Chapter 67: Overreact
The bullet whizzed through the air and struck the bear squarely in the head, exploding its skull in a spray of blood and fur. Time seemed to freeze; the raucous cheers of the crowd fell silent as the beast collapsed beside Claire. Finally, Claire shut her eyes. Blood began to seep from her wounds, pooling around her on the ground in a horrifying crimson stain.
“What the hell is going on?”
“Seriously, that’s my money down the drain!”
“Who shot the bear? What happens to our bets now?”
The audience erupted into chaos, shouting at Frederick’s masked figure in the VIP section. Harrison stood frozen, staring at Frederick, who still held the gun, his stance unwavering. Frederick still stood there motionless, holding a handgun and maintaining the posture of shooting the bear.
Harrison, sensing the growing commotion, quickly turned to Richard, who stood behind Frederick. “Tell the arena that the Prescott family is covering tonight’s event. And get Claire out of here, now.”
“Yes, Mr. Prescott,” Richard replied, hurrying to follow the command.
Thirty minutes later, in the car on the way back, Harrison turned to Frederick, who seemed lost in thought. “You really overreacted tonight. Thank goodness I was here to help clean up the mess using my family’s name. If anyone finds out, especially your brother, with your presidential campaign, how would you explain that?”
“Yeah, I know,” Frederick replied, tightening his grip. A wave of irritation washed over him, a feeling he hadn’t expected when he pulled the trigger to save Claire from certain death.
But even now, his mind was consumed by the image of her lying in the arena, bloodied and motionless, refusing to fight back. Harrison asked, reading the turmoil on Frederick’s face, having grown up together, “Are you wondering why Claire didn’t resist?”
“Do you think she was faking it? Or has prison really changed her that much?”
Frederick mused, two vivid images flashing before his eyes: the moment he rescued Claire from Jacob and the horrific scene in the arena where the bear nearly devoured her. In both instances, Claire lay there, unresponsive, as if she had surrendered completely. He thought, “How could this proud, fierce woman have been reduced to such a state?”
Harrison said, shaking his head, “It’s just a prison sentence. You know Kingstown’s jails. Plus, Grandma has been obsessing over getting Claire out for years. We never did anything to her while she was inside. If she’s not acting, then what?”
Although Harrison also found it strange, upon careful consideration, he and Frederick had never intentionally done anything to her in prison.
“You’re right.” Frederick nodded, though he felt a nagging doubt. He couldn’t fathom how four years in a standard prison could transform someone so drastically. He thought it must be a contrived performance.
He turned to Richard again. “Take Claire back to Halfmoon Manor and throw her in the basement.”
“Yes. And what about Ms. Prescott’s injuries?” Richard asked, glancing in the rearview mirror.
“Get the family doctor to patch her up. Just enough to keep her alive,” Frederick instructed. As long as the results of the presidential campaign were still pending, Claire still had a purpose for living.