“Get up now!” His command echoed off the walls.
Pain flashed across Linda’s face as she screamed.
“Mr. Scott, please…” Jane’s trembling voice broke the standoff.
She hovered at the edge of the scene, hands fluttering uselessly as she witnessed the escalating confrontation with mounting horror.
“Why are you just standing there like an idiot?” Linda shrieked at her. “Run and get Ernest immediately!”
“Yes, right away!” Jane bolted from the room, her footsteps echoing down the hallway.
She had barely made it three steps before colliding with Ernest, who had been drawn by the escalating voices and was already rushing toward them.
“What in God’s name is happening here?” Ernest demanded, striding into the charged atmosphere.
The tableau before him rendered Jane’s explanation unnecessary—the scene spoke volumes on its own.
“Ernest!” Linda’s voice cracked with relief as she stretched her trembling hand toward him. “Thank heavens you’re here! Eric’s gone mad—he’s hurting me!”
“Eric!” Shock and disbelief colored Ernest’s voice.
He closed the distance in two swift strides, his fingers digging into Eric’s shoulder. “Release Linda this instant! Have you lost your mind? You’re hurting her!”
“Ernest?” Eric’s head snapped up, momentary confusion breaking through his rage.
A storm of conflicting emotions swirled in Eric’s bloodshot eyes as he registered Ernest’s presence.
“Let go now…” Ernest’s voice dropped to a dangerous whisper.
Seizing the brief hesitation, Ernest yanked Eric backward, creating space between the warring parties. He pivoted toward Linda, concern etching deep lines across his forehead. “Are you injured?”
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“Look what he did…” Linda raised her hands tremulously, presenting them like evidence in a trial. The desperate struggle had left several fingernails splintered, with one ripped completely from its bed, crimson blood welling from the raw flesh beneath.
“Jane…” Ernest’s tone shifted to urgent command. Without taking his eyes off Linda’s injuries, Ernest barked at the caregiver, “Bring the first aid kit immediately.”
“Yes, sir,” Jane stammered before darting from the room, grateful for clear direction amid the chaos.
Once she had gone, Ernest rounded on Eric, incredulity hardening his features. “What on earth possessed you? What could justify hurting Linda like this?”
“Hurt her?” The word escaped Eric’s lips as a bitter laugh. His gaze fixed on the blood trickling down Linda’s pale fingers, his heart constricting painfully in his chest. His eyes burned with unshed tears. “Ernest… you’re fixated on her bleeding hand while completely blind to everything else!”
His lips quivered uncontrollably, each word fighting to escape his constricted throat. “Ernest, what about Hadley?” His voice cracked with emotion. “For four grueling years in Blathe, she scrubbed dishes and served tables day after miserable day! Do you have any concept of how many times her hands were sliced open, scalded, and bruised beyond recognition?”
Ernest stood motionless, the blood draining from his face. The revelation struck him like a physical blow—this suffering had occurred beyond his knowledge, beyond even his imagination.
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