Read Story: SEASON 1 EPISODE 80
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Bennett’s Mansion – Same Time
Diana sat with her phone in hand, thumb hovering over Ivory’s contact for the second time that hour.
“She’s not answering,” she murmured to the room at large. “I told her to come home. I don’t understand why she’s ignoring—”
The television, playing quietly in the background, suddenly cut to a breaking news banner, red letters flashing across the bottom of the screen.
BREAKING: SHOOTING OUTSIDE CRESTON CINEMA — VICTIM RUSHED TO HOSPITAL.
Diana’s eyes lifted toward the screen. The reporter’s voice filtered through, describing a shooting in a cinema parking lot, a young man struck twice, a woman covered in blood screaming for help.
The phone slipped from Diana’s hand and hit the floor with a crack.
“Diana?” Arthur was on his feet instantly. “Diana, what—”
She couldn’t speak. She could only point, hand shaking violently, toward the screen.
Mr. Hale crossed the room in two strides and picked up the remote, turning up the volume, his face draining of color as the details registered.
“That’s him,” he said, voice barely audible. “That’s — Celeste, that’s near the empire, isn’t it? That’s where they were tonight?”
Celeste’s hands flew to her mouth.
Mr. Hale didn’t wait for confirmation. He was already moving, grabbing his jacket, Mrs. Hale scrambling up behind him, sobbing his name as she followed him toward the door.
“Wait for us!” Arthur called, and he and Diana were right behind them, keys already in hand.
“I’m coming too!” Hazel shouted, bolting for the door, Luis right behind her.
“STAY HERE.” Arthur’s voice cracked like a whip, stopping them both cold. “Both of you. Stay with the staff. We’ll call the second we know anything.”
The door slammed shut behind the adults, and Luis stood frozen in the entryway, his whole body beginning to shake.
“He was shot,” he said, voice small, disbelieving. “Hazel, he was shot—”
He sank to the floor right there in the hallway, sobs tearing out of him, and Hazel dropped down beside him instantly, wrapping her arms around him even as her own tears started to fall.
“He’s strong,” she said, though her voice wavered badly. “He’s the strongest person I know. He’s going to be okay, Luis. He has to be.”
Luis didn’t answer. He just cried harder, and Hazel held him tighter, both of them rocking gently on the cold marble floor, waiting for a phone call that felt like it would never come.
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The Cinema Parking Lot – Same Night
Police tape stretched across the scene in wide yellow lines, officers combing every inch of the pavement under harsh portable floodlights.
“Got something over here,” one officer called, crouching near a support pillar. He lifted a small evidence bag, holding it up to the light — a single pink hairpin, delicate, out of place among the grim scene surrounding it.
“Pull the CCTV,” the lead detective ordered. “Every camera with a line of sight on this lot.”
Within the hour, they had it — grainy but unmistakable footage of a young woman stepping out from behind a parked car, gun raised, arm shaking visibly even in the low-resolution feed.
The first shot fired.
The footage showed Duane’s body moving — some instinct faster than thought — throwing himself into the bullet’s path before it could reach the woman standing beside him.
“She’s not even wearing a mask,” the detective muttered, disbelief evident in his voice, freezing the frame on the shooter’s face. “She didn’t even try to hide.”
The footage showed her fumbling with the weapon afterward — the gun jamming, or perhaps simply empty — before she shoved it into her coat pocket and fled the frame entirely, her face fully visible the entire time.
“We’ll have an ID within the hour,” an officer said confidently.
The detective nodded, though his frown deepened as he replayed a second angle — a darker corner of the lot, barely lit, capturing only a shadow. A second figure. Masked. Bundled in a heavy coat that obscured every identifiable feature.
“Two shooters,” he said slowly. “Two different guns.”
—
Beauty and Gemma’s Residence – Night
Beauty lay curled beneath a thick duvet, shaking violently despite the heat trapped around her, sobs wracking through her small frame in waves that refused to stop.
It wasn’t supposed to be him, she thought, over and over, staring at nothing. It was supposed to be her. Ivory. She took him from me. She was supposed to be the one—
The gun had jammed. Or maybe she’d simply run out — she couldn’t even remember anymore, the moment blurring into a haze of adrenaline and horror the second she’d watched him drop.
It was a special bullet, she thought numbly. That’s what he told me — the man I bought it from. There’s only one like it. Nobody survives that shot. Nobody.
She curled tighter into herself, sobbing harder.
I killed him, she thought. I actually killed him. And it was supposed to be her.
—
Creston General Hospital – Emergency Ward
Ivory reached the gurney just as the sheet slipped slightly at the top, revealing Duane’s face — pale, still, eyes closed, blood still smeared faintly along his jaw.
She lifted the sheet fully away from his face with trembling hands, and her tears fell freely onto his cheeks as she leaned over him.
“Duane,” she whispered. “Duane, please. Come back. Please come back to me.”
She shook him gently, then harder, desperation overtaking whatever composure she’d had left.
“Wake UP,” she sobbed. “You can’t leave me like this. You can’t. I love you, do you hear me? I need you to hear me.”
The double doors burst open, and the Bennett and Hale families rushed in together, the sound of running footsteps and choked cries filling the corridor.
The Bennetts hung back near the entrance, tears already streaming freely, unable to bring themselves any closer to the scene.
Mrs. Hale didn’t hesitate. She rushed straight to the gurney, pushing past Ivory gently, cradling Duane’s face in both hands.
“My baby,” she sobbed. “My baby boy, please, come back, I only just found you, please, please don’t leave us now—”
Mr. Hale reached for his son’s cold hand, pressing it between both of his own, tears falling freely and unashamed down his face.
“Twenty-eight years,” he whispered, voice breaking entirely. “Twenty-eight years, and I just got you back. Please. Please don’t do this to us.”
Diana stood near the door, tears streaming down her own face as she watched Ivory — watched her collapse further and further into something raw and unrecognizable, a woman she’d never once seen break like this in twenty-seven years of raising her.
She’s never loved anyone like this before, Diana thought, her chest aching. Not once. And now she’s watching it die in front of her.
The morgue attendants arrived quietly at the edge of the room, ready to take the body.
“No,” Ivory said, whirling on them, blocking their path with her own body. “No, you’re not taking him. Not yet. Just — just give me one more minute, please, just one more—”
She turned back to him, brushing her fingers over his brow with a tenderness that broke Diana’s heart to witness, tracing the line of his eyebrows, his lashes, memorizing every part of his face like she could hold onto it through touch alone.
His eyelashes fluttered.
Ivory froze.
They fluttered again — faint, almost imperceptible, but unmistakable.
“WAIT.” Her voice cracked through the room like a gunshot itself. “Doctor! DOCTOR! Did you see that? His eyes — his eyelashes moved, I SAW it, please, someone check him again, PLEASE—”
The doctor rushed back to the gurney, pressing two fingers against Duane’s throat, his brow furrowing in concentrated focus.
Everyone in the room held their breath.
“There’s a pulse,” the doctor said, disbelief evident in his own voice. “Faint. But it’s there. Get him back to the ER, NOW. MOVE.”
The gurney was wheeled back through the double doors at a dead run, nurses shouting orders, machines being dragged along behind them, and Ivory collapsed against the wall, sobbing with a violence entirely different from before — relief and terror tangled so tightly together she could no longer separate one from the other.
—
To Be Continued.
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