THE CHOICE

SEVEN

JACK STOOD THERE FOR SEVERAL agonizing seconds running a hundred scenarios through his mind. In the end, he saw only one course of action-sneak out into the bedroom, grab his wife's phone, and run back to the closet. It was the only way.

"I've gotta' get your phone," Jack said.

Madison grabbed his arm. "Are you kidding me? What if he sees you?"

He looked back at her. "That's a risk I'll have to take. Otherwise, we're just sitting ducks until he finds us."

She shook her head, absolutely hating the idea of Jack going out into the open.

He gently grabbed the doorknob and turned it, then slowly pushed the door open. He could see Madison's phone on the bedside table. His heart was beating out of his chest. Jack peeked around the door, relieved to see the entrance to the bedroom empty. He scanned the room from left to right. All clear. With all the courage he could muster, Jack took a step out of the closet. But as soon as his foot hit the carpet, he felt the cold steel of a handgun press against his temple.

"Drop the gun, Thompson," the voice demanded.

Jack's heart shot off like a rocket and lodged into his throat. A choked gasp escaped from Madison's mouth and then she lost her breath. Jack loosened his grip on the pistol, holding it now by only a forefinger hooked into the trigger guard. His left hand came up in surrender and Jack slowly lowered the pistol to the floor.

"Kick it away," the voice said.

Jack did as he was told then raised his right hand in the air as well.

"What do you want?" Jack asked.

The man gave no verbal response but made it abundantly clear that he was in control by swinging his handgun and bringing the butt end down hard on the back of Jack's head, knocking him to the floor.

Jack's world went black.