Page 74 of Girl, Reborn

Game on.

EPILOGUE

Ella perched on a gnarled tree root at theriver's edge. The water gurgled past, carrying whispers of better days. Thisspot, just a stone's throw from her childhood home, was etched in her bonesdeeper than any case file.

She could almost see her dad’s silhouetteagainst the early morning mist, rod in hand, patient as the hills. Little Ella,with her knobby knees and pigtails, squealing as she chased minnows in theshallows. Back when the world was simple, when death was just a concept forfloating fish and bedtime stories.

‘Put 'em back, Daddy!’ she'd cry, and Kenwould smile that tired smile of his, unhooking another wriggling catch. Healways did. Except for that one time. The bloated carp, belly-up andcloudy-eyed. Ella remembered the chill that ran through her, how wrong it felt.

Ken Dark's words echoed across the years:‘Sometimes, sweetheart, things gotta die so others can live. It ain't pretty,but that's nature's way.’

Life, death, the whole damn circle. Shedidn't get it then; still wasn't sure she did now.

But Ken Dark was ashes, and Ella had toomany ghosts to count. Maybe he was right after all. You die, so another mookgets a shot at growing old. The universe demanded its pound of flesh and itdidn't much care who paid up.

A few miles away, the city slept thefitful sleep of the guilty. Here in Abingdon, merely a stone’s throw away fromher childhood home, Ella kept her lonely vigil. Ears tuned for the telltalesign of approaching footsteps.

Waiting for the devil to come calling.

Morbid thoughts for a morbid hour. Ellasnorted, winced as her ribs lodged a formal protest. Every inhale was a knifebetween the vertebrae, a reminder of the business end of Seth Baxter'spsychotic love affair with his framing hammer.

But bruises faded. Bones knitted. Ella wasa quick study in the art of knocking the dirt off and getting back on thehorse.

She wanted to close her eyes. Wanted tosink into the forgiving black and let this shitshow of a day fade into therearview. But she couldn't. Not yet.

The plan was half-cocked at best andsuicidal at worst. Dangle herself like a worm on a hook, wait for the lunaticex to come sniffing around for bait. Feed him some line about jealousy andbetrayal, about broken trust and bridges burned. Let him fill in the blankswith his own twisted logic. Weave a little story about Mia and Ella on theouts, about bad blood and uglier words.

Then see who came calling.

Ella's eyes cut to the black ribbon ofriver. With her senses dialed to eleven, she cocked an ear to the night. Treebranches creaking like old bones, something skittering through the underbrush.

But no footfall, no sign of thesilver-haired psycho with an itchy trigger finger and a twisted sense of love.

Maybe he'd wised up. Cut his losses andhopped the first train to Guatemala. Though Ella doubted it. Men like Martin,they didn't just quit. Not when they thought they were the white knight ridingto his lady's rescue.

He'd come. She knew it. He'd come becausehe couldn't help himself. Because somewhere in that twisted brain of his, he'drationalized this little murder spree as an act of love.

And Ella would be waiting. Ready to readhim his rights and snap on the cuffs, or take two to the chest for her trouble.Either way, this ended tonight.

The minutes dripped by like cold molasses.Ella watched the hands on her watch tick-tick-tick towards oblivion. Ametronome counting off the last seconds of someone's life. Maybe hers, if thetwitchy feeling in her gut was anything to go by. Call it cop's intuition, thatlittle voice that whispered 'duck' right before the bullets started flying.

But hell, she'd had a good run. And ifthis was how she punched her ticket, so be it. Taking a psycho off the boardwas as good a way to go as any. Better than most of the crap she saw on thedaily.

Besides, it beat the alternative. The slowfade into obscurity, the long slog of days bleeding into years bleeding into abottle and a gold watch and not much else. Forty years in and a pat on the headfor your trouble. Ella had seen that movie, read that book cover to cover. Andit always ended the same – a whimper instead of a bang and a whole lot ofnothing to show for it.

So maybe this was better. Quicker,cleaner. A period instead of an ellipsis. And if it kept Mia safe, kept herbreathing for another day, another week, to enjoy her rapidly approachingretirement? Well, that was just icing on the cake, wasn't it? If not for Mia,Ella would have been in the ground a long time ago. The least Ella could do isrepay the favor.

Ella checked her watch again. Sunrise wasnearly on the horizon.

That's when she heard it.

The faintest crunch of pebbles in thedirt. The soft sigh of grass bending underfoot. A snake sliding through reeds.

Her heart kicked into overdrive. She rosefrom the grass on silent feet, every nerve ending crackling like electricity.

This was it. The moment of truth.

More footsteps, muffled but unmistakable.The swish of trousers, the click of dress shoes too fancy for a fishing hole.Branches snapping, leaves crunching. A muted curse as something snagged, heldfast.

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