Chapter 550 Take His Surname
In the ICU.
Zachary lay quietly, the occasional beep from the machines the only sound in the room.
His thoughts drifted back to that old, rundown apartment building.
Life or death, when he threw the lighter, Zachary wasn't entirely sure, but he knew it was his only chance to survive.
Homemade explosives, hostage-taking, illegal fundraising—each charge was enough to keep Timothy in prison for years. And then there were Kyle and the bodyguards' deaths, which, although not directly caused by Timothy, were still connected to him.
Timothy wanted to drag Zachary down with him. The longer it took, the worse it would be.
They were on the third floor of a self-built house, just over 10 feet high. At this height, unless extremely unlucky, one wouldn't die from a fall. But the house had security bars, and Zachary's only chance was the window at the end of the hallway, used for ventilation. Each window had a small platform, less than 20 square feet, to shield it from rain.
There was a buffer point in the middle. Even if he was extremely unlucky, he wouldn't die from a fall of just over ten feet.
The only concern was the explosives. But when Timothy pressed the remote for the first time, Zachary had timed it. From pressing the button to the explosion, there was a few seconds' delay.
Knowing he was about to die but being forced to watch helplessly, amplifying his fear to the maximum—this was indeed something Timothy, the psychopath, would do.
And those few seconds of delay were Zachary's lifeline.
Zachary had reached the door. "Timothy, you stay here."
Zachary wouldn't let Timothy leave the building. Even if he did, he would be arrested. But for someone like Timothy, only death could bring peace of mind.
Timothy's face turned dark as he watched Zachary close the door. He frantically pressed the button on the remote and rushed to stop him. "Zachary, you think you can escape?"
The door slammed shut, and Zachary sprinted toward the window at the end of the hallway. The dark night outside seemed to become a beacon of hope.
Zachary had never run so fast. The rooms on either side flew past him. He didn't know which room might explode. He had to be faster.
Zachary focused on the window, watching it get closer and closer. His chest burned as he consumed oxygen rapidly, his eardrums roaring.
Behind him, Timothy's voice was sinister. "After all the medication you've taken, haven't you noticed anything wrong with your body?"
Something wrong?
He often had headaches, and...
Zachary didn't have time to think. He was racing against death, and every second was crucial.
Timothy's voice was almost a curse. "You and Winona will never be happy."
One second, two seconds, three seconds...
Zachary had never felt a distance of eighty or ninety feet so long. No matter how fast he ran, the window seemed unreachable.
The explosion sounded, and the heat wave and shattered concrete rushed toward him. Zachary's hand grabbed the window frame, and he flipped out, landing on the platform below. Before he could steady himself, the blast wave threw him off.
Winona sat on a bench outside the ICU, her tense nerves finally relaxing, leaving her feeling weak. She took out her phone to call Austin, worried he might be looking for her and getting anxious.
Austin answered, "What's up?"
"Just checking if you threw yourself out with the trash. Why are you taking so long?"
Austin glanced at Abigail nearby and rubbed his temples. Seeing her always gave him a headache. "Ran into someone I know. Might be a while."
Winona replied, "Don't worry about it. Zachary's out of surgery and in the ICU now. No visitors allowed. I'm heading back."
Before he could respond, Abigail's voice interrupted, "She deserved it. She had it coming."
Austin had never seen this side of Abigail before. Her chin raised, eyes lowered, exuding arrogance from every pore. She was small but had a big presence.
If Abigail's target wasn't a cop, he might have applauded her.
Winona recognized the voice. "Is that Ms. Watson?"
"Yeah, she injured someone. They called the cops and wanted to press charges. Now she's arguing with the police."
Austin's frustration was palpable through the phone. Winona chuckled, "Alright, I'll let you go. Take care."
The cop, angered by Abigail's attitude, raised his voice. "Watch your words. You injured someone, drew blood, and they needed seven stitches. They're only asking for an apology and won't press charges. Your attitude is making things worse. Do you want to end up in jail?"
They were annoyed by the minor injury but had to respond to the call. They hoped to resolve it quickly, but Abigail's refusal to admit fault was frustrating.
Abigail raised an eyebrow, looking at the woman beside Kurt Lowe. "A pair of scumbags. Just looking at you makes me sick."
"Abigail Watson," Audrey Carroll's gaze was complex. "Kurt and I aren't what you think. I'll give you back your place as Mrs. Lowe. You hit me without reason. Asking for an apology isn't too much."
"Correction," Abigail interrupted. "Not Mrs. Lowe. If Kurt and I married, he'd be a househusband. I'd still be Mrs. Watson. People would refer to him as my husband, not the other way around."
Her humiliating words didn't provoke Kurt. He looked at Austin. "She's been staying with you these past months?"
Austin replied, "Yes."
"Did you teach her these crude words?"
Austin understood Kurt's implication and smirked. "Maybe she already knew them."
"Abigail might be bold, but she has basic manners."
"Is it possible she knew them but pretended to be someone else for you? Now that you've married another woman, she's done pretending and wants to hit you with her heels. Saying a few crude words isn't surprising."
Kurt pursed his lips. "Abigail, come back with me. I'll explain everything with Audrey later."
Abigail, fully unleashed, looked smug. "Go to hell."
She grabbed Austin and walked away. The cop tried to stop them, but Kurt intervened.
Outside the hospital, Abigail let go and sat on the edge of a flower bed, her eyes red.
Austin's scalp tingled. "What are you doing? Abigail, don't tell me you're going to cry here."
As soon as he spoke, tears rolled down Abigail's cheeks.
She cried?
Austin resignedly rubbed his temples. Fine, let her cry. Silent crying wasn't a big deal, just needed a tissue.
But then Abigail started sobbing loudly, drawing attention. She cried and cursed, "Scumbag! I wasted ten years on him. Even a dog would wag its tail at me. He's wearing clothes I bought, going on dates with another woman. I should've gotten a dog."
Austin, under the scrutiny of onlookers, said, "Cry if you must, but can you not wail?"
His words made Abigail cry even harder.
Winona didn't go home. She knew she wouldn't sleep, so she stayed. Just in case...
No, no, there wouldn't be a "just in case."
As soon as she pushed the thought away, she saw through the glass door that chaos had erupted inside. Doctors and nurses rushed to one of the rooms. Winona's heart skipped a beat, and she jumped up. It was Zachary's room!
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