Page 80 of Rest In Peace

The gun trembled in her grasp, but her intent was crystal clear. Silver muzzle—a slash of dread—pointed straight at me.

"Monica, don't do this," I pleaded, voice steady despite the thudding of my pulse in my ears.

"I can't be stopped now." There was a finality in her tone, a resignation that chilled me more than the weapon she wielded.

"Think about Victoria," I tried, reaching for the woman who had sacrificed everything already.

“A little late for that.”

And then, it happened.

She swung the gun’s handle at my head. All I saw was a flash of movement, a blur of regret etched into her features, and then pain exploded across my temple. The world tilted, a kaleidoscope of color as I crumpled, the damp earth rushing to meet me.

Distantly, I heard the rustle of footsteps retreating. Blood warmed the side of my face, a stark contrast to the chill seeping into my bones. Through the haze of agony, I realized Monica was gone, leaving me alone with the betrayal and the throbbing wound she'd inflicted.

Grit and gravel embedded in my palms, I pushed against the ground. Every pulse sent a fresh wave of agony from the wound on my head. My vision blurred, painting the world in smears of gray and red. But Monica was out there, somewhere beyond the rows of silent stones.

"Monica!" The name wrenched itself from my throat, raw and desperate. There was no answer but the whispering wind.

Legs unsteady as a newborn fawn’s, I forced myself upright. Blood snaked down my neck, warm and insistent. I stumbled forward, one step, then another, driven by the need to find her, to end this.

"Come on." It was a mantra, a plea to my own body not to fail me now.

The cemetery gates loomed ahead, iron bars that seemed to mock my sluggish pace. I broke through, gasping for air that did nothing to ease the fire in my lungs or the pounding in my skull.

I got out into the street, and there he was. Matt was standing sentinel on the sidewalk, leaning on one of his crutches, holding the other in the air like a soldier's rifle. Monica lay crumpled on the pavement, one arm twisted beneath her, her chest rising and falling with shallow breaths. The gun she'd brandished lay just out of reach, an ironic twist of fate that left her defenseless.

"Eva Rae?" Concern was etched deep in his voice, his eyes scanning me from head to toe.

"What happened?" The words were thick with urgency.

"I—I tripped her," he said, the corner of his mouth lifting in an attempt at levity despite the situation. "Guess these things are good for more than just walking."

"Tripped her?" A bubble of incredulous laughter escaped me, but it popped as pain ricocheted through my head. “With your crutch?”

"Yeah," Matt nodded, steadying himself. "She was running, and I just… I couldn't let her get away."

"Good man." I reached him, leaning heavily against his sturdy frame. My legs threatened to buckle, but Matt held firm.

"Let’s just hope she stays down long enough for the police to arrive," I murmured, pressing a hand to the back of my head. The world swam, but with Matt's help, I remained on my feet, ready to face whatever came next.

Fumbling for my phone with unsteady hands, I dialed 911. The operator picked up instantly, her calm voice a stark contrast to our ragged breaths.

"Police and an ambulance," I managed to say between gasps. "Suspect apprehended. Officer hurt."

"Location, ma'am?" the voice prompted efficiently.

"Greenwood Cemetery entrance," I replied. The words felt like they were being dragged from my lips. "Send them fast."

"Help is on the way. Can you confirm the suspect is secured?"

"Unconscious," I confirmed, glancing at Monica's still form. "And disarmed."

"Stay on the line, ma'am. Are you able to administer first aid to yourself or the suspect?"

"First aid…." My vision blurred at the edges, dark spots dancing before my eyes. "Not sure?—"

"Matt?" I leaned into him, my knees giving out.

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