Unexpected Inheritance

9

The other robber, the one rifling through the register, gave an irritated grunt. "Forget it, man. Just take their phones, their jewelry, and their wallets, then let's go."

But the first man wasn't ready to move on. He stepped closer, pressing the cold barrel of the gun firmly against Miranda's temple. "You better be telling the truth," he whispered, his breath hot on her skin. "Cause I could end you right here, right now. And you'd better be damn glad I'm deciding not to."

The other robber muttered, "Man, come on. We got what we came for. Let's go before someone else walks in."

The gunman lingered for a second longer, eyes flicking over Miranda's face.

Finally, he huffed and pulled the gun away, shoving it into his waistband.He glanced at the young man bleeding out on the floor, then at Miranda and Rosalind.

"Sorry bout the mess" he said, winking 

Then they were gone.

The moment the door slammed shut, Rosalind let out a shaky breath, her hands gripping the counter as if she were about to collapse.

Miranda barely processed it before she was already moving, scrambling to the young man on the ground, checking for a pulse with shaking hands. "Oh my God," she whispered

Rosalind began fumbling for the landline behind the counter, her hands shaking as she dialed.

"Come on," Miranda muttered, feeling the weak, sluggish thump beneath her fingertips. "Stay with me."

The flashing red and blue lights painted the front of the general store in harsh, pulsing streaks. The sounds of radios crackling, officers murmuring, and boots crunching against gravel felt distant, almost unreal. Miranda and Rosalind sat side by side on the lowered edge of the ambulance, both wrapped in thin blankets. A paramedic had given them something to help calm their nerves, but Miranda's hands wouldn't stop shaking. Neither would Rosalind's.

The sheriff crouched in front of them, his lined face tight with concern. "Ladies, I need y'all to walk me through it again."

Miranda parted her lips, but nothing came out. She could still feel the cold press of the gun against her temple, hear the man's voice in her ear.

Rosalind swallowed hard. "They came in for directions," she began. "Then the gun came out. Told us to do what they said, and we did. Then that poor boy walked in."

Miranda's stomach twisted violently. Her grip on the blanket tightened as she turned her head toward the covered stretcher being wheeled toward the coroner's van.

The young man hadn't made it.

She had seen death before, had worked in hospitals, had pronounced people dead with her own mouth—but this? This felt different. Wrong. 

A sharp, sudden breath pushed past her lips. She twisted away, her body curling slightly forward as bile burned its way up her throat. She squeezed her eyes shut, trying to breathe through it, trying not to picture him dropping to the floor, the sharp crack of the gunshot still ringing in her ears.

The sheriff pressed a hand to her shoulder. "Deep breaths, Dr. Bailey."

Dr. Bailey.

The title grounded her, reminded her who she was.

She forced herself to sit up straighter.

 "We'll do everything we can to find these bastards. But if you remember anything else, you let us know."

Miranda nodded, but the only thing she could remember was the weight of the gun against her skull and the way the man had winked at her as he left.

When Miranda walked through the front door of her home, she barely had time to set her keys down before Tuck rushed to her, wrapping his arms around her in a grip so tight it nearly took her breath away.

"I'm okay," she whispered, her voice still raw. She smoothed a hand over the back of his head, closing her eyes as she held him close. She could feel the tension in his arms, the way he clung to her, like he was afraid to let go.

"Mom you could've—" his voice cracked

"I know," she said, pulling back just enough to cup his face. "I know. But I'm here."

He nodded, his jaw tight, his eyes glistening with something he refused to let fall.

She took a deep breath and stepped back. "Pack a bag."

Tuck frowned. "For what?"

"We're leaving in the morning," she told him. "Going to Baltimore. We'll stay with your grandfather for a while."

His frown deepened. "For how long?"

"I don't know yet," she admitted.

He hesitated, clearly wanting to ask more questions, but instead, he nodded and pulled away, heading toward the stairs without argument.

All night Miranda didn't sleep.

Every time she closed her eyes, she saw the young man's body being wheeled out of the general store in a black bag. The press of cold metal against her temple. The way her hands had shaken as she handed over her phone, her wallet, her jewelry. Tuck was asleep down the hall, but she had checked on him at least a dozen times. She wasn't sure who she was trying to reassure—him or herself.

Their bags were packed and sitting by the door. 

Since her phone had been stolen in the robbery, she had no way of knowing if Ben even knew what had happened. He had been out in the woods, doing whatever he did when he needed time to himself. It wasn't his fault, but it didn't change the fact that he hadn't been there.

And still, as she zipped up Tuck's bag one final time, part of her wished he had been.

It was only when they were walking out to the car that Ben finally showed up.

"Miranda?" He frowned, taking in the sight of their bags. "What's going on? Where are you going?"

She didn't answer. She kept walking toward the car, gripping her keys so tightly they left indents in her palm.

Ben moved in front of her, blocking her path. "I just got back. I was in the woods. I didn't know what happened." His voice was tight, frustrated. "Why didn't you call me?"

She exhaled sharply. "I didn't have a phone. It was stolen when they had a gun to my head."

That seemed to hit him like a slap. His brows pulled together. "I just heard—are you okay?"

"I need to go."

"For how long?"

"I don't know."

He reached for her, but she stepped back. Not because she was angry at him—she wasn't. But because she knew if she let him touch her, she might break, and she couldn't afford to do that right now.

"Damn it, Miranda, I was in the woods. I didn't know," he said, frustration creeping into his voice. "Tell me where you're going. How long you'll be gone."

"That's the problem Ben" She snapped " You were in the damn woods while I had a gun to my head. You were supposed to be there that day. But you weren't. Now you will never understand what I went through that day. You can continue your life unchanged because you were in the woods. But I was in the store. I was robbed. I saw that boy die. I can still feel the metal of the gun against my temple. Because I was there, not in the woods. And now I am trying to pick up the pieces of myself and hold them together with tape and glue. And you—" She sighed "You won't get that, Ben" 

With that she slid into the seat, started the car.

"Miranda—"

She didn't respond just putting the car in drive. 

Ben kicked at the dirt, his hands bracing on his hips. "So that's it?"

She didn't look at him as she pulled away.

Because right now, she had one thought in her mind.

Getting out of there.