Page 76 of Rest In Peace

A shiver ran down her spine, and Adam shifted his weight behind her, a wordless gesture that seemed to tether her to the here and now.

"Everything points to Steven, not you." My words cut through the thick air, each syllable a promise. "I will not stop until everyone sees that. Until Victoria gets the life she deserves, free from this… this charade."

"Can we really expose him? After everything?" Doubt shadowed her face, but beneath it, a spark of something fierce flickered to life—a mother's protective rage, perhaps, or the dawning realization of empowerment.

"Trust me," I said, and it was more than reassurance; it was a vow. "We have the truth on our side. And I'm not just going to sit back and watch an innocent person suffer for crimes they didn't commit. I know you didn’t kill him, even though you had the motive."

Adam's presence was a quiet force, his breathing a steady counterpoint to Sarah's uneven gasps. He didn't speak, didn't need to. His vigil spoke volumes.

"Thank you for believing me," Sarah's voice broke into a whisper, barely audible over the storm brewing outside. Her eyes, misted with unshed tears, locked onto mine, a silent testament to her fragile state. "I thought I was alone in this."

"You're not alone," I replied firmly, squeezing her hand. "I'm here now, and we're going to fix this mess."

Her nod was almost imperceptible, but it carried the weight of her world—a world turned upside down and shaken until all she thought she knew spilled out like loose change from a pocket.

"Sarah, whatever it takes, we will?—"

“That night,” she said. “The night Steven died, I had… I just couldn’t stand it anymore. I knew he had her in the house with him and that he was poisoning her. I kept thinking of all the seizures, all the times he had taken her to the hospital because she was unresponsive. And all the attention he always got from it, from our families and friends, who always felt so sorry for him because he was the caretaker. And it was all a lie? And he was still doing it to her? I couldn’t take it, so I fell off the wagon and had a drink. I had to try and stop him. And maybe, if someone else hadn’t killed him, well….”

“Don’t think like that,” I said. “You’re not a murderer.”

“But I was happy that he was dead,” she said. “And that made me feel bad.”

“You can’t blame yourself for”

The click of the door handle cut me off mid-sentence, snapping our focus to the room’s entrance. Time seemed to stutter as the door inched open, the ominous creak mingling with the howl of the wind.

"Who’s there!" Adam's voice, finally breaking its silence, was sharp and commanding.

Instinctively, we turned to look just as a figure stepped through the threshold, a gun clasped in their unsteady grip, the barrel glinting ominously in the dim light. My heart slammed against my ribs, each beat a drumroll in the tense silence that followed.

Chapter 56

With my pulse throbbing a frantic rhythm against my ribs, I stared at the figure looming in the doorway. Each heartbeat was a thunderous echo in my ears, drowning out all other sounds. The gun—a stark, terrifying contrast to the dust motes floating in the stagnant air—seemed to draw all the light into its dark, lethal form.

Adam's face blanched, his voice a strangled cry that shattered the stillness. "Oh, dear God," he breathed out, stumbling back a half step.

The intruder stepped forward, the gun unwavering in her grip. She was diminutive, her features soft and unlined, belying a fragility that contrasted sharply with the deadly weapon she brandished. A shock of dark hair framed her face, too young-looking to be called a woman, even though she was one, a young one. Her eyes, though, held a worldliness that no child could possess; they flickered with an intensity that spoke of years beyond her apparent age.

"Put the gun down," Adam's plea sounded weak even to my ears, the desperation clawing at the edges of his composure.

"Victoria?" The name tumbled from Sarah’s lips, barely a whisper but slicing through the tension like a blade. Her daughter, the girl she’d lost to shadows and silence, stood there, a ghost made flesh.

"Mom," she cooed, the mocking lilt of her voice wrapping around them all like a chill. "Surprised?"

Sarah crumpled, knees hitting the floorboards with an unforgiving thud, tears betraying her as they streamed down her face. The gun in Victoria’s hand, that monstrous extension of her will, seemed to waver for a heartbeat—just long enough for a sliver of hope to pierce my despair.

"Sweet tears, Mom. Genuine, are they?" Victoria's smirk twisted her once angelic features. The mockery stung more than any slap.

"Victoria, all these years… could you walk?" Sarah’s voice cracked, a mix of hope and anguish threading through the syllables.

She circled us slowly, gun unwavering, like a shark with its prey. Her eyes met mine, gleaming with an unsettling resolve. I still had my gun and wondered if I could pull it fast enough. I didn’t want anyone to be hurt today.

"Oh, Mom," she said, voice dripping with venomous sweetness, "you have no idea."

"Tell me." Sarah’s plea was raw.

My heart kept pounding against my ribcage while Sarah was begging for the truth that seemed as elusive as her presence had been all these years.

---