Page 62 of Rest In Peace

The hotel room door clicked shut behind me, and I leaned against it for a second, letting out a breath I didn't know I was holding. Matt looked up from his laptop, concern etching lines into his forehead.

"Got the snacks," I announced, forcing brightness into my voice as I held up the plastic bag.

"Great." He tried to smile, but it didn't quite reach his eyes. "Kids are asleep."

"Good." My gaze slid to their peaceful forms, guilt knotting in my gut. I couldn't tell him—not yet.

"Everything okay?" Matt asked, watching me too closely.

"Of course," I lied again, moving to the small desk in the corner. "Just need to check something for work."

He hesitated, then nodded, picking up where he'd left off. I waited for the hum of concentration before opening my laptop, the flash drive heavy in my hand. With a click, it was in, and I was holding my breath.

Folders appeared on the screen, cryptic labels giving nothing away. I clicked through them, files flying past in a blur until one caught my eye.

I double-clicked, and the screen filled with something that stole the air from my lungs.

"Sarah…" I whispered, heart sinking, gasping as the truth hit me like a freight train. “Oh, dear God, no.”

Part IV

Chapter 48

The metallic clang of the cell door echoed through the corridor, pulling Sarah from her thoughts. She looked up to see a silhouette against the fluorescent glare.

"You're being released," the guard announced, his voice a detached monotone.

"What?" Disbelief laced her words as she rose to her feet, heart pounding against her ribs.

"The charges were dropped," he said, his gaze steady yet distant. "You can go. Now."

Her legs felt like they belonged to someone else as she stepped out of the cell. Relief flooded her, warm and dizzying, but it was chased by a tail of uncertainty that slithered up her spine. Why had they suddenly released her? What had happened? The walk toward the exit seemed surreal; each step toward freedom was weighed down by the invisible chains of apprehension.

In the property room, a dull gray bin awaited her. As she peered into its contents, her fingers trembled with an odd anticipation. One by one, she reclaimed the pieces of her former life: a crumpled jacket, a set of keys, and a wallet.

Then, her hand closed around the cell phone. It felt like grabbing onto a lifeline in a stormy sea. Every contact, every message, every photo—it was a digital key to a world she feared had forgotten her. Her grip tightened around the device, its significance far greater than its compact frame suggested. It wasn't just a phone; it was her chance to reconnect, to explain, to plead for the help she so desperately needed now.

Sarah's senses sharpened as she edged through the narrow corridor, the echo of her footsteps a rhythmic testament to her departure. The sterile scent of bleach clung to the air, mingling with the muted undertones of despair that seemed to seep from the concrete walls. Bars lined the path, their shadows casting striped patterns on the floor, a stark reminder of the captivity that had caged her.

"Watch your step," a disembodied voice murmured as she neared an uneven section of the flooring. Her eyes flicked up, meeting those of an inmate peering through the bars of another cell. There was no malice there, only the hollow recognition of shared misfortune.

"Thanks," she whispered, her voice a raspy ghost of its former self.

The clangs and shouts of the jailhouse faded into a dull hum as the exit loomed ahead, an illuminated rectangle slicing through the dimness. Anticipation quickened her pulse, each heartbeat a drum roll leading to the climax of her release.

And then, she was out. The heavy door shut behind her with a finality that sent a shiver down her spine. Sarah stood alone, the open sky stretching above her, a vast canvas of freedom marred by the uncertainty of what lay ahead.

"Okay, now what?" she muttered under her breath.

The outside world felt alien—a domain she'd been abruptly thrust back into without a map or compass. Cars zipped by in the distance, their drivers wrapped in their own realities, oblivious to the woman who had just reclaimed hers.

"Get it together, Sarah," she chided herself, scanning the perimeter for some semblance of direction.

“Victoria,” she whispered.

She took a deep breath. With tentative steps, Sarah moved away from the jail's oppressive shadow, clutching her cell phone like a talisman against the uncertainties that awaited her in the life she was about to re-enter.

Sarah pressed the phone to her ear. Her thumb circled the chipped corner of the device, the familiar gesture a lifeline in the sea of uncertainty that surrounded her.

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