Page 78 of Rest In Peace

Sarah's cries softened, a low moan of fear as the standoff stretched taut. I could almost see the threads of our fates, interwoven and fraying, ready to snap. Every muscle in my body tensed, prepared to leap into action or brace for impact.

"Because I can't make sense of any of this without her," Adam finished, his voice barely above a whisper, raw and exposed. “I loved her even though she betrayed me. I betrayed her, too.”

Victoria's finger hovered over the trigger, her resolve flickering like a candle in the wind.

"Victoria, stop!" The words burst from me, shrill and desperate, as I pushed myself off the wall. "You're not thinking this through!"

She whirled to me, the gun wavering between Adam and my direction. Sarah's sobs hitched in her throat, a silent witness to the madness unfurling before her.

"It wasn’t because of the affair," I looked at Adam, my voice steadier than my trembling hands. "She knew."

Confusion marred Adam's face. "What are you talking about?"

"Steven," I said, spitting out the name like it was poison. "Nicki knew about him… about the abuse. She saw him and what he did. She knew, and she did nothing. Out of love, perhaps, to protect him, or maybe even fear. We’ll never know."

"She did nothing?" Adam's mouth hung open, disbelief etching his features.

"Nothing," I repeated with a nod, the weight of the truth anchoring me to the spot.

"But… I loved her. Nicki loved me despite everything," Adam whispered, more to himself than to us. But his eyes searched mine for a lie that wasn't there. “I thought I knew her?”

"Love has blind spots," I murmured, knowing how hollow it would sound to his ears.

"Shut up!" Victoria's shout echoed off the walls, her grip on the gun tightening. "I did it. I killed her. I killed my dad and the doctor."

Sarah let out a loud shriek.

"No," I countered, shaking my head, feeling the certainty of my own conviction. "You didn't."

“Yes, I did.”

I shook my head. “No, you didn’t. You were too weak to be able to do it. You’d been poisoned for years. You were bedridden and feeble. You could barely walk after years of not using your muscles. The real killer helped you get back on your feet after killing your dad, her only son. She nursed you back, and now you stand here in front of us, finally strong enough. She was scared we were figuring out the truth, and she confided in you. That’s why you told me you heard Adam’s voice that night—to remove focus. And then your mother was released and tried to contact you. You knew we had figured out it wasn’t Sarah. So you decided to grab the gun and sneak out. Your plan was to find me and confess. To protect her. Because she had done so much for you, she was the only person who cared enough actually to do something to help you. And you feel like you owe her. But you don’t deserve to be in another prison, Victoria. What was done to you wasn’t your fault.”

“Victoria,” Sarah said, crying. “What she is saying is true. You deserve your freedom. Please, Victoria, don’t do anything stupid now.”

A tear escaped Victoria’s eyes, and she didn’t wipe it away. She looked at her mother, who stood and reached out both arms. “Victoria. I’m sorry. You don’t know how sorry I am.”

A sniffle emerged from Victoria, and then violent sobs broke out, causing her torso to tremble. “Mo-om… I….”

Victoria's grip slackened, and the gun fell with a clatter to the floor. The absence of the weapon's threat filled the room with a sudden, heavy silence.

"Victoria!" Sarah's urgent cry cut through the stillness as she leaped forward and grabbed her daughter, who deflated in her arms. She wrapped her arms around Victoria, pulling her close. Their bodies shook with sobs that spoke of betrayal and pain intermingled with relief.

I stood there, watching them, the bond between the two women unspoken but undeniable. Healing had begun through tears and broken breaths, but so had our real hunt—for truth and justice.

Chapter 58

The wheel spun under my grip, a sharp pivot that cut through the hum of routine. My foot pressed harder on the gas, urgency bleeding into the motion as the car veered off course. The therapy center sign became a blur in the rearview mirror, shrinking behind us.

"Hey!" Matt's voice, laced with confusion and concern, broke the silence. "Where are you taking us?"

"Shortcut," I lied, not meeting his gaze.

We passed the familiar storefronts and street corners, all drowned in the golden wash of a morning sun desperate to pierce through gathering clouds. Then, without warning, I swung the car onto a gravel-lined path, the tires crunching a staccato against the loose stones.

"Since when is a cemetery a shortcut to physical therapy?" Matt said, his voice rising an octave. He gripped the dashboard, knuckles white.

"Trust me." The words came out terse, my focus narrowing.

---