Chapter 217 Found Garth

Chapter 217 Found Garth

Sam had been lying from the start, using everyone around him like pawns on a chessboard.

"Sam! You lied to us!"

"What really happened to Cora? You better start talking!"

"You made the whole thing up! What the hell are you trying to pull?"

The people who had been standing shoulder to shoulder with him moments ago now turned on him like a pack of wolves. Their fury doubled, they closed in, voices rising in a chaotic chorus of demands.

Frank seized the moment. He stepped forward through the chaos, pulled the gun from his waistband, and pressed the black muzzle hard against Sam's forehead.

The cold metal made Sam's entire body go rigid. Every shout died in an instant.

"Where's the kid." Frank's voice was low, but it carried the particular kind of viciousness only a teenager could muster. "My patience is running out. Think carefully before you answer."

Sam stared down the barrel of the gun, and fear finally cracked through his bravado. His hand trembled as he pointed in a direction. "Over... over there... up the hill... behind the mountain..."

Sylvia's heart dropped like a stone. She did not wait for him to finish. She bolted toward the direction he had indicated, moving with reckless urgency.

The others followed close behind. They arrived quickly at a steep, treacherous slope.

Weeds choked the hillside. Below, dense forest and jagged rocks stretched into darkness. The night was too thick to see the bottom.

"Where is he?" Sylvia grabbed Sam by the collar and yanked him forward, her eyes bloodshot as she screamed at him.

"I... I brought him up here to scare him a little, that's all. But he lost his footing, slipped, and went tumbling down..." Sam's voice cracked under the weight of her unhinged stare. He stammered through his excuse. "I called out to him a few times, but he did not answer. I thought he was dead. I panicked, so I..."

Sylvia did not listen. She tore herself away from him and frantically searched the slope. Her eyes landed on a protruding tree branch, and there, snagged on the wood, was a small scrap of torn pajama fabric.

Just below it, on a jagged rock, was a dark red smear.

Blood.

Sylvia's vision went black. Her body swayed, and she nearly collapsed on the spot.

"Sylvia!" Lisa rushed forward and caught her, feeling the ice-cold tremor running through her body. Tears welled in Lisa's eyes. "Do not panic. Garth is going to be okay. We will go down there right now and find him."

"Sam!" Sylvia wrenched herself free from Lisa's grip and turned on the man responsible, her eyes blazing with fury. She looked like she wanted to kill him with her bare hands. "I am going to make you pay for this!"

"It was not my fault! He fell on his own!" Sam was still trying to weasel his way out.

John's expression had gone stone-cold. He shoved Sam aside and barked orders at his men. "I need fifty people down there! Bring lights and medical kits. Search every inch of that hillside. I want him found. Alive or dead, you bring him back."

The last sentence came out heavy as lead.

Everyone understood what it meant. A fall like that, down a slope covered in rocks—a child that young did not stand a chance.

The night pressed down like ink. The sea wind carried a bone-deep chill, making the beams from the searchlights sway and flicker across the hillside.

More than fifty people had descended into the ravine. Flashlight beams crisscrossed through the rocks and trees, weaving a net of desperation.

Time crawled forward, agonizing and slow. The reports that came back were all the same: "Nothing yet." "No sign of him." Cold, empty words.

The atmosphere was suffocating.

Sylvia stood at the edge of the slope like a statue carved from ice and wind. Her gaze fixed on the darkness below, as if she could pierce through the abyss that had swallowed her son.

Her body trembled—not from the cold, but from a terror that seeped out from her marrow.

She could not fall apart. Not yet. She held onto a single breath, lodged tight in her chest, keeping her from collapsing.

Garth was waiting for her. Her son was still out there.

"Sylvia..." Frank approached her, his voice thick with worry and reluctance. "You have been standing here for almost two hours. Please, go back and rest. We will handle this."

Sylvia did not move. It was like she had not heard him at all.

Frank opened his mouth to try again, but a sharp, unexpected bark cut through the silence.

A medium-sized mutt appeared out of nowhere, its coat a messy patchwork of yellow and white. It barked frantically at them, its bright eyes fixed on Sylvia.

"Where the hell did that dog come from?" Lisa snapped, her nerves frayed. She moved forward instinctively, trying to shoo it away.

But the dog refused to leave. When Lisa got closer, it did not run. Instead, it circled around them, barking urgently, its throat producing low, insistent sounds. Its gaze never left Sylvia.

The strange behavior made everyone freeze.

Sylvia's hollow eyes slowly focused. She looked down at the agitated dog.

In a moment when hope seemed impossible, the appearance of this dog felt like a thread—thin and fragile, barely there.

But for someone drowning, even a thread was worth grabbing.

"It wants to show us something." Sylvia's voice was hoarse. She forced her stiff legs to move and walked toward the dog.

The dog saw her follow and wagged its tail. Its barking grew more urgent. Then it turned and bolted in the opposite direction from the slope.

"Sylvia!" Frank did not trust this and followed immediately.

John glanced at the dog leading the way, then at Sylvia's determined back. His brow furrowed. Finally, he gave the order. "Move out. Follow her."

The dog led them through rough terrain, skirting the steep slope entirely. It stopped in front of a low rock wall hidden behind a tangle of vines and shrubs.

The spot was so well concealed that no one would have found it unless they were specifically looking.

The dog stopped and barked louder at the wall of vines.

Sylvia's heart pounded violently. She shoved Frank aside and lunged forward, her trembling hands tearing at the thorny vines.

"Mommy..."

A faint, tearful, achingly familiar voice came from behind the vines.

Sylvia's mind exploded.

It was Garth.

She did not care about the cuts on her palms anymore. She ripped through the vines with everything she had. A dark opening appeared before her.

The cave was not deep. By the light of the flashlights shining in from outside, she could clearly see a small figure curled up in the corner. Scattered around him were a few half-eaten wild berries.