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Liv's jaw clenched as she met Jackson's gaze, her own voice trembling with emotion. “We have to do whatever it takes to save my Uncle Fred and stop Michael before it's too late.”
With a heavy sigh, Jackson relented, his shoulders slumping in defeat. “Fine,” he conceded. He looked at Turk with a helpless expression.
As they prepared to breach Emily's home, Liv knew the risks they were taking, but she also knew time was running out.
* * *
With cautious steps, they breached the cabin and scanned the dimly lit interior. The flickering light cast eerie shadows across the walls, revealing row upon row of Jackson’s pictures. Jackson’s expression darkened as he took in the pictures of himself lining the wall, his eyes narrowing with concern.
“Michael... he's crazy,” he muttered under his breath, a shiver running down his spine at the thought of what kind of person could be capable of such obsession.
Turning to the others, his voice was filled with urgency as he explained, “This type of arsonist, the kind who fixates on their victims like this... they're the most dangerous kind. They're not just out to set fires; they're out for revenge, for destruction. And they'll stop at nothing until they get what they want.”
His words were a stark reminder of the danger they were all facing. With Michael out there, consumed by his twisted obsession, they couldn't afford to let their guard down for a moment. They had to find him, stop him, before he could hurt anyone else.
Their attention was drawn to Chief Lamply, bound and gagged in the corner of the room. Turk rushed to free him.
Their relief was short-lived as a series of pops echoed through the cabin, each followed by an eruption of flames that licked hungrily at the walls and ceiling. Jackson ripped his sling free and pulled Liv close to him.
“Jackson, if we give it oxygen, the flashover will incinerate everything in its path,” Turk said. The flames were closing in on them with terrifying speed.
“I know. Any ideas?” Jackson scanned the room.
Lamply lifted the dining room table with all his strength, using it to hold off the oncoming flashover as flames engulfed the room.
Jackson's voice cut through the chaos, a desperate plea. “It'll kill you!” he yelled over the roar of the flames, his eyes wide.
But Lamply, his gaze locked on Liv and Jackson, shook his head defiantly. “I'm sorry,” he shouted, his voice barely audible over the crackle of the fire. “Get the hell out of here.”
Turk grabbed a chair and smashed it against the window, shards of glass scattering as he created an escape route. Liv and Turk helped Jackson through the window, their hands gripping tightly as they pulled him to safety. Then Turk shoved Liv through and followed.
They emerged from the burning cabin, gasping for breath. They watched as flames devoured the cabin, knowing Lamply was still inside, sacrificing himself to save them.
Tears welled in Liv's eyes as she turned away. Jackson knew she was unable to bear the sight of the inferno consuming the man who had been so important to her after her dad died. He wrapped a comforting arm around her shoulders, offering silent support as they watched the flames rage on.
“We have to go,” Liv urged, her voice heavy with emotion. “The fire department is on its way. There's nothing more we can do here. We need to get to the Waverly estate. Michael has to know we are onto him.”
As they rushed toward the Waverly estate, Liv dialed the Waverlys' number and pleaded with them to evacuate immediately. Silas and Jule, shaken by the news, agreed to leave, but Sinclair adamantly refused, insisting he wasn’t going to be moved by the threat.
Despite his protests, the three of them resolved to stay behind and ensure Sinclair Waverly’s safety. Jackson insisted they work in two-person shifts and was able to convince Liv to lie down for a few hours.
As time passed, tensions mounted. Sinclair was responsible for so much pain and suffering in their town. “You're a coward, Sinclair,” Jackson spat, his voice dripping with contempt. “Too afraid to face the truth.”
Sinclair's eyes flashed with anger as he recoiled from Jackson's accusations, his façade of indifference crumbling at the accusations. “You know nothing,” he snarled, his voice laced with venom.
Before the argument could escalate further, a sudden noise from the doorway interrupted their confrontation. Michael Wheaton stood surveying the scene before him. He brandished a gun, his eyes wild with fury.
Michael snarled, “Old man, tie up Turk and Jackson, quickly.”
“What? Young man, what's going on?” Sinclair’s hands shook.
Michael’s rage exploded. “Just do it. Now.” The gun waved between them.
In a panic, Sinclair began tying up Turk and Jackson, who winced in pain as his wounds were aggravated by the sudden movement.
“Michael, what the hell are you doing?” Jackson pleaded.
“Yeah, man, calm down. No one else needs to die,” Turk added.
