Page 81 of Rest In Peace

"I got you, Eva Rae," he assured, his grip tightening. Just hang on."

"Officers are en route," the operator's voice sounded distant. "Hang tight; help will be there shortly."

"Thanks," I whispered, the darkness creeping closer. "Matt… you really saved the day."

"I always have your back," he murmured, his voice solemn as we waited for the sirens to cut through the graveyard's silence.

Epilogue

ONE WEEK LATER

Chopping. The rhythmic sound of the knife against the cutting board set a beat to my thoughts, each slice a reminder of the normalcy I craved.

"Dinner's almost ready!" My voice carried over the sizzle of vegetables in the pan.

"I’m hungry now, Mom!" Alex shouted back without tearing his eyes from the screen where pixels danced in rapid-fire succession. His fingers moved over the controller, every tap and swipe as precise as the moves I made when disarming a situation—or a suspect. At least, I’d like to think so.

"I’m doing it as fast as I can," I called out, glancing at the clock.

"Look, Mommy!" Angel's voice, bubbly with enthusiasm, pulled me away from the stove. She was on the floor, surrounded by a fortress of multicolored blocks, her small hands deftly placing the final piece on her makeshift castle. "It's our house!"

"Beautiful, honey." I smiled, wiping my hands on the apron before kneeling beside her to admire the creation.

"Careful, don't knock it over," I warned playfully as she beamed up at me, her pride as clear as the sky outside our window.

Alex let out a victorious cheer, snapping us back to his digital world. "Yes! Take that, bad guys!" He pumped a fist in the air.

"Your real-life hero is right here, you know," I said with a chuckle, standing up to stir the pot once more.

"Uh-huh," he mumbled, already lost again in his game, chasing pixelated justice while I stood guard in reality, ensuring the villains we faced could never reach them here. I had faced Detective Ryan and gotten him to admit that he approached my son after school and wrote a threat on my living room wall. He also admitted to following us in his car that night when we went to the hotel. I had reported him, and he was immediately fired.

The simmering pot on the stove filled the kitchen with a hearty aroma, but it was the weight lifting from my shoulders that truly warmed the space. I leaned against the counter, a long-held breath escaping me. Monica had confessed to all three murders, and it still echoed in my mind, her words not just closing a case but locking away the nightmares that had haunted me. Her description of how she had tried to make them all look like suicides by placing the bodies afterward and putting a gun in their hand made a lot of sense. Only, at Steven’s house, the gun had slid out of his hand, and the magazine had fallen out after she left. Sarah had arrived and picked it up, shocked at her discovery. The guns, Monica had bought illegally. It was easy for her to slide in and out of houses unseen, as no one found an old woman suspicious. Adam and Sarah were now together. They had decided to sell both their houses and try to move on together. Adam explained he had been scared when seeing another murder scene on his street. He worried that the police would arrest him because we had been so suspicious of him early in the investigation. That’s why he packed and decided to leave. But then Sarah called him while he was staying at a motel where he spent the night, and he decided to go back. He wanted to help her, realizing that running away wasn’t the solution.

"Mom, is food ready?" Angel's voice pulled me back to the present, her eyes wide and curious.

"Almost, baby girl," I replied, stirring the stew with more vigor than necessary. The relief felt tangible like the steam rising from the bubbling broth. Each stir was a churn of emotions; every bubble breaking the surface was a tiny celebration. Monica behind bars meant safety and justice served, but most of all, it meant peace for those restless souls she'd wronged in her quest to punish those who had helped her son poison Victoria.

"Good. I'm starving!" she giggled, returning to her blocks, oblivious to the gravity of what had transpired. Her innocence was the purest form of happiness I knew, untainted by the darkness I faced daily.

"Mom, when's dinner? I'm dying here!" Alex called out, his voice cracking in mock desperation from his virtual quest.

"Patience is a virtue, Agent Alex," I teased, glancing at the clock. "Ten more minutes."

"Okay… but I'm holding you to that," he bargained, eyes never leaving the screen.

A glint of sunset reflected off a car window outside. My hands stilled. The sound of an engine cutting out pricked my ears, and curiosity pulled me toward the window.

Matt emerged from the sedan, his tall frame unfolding from the car, a pair of crutches wedged under his arms. He paused, surveying the short trek to our front door with the calculating gaze of a detective scoping a crime scene. Then he took a steady step, leaning on his crutches, followed by another, the metal tips of his crutches clicking against the concrete with rhythmic certainty.

"Daddy!" Angel squealed, abandoning her fortress of colorful blocks to join us at the window.

"Let him concentrate, kids." I held up a hand, but pride swelled within me as I watched Matt navigate his way to us, each step a testament to his determination. His dark hair was tousled, likely from the frustration of rehabilitation exercises. Yet, there was an unmistakable lightness to his movements—a dance between man and crutches that spoke volumes of his progress.

"Look at him go, Mom," Alex breathed out, his usual jest replaced with awe.

"Like a superhero," Angel chimed in, her tiny hands pressed against the glass.

"Exactly," I agreed, my heart thrumming a rapid beat. "Our very own superhero."

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