Page 79 of Rest In Peace

I pulled up beside a wrought-iron fence, overgrown with ivy, the shadows of the headstones stretching like fingers across the ground. Killing the engine, I grabbed the keys and flung open the door. Matt reached for my arm, a silent plea etched into the lines of his face.

"Eva Rae, what are you doing?" His eyes searched mine, looking for the plan, the method in the madness.

"Stay here," I commanded, more forcefully than I intended. "I'll be right back."

"Right back? You can't just—" But I was already outside, slamming the door shut on his protests.

"Matt, please." I leaned down, meeting his bewildered gaze through the window. "Just wait for me."

"Fine," he grumbled, though his fingers drummed an anxious rhythm on the dashboard.

"Thank you." A hollow thanks, but it was all I could offer before turning away.

I didn't look back as I strode toward the sea of stone and marble, leaving him alone with the idling hum of the vehicle and the unspoken tensions that hung between us like ghosts.

Gravel crunched under my sneakers, the solemn rows of gravestones passing in a blur. My breath came in short gasps, misting in the chilly air as I wound my way through the cemetery's silent occupants. Ahead, a solitary figure hunched over a grave, shoulders shaking with quiet sobs.

"Monica," I called softly, not wanting to startle her more than necessary.

She jerked upright, turning toward me with red-rimmed eyes. "Eva Rae? How did you know?"

"Your house… it’s swarming with cops and empty." I knelt beside her on the damp grass, ignoring the cold seeping through the fabric of my pants. "This place," I gestured around us, "your son’s grave seemed like somewhere you might go."

Monica's gaze dropped, her fingers tracing the engraved name on the stone before her. "I had nowhere else."

"Understood." My voice was low and steady despite the adrenaline that still coursed through me. I kept my eyes locked on hers, searching for something beneath the grief and desperation.

"Monica."

My voice was barely above a whisper, the cemetery's silence amplifying the weight of my question. "Why did you kill Steven?"

She looked up, her eyes hollow. "My grandchild," she murmured, almost to herself. "He would've destroyed that little girl's life. He already had.”

She paused and shook her head.

"Someone had to stop him." Monica's voice grew firmer, her conviction piercing the humid air between us. "And apparently, I was the only one capable enough."

I exhaled slowly, the moral quandary settling like frost over the grass. "I understand why you did it, Monica. But you know I can't just let this go."

Her head bowed, a nod acknowledged the inevitable. "I know, Eva Rae."

"Come on." I offered my hand, palm open and steady. "Let's get you out of here."

Monica's hand trembled as she placed it in mine. With a gentle tug, I helped her to her feet, feeling the weight of her surrender.

The chill of the gravestone's shadow clung to my skin as we moved away, Monica's hand still resting in mine. Her steps were hesitant and unsteady, like she was walking through a nightmare she couldn't wake from.

"Left foot, right foot," I muttered under my breath, a mantra to keep us both grounded. The wind whispered through the leaves above, an audience of ancient oaks and weathered stones to our grim procession.

"Thank you, Eva Rae," she breathed out, her voice quivering with fear and gratitude.

"There really isn’t much to thank me for," I replied, eyes scanning the horizon for any onlookers. The cemetery lay deserted, its silence a heavy blanket over us.

A sharp click broke the quiet. My gaze snapped toward the sound, and my heart stuttered.

"Monica, what?—?"

"Sorry." Her apology was a ghost of a whisper, her eyes pained. "I can't let myself go to prison."

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