopping five feet from the car. The wooden planks beneath them creaked sickeningly. A support cable snapped with a sharp twang, causing the sedan to lurch two inches forward into the void.
Clara screamed from the back seat: ""Uncle Vincent! The floor is breaking!""
Vincent’s eyes locked onto Clara’s. ""Hold on to the headrest, sweetheart. Close your eyes.""
Gable raised the revolver, aiming directly between Vincent’s eyes. ""It’s over, Vincent.""
Vincent didn't flinch. In one lightning-fast motion, he closed the remaining gap, his left hand deflecting the gun barrel upward just as Gable pulled the trigger. The shot blasted harmlessly into the stormy night sky. With his right hand, Vincent seized Gable by the throat, hoisting her clear out of the driver's window and throwing her backward onto the bridge planks, disarming her in a single motion.
Dominic arrived behind them, immediately pinning the weeping, broken housekeeper to the timber.
Vincent turned all his attention to the car. The front end was tipping downward now, the rusted frame slipping across the ice.
He ripped open the bent rear door. ""Clara, give me your hands!""
""I'm stuck!"" she cried, pointing down. The locking bolt of her leg brace—the defective hinge that had scratched the marble step that very morning—was firmly wedged into the crushed steel frame of the front seat.
Another main cable snapped. The car dropped six inches, tilting at a terrifying forty-five-degree angle over the abyss.
Vincent dove into the backseat, his broad shoulders wedging against the ceiling to counter the shift in weight. He reached down into the dark footwell, his fingers finding the release clasp of the titanium brace.
""Uncle Vincent, the car is falling!"" Clara sobbed, wrapping her tiny arms around his neck.
""I have you,"" Vincent grunted, his muscles straining against the crushing metal. The bolt wouldn't budge. He had no tools. The ice was giving way beneath the rear tires.
With a deep, guttural roar, Vincent ignored the searing agony in his slashed ribs and dislocated shoulder. He wrapped both hands around the hardened alloy of the brace’s locking mechanism and pulled with brute, desperate force, using his own body as a lever.
The metal snapped with a loud crack. The brace came free, leaving the heavy gray caliper jammed in the floorboards.
Vincent scooped Clara against his chest, turned, and hurled himself out of the open door backward just as the sedan’s rear wheels lost their grip.
The car plummeted into the dark canyon, vanishing into the fog before crashing against the jagged rocks hundreds of feet below in a silent plume of black smoke.
Vincent landed hard on his back across the bridge planks, his arms locked like an iron cage around Clara’s trembling body.
Silence returned to the gorge, broken only by the whistling wind and Clara’s muffled sobs against his chest.
Vincent lay there in the sleet, staring up at the gray morning sky breaking through the clouds. He slowly brought a bruised, tattooed hand up to stroke Clara’s hair.
""It's over, Clara,"" he whispered, his voice trembling for the first time in his life. ""You're safe. You're home.""
Clara looked up at him, her hazel eyes red and swollen, but calm. She wiped the blood from his cheek with her small, cold hand.
""Uncle Vincent?"" she asked softly.
""Yes, sweetheart?""
""Can we fix the floor now?""
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A faint, tired smile touched Vincent’s lips. ""We’ll fix the floor. And then we’ll build the biggest fortress in the library.""
Dominic helped Vincent to his feet. With Clara carried safely in his arms, her head resting securely on his shoulder, Vincent Morelli turned his back on the gorge and walked into the dawn."
