Page 5 of Rest In Peace

"The police have been in and out of the house next door all day, parking their forensic vans on the grass that Steven always keeps so nice. And then all the people in their suits, trampling on those nice roses they just planted. I don't know how anyone can be so careless.”

"Yeah, I noticed the police cars out front. I could barely get into the driveway." Adam's brow furrowed slightly, and he looked up now, concern knitting his features.

"I still can't believe that Sarah shot Steven," Nicki blurted out, the words tumbling over themselves in her haste. "They are our friends, our neighbors, Adam. They used to love one another; do you remember? When Victoria was younger. It's just… it's strange how something can go so wrong, don't you think? You think you know people. But I guess they say she was very drunk, which must have clouded her judgment. I just feel so awful, especially for Victoria. Don’t you?" Her knife stilled, and she wrapped her arms around herself as though suddenly chilled.

"God, yeah. That's crazy." Adam ran a hand through his hair, a troubled expression etching itself deeper into his face. He was clearly barely listening anymore.

She chewed her lip, wrestling with the thought that had haunted her since she heard the news. "Could you ever consider… murdering me over a fight?" she asked, her voice barely a whisper.

Adam's head snapped up, his eyes wide with bewilderment. "Hm, what?" he asked, clearly caught off guard.

"Nothing," Nicki said quickly, too quickly perhaps, her heart pounding against her ribs. She forced a laugh, brittle and unconvincing even to her own ears. Turning back to her cooking, she focused on the carrots again, letting the rhythm of the knife restore a semblance of normalcy to the room. But inside, a coil of unease tightened. She wondered if normal would ever truly return or if it was just another casualty in a world where dinner conversations could turn so dark so quickly.

Chapter 5

The cold clink of my badge landing on the reception desk at Brevard County Jail resonated like an accusation. The woman behind the counter gave me a look.

"I need to speak with Sarah Chapman," I said, my voice steady despite the storm of emotions whirling inside me.

I was still cursing at Detective Ryan, who didn't want me to help on the case. Who did he think he was? Weren't two heads better than one? Wouldn't my expertise in solving murder cases benefit him? I knew he just wanted to take the honor for himself. I knew his type. And he definitely didn't want me around to question his evidence or conclusions.

"Right this way," the officer replied with a nod, leading me to a sterile room smelling faintly of bleach and despair. The walls were a stark white, and the furniture was bolted to the floor. It was hard to imagine Sarah in this place. She was such a sweet girl, around five or six years younger than me. She had lost her dad in the line of duty as a police officer, and that’s why she was in the support group. She was also in AA. It was court-ordered after her last DUI, but they hadn’t taken her driver’s license just yet. I knew she could beat this addiction to alcohol. She had been so strong and so adamant about it. She was always so neatly dressed, matching her earrings with her shirts and sometimes even shoes. She had been doing so well and had not been drinking for months. What had happened? I wondered what had sent her over the edge.

I was left alone, seated on a hard plastic chair that chafed against my back—minutes stretched into what felt like hours, punctuated only by the distant echoes of clanging doors and muffled voices. My mind drifted, unbidden, to Matt—the sharp words we exchanged still hanging heavy in the air between us.

Guilt gnawed at me, the memory of his defeated eyes more than I could bear. Was I too harsh? I wondered, tracing patterns on the cool metal table before me. I should have been his solace, not another source of strife. But he seemed so lost, and I—I just wanted him to find that spark again, to kindle the fire that made him a great detective… that made him my Matt.

"Fight, damn it," I had urged him in the car on the way to rehabilitation this same morning, forcing cheer into my voice. "For yourself, for us."

My plea had sounded hollow, and now I felt awful. I wasn't doing enough to motivate him. But months had passed. Shouldn't he be getting better by now? Was it depression over the fact that he was injured and that he faced maybe never coming back to being a detective again? Why wouldn't he even try? Why not fight for it? I couldn't just let him lose hope, could I?

Suddenly, the door swung open, shattering my reverie. Two guards ushered in Sarah Chapman, her hands cuffed in front of her. Her hair was a mess, and it was the first time I had seen her without makeup, but when she lifted her head and our gazes locked, there was a flicker of recognition, a glint of the friend I knew and loved.

"Eva Rae," she breathed out, her voice cracking. Tears welled in her eyes, brimming with relief, remorse, and a thousand unsaid apologies. "I'm so glad to see you. You won't believe how glad I am."

Her words hung suspended, a fragile bridge across the chasm her actions had wrought.

"Sarah," I replied, my voice thick with a cocktail of empathy and duty. "Let's talk."

Chapter 6

THEN:

The sterile scent of the hospital mingled with the undercurrent of disinfectant and fear, wrapping around Sarah as she stood rooted in place by Victoria's bedside. Beeps and whirs from the machines formed a mechanical symphony that underscored the medical staff's urgent ballet. Their faces were masks of concentration, with occasionally furrowed brows betraying their confusion.

"Her pulse is there, but look at it—it's like a whisper," one doctor murmured, eyes fixed on the glowing monitor displaying Victoria's heartbeat.

"Have we run a toxicology screen? What about an MRI?" Steven asked, his voice cutting through the soft shuffle of nurses' shoes on linoleum. He was pacing, a creature caged by his own helplessness, every fiber of his being radiating the urgency of his training. Sarah didn’t understand much of what was going on or why her daughter was suddenly so sick, and it frightened her so profoundly that it was hard to breathe.

Sarah turned to him, her eyes wide with worry, trying to decipher his rapid-fire jargon. "Steven, what… what are they looking for?"

"Anything, Sarah. A reason she won't wake up." His hands sliced through the air as if he could physically grab the answers from the space between them.

"Shouldn't they try…?" He cut himself off, rubbing his temples. It was clear he wanted to be on the other side—part of the team working to save his little girl.

A nurse adjusted a dial, and the steady beep of the heart monitor climbed an octave, pulling Sarah's gaze back to the small form lost in the tangle of white sheets.

"Come on, Victoria. Please, baby," she whispered, her mind a storm of silent pleas and bargaining prayers. The cold touch of the bed rail beneath her fingers felt like the only anchor in a world threatening to spiral out of control. Every beep was a lifeline, every hushed word from the medical team a potential harbinger of hope or despair.

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