Page 61 of Rest In Peace

Standing abruptly, I paced the cramped space, feeling caged. The flash drive—Pete Hancock's last secret—beckoned me, a siren call I couldn't resist. I couldn’t stop thinking about it. I was sure it held the key.

"Where did I put it?" I muttered, rummaging through my bag. Frustration mounted as each pocket revealed nothing—no flash drive.

"Looking for this?" Matt held up a pack of Peanut M&Ms, a teasing glint in his eye.

"Not funny." The realization dawned on me then, chilling and sharp. "I left it at the house."

I looked at Matt, knowing I could never tell him, forgetting that I had just promised him I would involve him. He would only tell me not to go.

"I just need to get some snacks," I lied smoothly, avoiding his knowing look. "I’m not in the mood for M&Ms. Keep the kids entertained."

"Be careful," he said.

"Always am." I forced a smile and slipped out the door.

The drive back to our street was a study in paranoia. Every shadow seemed to move, every car behind me a potential threat. I cursed myself for leaving the flash drive, for this reckless detour that could put us all in more danger. But I couldn't stop now.

The air was still as I stepped out of the car, my heart pounding a staccato rhythm against my ribs. Our house loomed in the darkness, its windows like hollow eyes. As I came closer, I realized the front door was ajar.

What on earth?

"Matt's going to kill me," I muttered under my breath, pushing the door open with a trembling hand. The other rested on my gun. The silence that greeted me was unnerving, the familiar transformed into something sinister by the events of the past few hours.

"Hello?" My voice was barely a whisper, betraying my fear. No answer came, only the echo of my heartbeat.

I reached for the light switch but stopped, my instincts screaming at me to stay hidden in the shadows. I pulled out my phone, using its dim glow to navigate through the entryway. That's when I saw it—on the wall, a message scrawled in what looked like black crayon:

STOP NOW OR THE KIDS ARE NEXT!

A breath hitched in my throat, my fingers tightening around the phone. Fear slithered down my spine, but it was quickly chased by a flame of anger. They had come into my home and threatened my children.

"Is that supposed to scare me?" I hissed into the emptiness, defiance rising within me like a tide. I refused to be cowed by the faceless menace that lurked beyond the safety of our walls.

"Think again," I spat, the words bouncing off the walls and filling the space with my resolve. I snapped a photo of the threat, evidence of their intimidation. Coming here, thinking they could break me with threats and fear tactics, was a bold move.

"Mom always said, 'In the face of danger, you'll find your true strength,'" I whispered to the vacant rooms.

Determination stiffened my spine as I made my way toward my small office where I had left the flash drive. Each step felt like wading through quicksand, but I pressed on, propelled by the need to protect my family and clear Sarah's name.

"Come on; come on," I urged myself, rummaging through the mess they'd made, overturning papers and books until my hands finally closed around the small, plastic rectangle that held the answers we needed.

"Gotcha," I breathed, a small victory in the war that had been waged upon us. Clutching the flash drive, I backed out of the room, casting one last glance at the chilling message. It was meant to terrify, to paralyze me with fear. Instead, it served as fuel, igniting a fire that no threat could extinguish.

"Nice try," I muttered, pocketing the device and heading back to the sanctuary of the shadows outside. "But you're going to have to do better than that."

I washed the message away, then jammed the flash drive into my pocket and bolted out of there. My heart thrumming against my ribs, I darted to the car, casting paranoid glances over my shoulder. The world seemed too still, and every rustle seemed a potential threat.

"Come on," I muttered as the engine sputtered to life, coaxing it with more urgency than it deserved. Tires squealed against the pavement as I pulled away from the curb.

The neon glow of the Seven-Eleven sign was a beacon in the night, promising normalcy in its harsh fluorescent buzz. I grabbed a basket, tossing in bags of chips, candy bars—anything to sell the lie of a simple snack run. My hands shook as I placed each item on the counter, offering the cashier a practiced smile.

"Evening's getting warmer, huh?" he said, scanning the items.

"Feels like it," I replied, eyes darting to the door.“Summer is coming faster than we think.”

"Be safe out there," he called after me as I hurried back into the night.

"Always am," I lied.

---