Page 50 of Once Silenced

His car’s headlights carved a path through the darkness as Timothy Lancaster turned off the main road.Kirkwood Hill Cemetery loomed ahead, its silent stones watching over the dead.The moon hung low in the sky, bathing the world in a pallid light that seemed to ripple across the landscape like water.

In the quiet, his thoughts turned inward, reflecting on the journey that had led him here.A freelance online tutor with no fixed address, no fixed identity, Timothy had become invisible.But tonight, his actions would resonate with the clarity of long-delayed revenge.

Timothy followed the road that wound through the cemetery for about a quarter of a mile, then eased the car to a stop, the engine ticking in the stillness as it cooled.Some distance from the highway, surrounded by the slumbering dead, he was finally here.This was the place where everything would end—or begin anew.

He stepped out into the night, the car door closing with a soft thud behind him.He paused, taking in the cemetery’s expanse in the moonlight, the gently rolling land, the deep shadows beneath clusters of trees, the rows of tombstones, large and small.Some bore elaborate figures, angels or cherubs with serene expressions, their stony eyes seeming to watch over the resting souls beneath them.There were a few mausoleums, those laughable monuments to the wealthy.Others were modest markers, simple stone slabs etched with names and dates.

Just as Timothy had hoped, there was no other living soul in sight.His hands hovered over the trunk release.The latch clicked, a soft sound.As the trunk lid lifted, the moonlight spilled in, illuminating Gwen Beck’s form, as still and silent as the residents of this solemn ground.

Her face, stark against the dark confines of the trunk, was an eerie mask of vulnerability.Her breathing, though shallow, reminded Timothy that justice had not yet been served.He allowed himself a moment to savor the sight—to revel in the power he held over the woman who had wielded her pen like a blade against his mother’s reputation.

He avoided looking at his captive’s face; there was no need for emotional complications.Instead, he focused on the task.She was the means to an end he had envisioned for so long.Grasping her arm firmly, Timothy dragged Gwen from the safety of the trunk.He heard her low moan, a signal that she might be starting to awaken.

“Stay quiet,” he muttered under his breath.Her form slid onto the ground, but she showed no sign of consciousness now.

He bent over and picked her up roughly, her feet dragging, scuffing the ground.With each grunt and each tug, he moved closer to what needed to be done.The cemetery around him was still, almost respectful of his mission, as if the dead understood the gravity of his purpose.But Timothy didn’t stop to admire the serenity of the graves; there was no need for such distractions.

With each labored step he took, Timothy Lancaster felt the increasing weight of Gwen Beck’s limp form in his arms.Her head lolled to one side as if searching for comfort in the unforgiving world around them.They moved slowly past rows of solemn graves, where some were lovingly adorned with fresh flowers that whispered of recent visits.Others stood silent and forlorn, forgotten in the passage of time, their names barely visible against the weathered stone.

After about fifty feet, he reached his destination.Here, in a sea of memories marked in stone, he paused, taking in a deep breath to steady himself.This spot held significance, a marker not just of an ending, but of the beginning of justice.

They had reached the right grave, and he let the woman’s body slump onto the cold earth with a soft thud against the manicured grass of Martha Lancaster’s final resting place.

His mother’s voice whispered in the back of Timothy’s mind, a gentle reassurance that he was doing right by her.All that remained was for Gwen to awaken fully so that he could look into her eyes as he delivered the final act of vengeance.

Timothy stood before the weathered stone that bore his mother’s name.He traced the grooves of “Martha Lancaster” with a tenderness that seemed at odds with the night’s grim purpose.He allowed himself a moment, feeling the weight of the years and the burden of her tarnished legacy.His voice, when it broke the silence, held a somber intensity.“I’ve brought her to you, Mom.At long last, you’re getting your justice.”

His mother had been wronged by the very world she sought to enlighten with her knowledge.Now, in this hallowed space, Timothy felt the righteousness of his cause seeping into his bones.It fortified his spirit, driving away any lingering doubt.This was more than revenge; it was the correction of a historical oversight.She would be vindicated through him, and the whispers would be silenced forever.

Timothy knelt beside Gwen, observing her shallow breathing.Frustration creased his forehead as he willed her to wake.This wasn’t the confrontation he had meticulously played out in his mind.She needed to be awake for this—to comprehend the full extent of her fate, to feel the sting of retribution.

“Come on, Gwen,” Timothy whispered, his voice barely breaking the silence.“I need you here.”

His eyes, darkened by the gravity of the moment, remained fixed on her face, searching for any glimmer of the recognition he needed.It wasn’t supposed to be like this—Gwen Beck, the woman who had torn down his mother’s legacy with her words, was supposed to face him, to understand why she was lying on the very grave she had desecrated.

The moon bathed the scene in a ghostly light, lending a macabre beauty to the tableau before him.Timothy still felt his mother’s expectations, still yearned for her approval.

He brushed a lock of hair from Gwen’s forehead, his touch unintentionally gentle.He remembered his mother’s hands, how they used to smooth over the wrinkles in his bedspread, creating order out of chaos.This was what he was doing now—ironing out the creases of injustice, setting things right.He needed Gwen to wake, to be present, so he could finally finish his work.

Then Timothy’s palm met Gwen’s cheek with a force that startled even the night itself.The sharp crack of the slap seemed to linger in the air, an unwanted echo in the solemn stillness of Kirkwood Hill Cemetery.He watched, his heart hammering against his ribcage, as her head jerked to one side from the impact.Her moan was low, primal—a sign of life, but not yet the awareness he sought.

CHAPTER TWENTY FOUR

As Riley steered her sedan through the sleepy outskirts of Slychester, the car’s headlights cut a swath through the gloom.A block short of her grim destination, she spotted the familiar outline of a police cruiser.

“Looks like Officer Burgher’s already here,” Ann Marie murmured from the back seat.Putnam, sitting beside Riley, just gave a curt nod, his eyes surveying the scene with clinical detachment.

Riley pulled in beside the cruiser and killed the engine.She saw that two uniformed cops were standing outside the cruiser, waiting.

“Agent Paige,” one of them greeted her, his voice grave.

“Officer Burgher?”Riley asked, and he nodded.Burgher was the cop she’d spoken to earlier about Gwen Beck’s disappearance.She’d messaged him that she would need his help at the cemetery.

“Meet my partner, Officer Truman Gingham,” Burgher said, gesturing to the man beside him.Riley extended a hand to the newcomer, finding his grip firm but cautious.Gingham’s eyes were sharp, taking in the scene with a trained wariness that Riley recognized all too well.

“Agent Esmer, Agent Putnam,” she introduced her companions briefly, stepping aside as Ann Marie exchanged pleasantries, her charm momentarily slicing through the night’s seriousness.Putnam, however, merely grunted a greeting, maintaining his stoic composure.

“Thanks for joining us,” Riley said.“We believe Gwen Beck may be the captive of a man named Timothy Lancaster.We’re planning to intercept.”

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