The Wrong Son Died Chapter 2

The hijacker pressed the child’s back flat against the windowpane, the glint of a knife blade pressed against his small neck.

“Back off! All of you, get back! Get me a car, or he dies right now!”

Captain Miller, the on-site commander, his face ashen, spoke low into his radio.

“All units, confirm sniper is in position. Wait for a clean shot. Negotiation team, try to de-escalate, buy us some time…”

“No!”

Mark’s voice cut through the tension.

“Captain, give Chloe another chance. The subject is agitated, but Chloe is getting through to him. Changing negotiators or going tactical now will only provoke him. Chloe, quickly, talk to him. Stabilize the situation.”

Chloe took a shaky breath and raised the bullhorn again, her voice now filled with a bizarre, self-righteous fury.

“To the perpetrator inside! We will not surrender to evil!”

“Your only way out is to release the hostages and drop your weapon now!”

“Preying on the weak doesn’t make you strong! Go ahead and kill him, but know this: the full weight of the law will come down on you. You’ll get the death penalty!”

The parents and I stared, dumbfounded.

“What is she saying?”

“Is she insane? She’s not even trying to save the child!”

As expected, the hijacker was completely enraged.

“Fine! Fine! You pushed me to this! You all did!”

His broken, desperate roar echoed from inside the bus.

Then, a sudden, horrifying spray of crimson splattered across the window.

“Ah!”

Chloe, standing closest, witnessed the gruesome act firsthand.

She let out a piercing shriek and collapsed to the pavement with a thud, her cell phone shattering beside her. She just lay there, sobbing incoherently.

The hijacker’s crazed voice started again.

“You see that? Now if you don’t back…”

CRACK.

A single, clean gunshot echoed through the street.

The hijacker’s voice stopped. He crumpled to the floor, a bullet hole in his forehead.

The scene exploded into motion.

Police officers swarmed the bus, carrying out crying children and handing them over to their weeping parents.

I stood frozen, my eyes fixed on that blood-stained window, a glacial cold spreading through my body.

Just then, Mark rushed past me, straight to the collapsed form of Chloe.

He gathered her into his arms, holding her tight, one hand gently patting her back.

“Chloe, it’s over, it’s okay…”

“It wasn’t your fault. This is how it goes sometimes. No one can guarantee a hundred percent success rate. The guy was a monster. It wasn’t your fault.”

Chloe, as if finding her anchor, buried her face in his chest, her sobs becoming more theatrical, more tragic.

“Mark… it was… it was so scary…”

After comforting her for a long moment, Mark helped her to her feet.

Then he turned to me, standing there like a statue, and patted my shoulder.

“Audrey, I know you’re in pain.”

“Our son is gone. He was unlucky. But this has nothing to do with Chloe, so… don’t take it out on her.”

He paused, lowering his voice, a clear warning in his tone.

“The department is going to take statements, conduct interviews. When they ask, you know there are things you should say, and things you shouldn’t. Right?”

“Chloe’s been through a severe psychological trauma. I need to get her to a counselor. The… arrangements for the child, I’ll have to trust you to handle that for now.”

I snapped my head up, looking at him in utter disbelief.

Our son? Unlucky?

And then it hit me.

From the very beginning, they both assumed—they were certain—that the child the hijacker killed, the one he mistook for “Leo,” was my son.