Page 60 of In Her Fears
He’d moved quickly, before she could flee, holding her still while the letter opener sliced through the delicate skin of her wrists—first one, then the other.Her struggles had been weak, hampered by the pills and alcohol already in her system.
“Why?”she’d gasped, watching in horror as her lifeblood spilled onto the bedsheets.
Eric hadn’t answered.He’d simply watched as the light faded from her eyes, his rage giving way to a cold, clinical detachment.When it was done, he’d carefully arranged the scene—wiping off his prints, placing the weapon in her limp hand, positioning her body so it would appear she’d taken her own life.The pills and alcohol made it believable; her history of depression sealed the narrative.
He’d left the way he came, through the underground tunnel, erasing all traces of his presence from the house.By the time Elias returned from his night of aimless wandering in the forest, Lina was long dead, her body cold, the suicide scene convincingly staged.
For years, Eric had managed to bury the truth beneath layers of careful normality.He’d expressed appropriate grief, had attended Lina’s funeral with a convincingly devastated expression.He’d even attempted to reach out to Elias, playing the role of the concerned friend worried about Elias’s isolation and deteriorating mental health.
But inside, the guilt had eaten away at him like acid, hollowing him out until he was just a shell going through the motions of a normal life.And then, a year after Lina’s death, Elias had begun painting those scenes—horrific images of violent death, all illuminated by the same full moon that had witnessed their final confrontation.
When Jay had brought the first of these paintings to the gallery, Eric had been shaken to his core.The raw anguish in every brushstroke, the disturbing beauty of the composition—it was as if Elias had somehow seen into the darkness of Eric’s soul.
And then, gradually, Eric had begun to hear a voice in his dreams.Whispering, accusing, demanding.He decided that it was Lina telling him to bring Elias's visions to life.
Martin Holbrook had been the first.A man with a passing resemblance to the figure in Elias’s painting.The stake through the heart, the pentagram carved into the tree—all details faithfully reproduced from Elias’s images.
Alexis Downey had been the second.The young waitress had reminded Eric of Lina—something in her smile, in the way she tilted her head when she listened.
And now, tonight, the final act.
Eric opened his eyes and reached into the glove compartment, extracting a hunting knife with a serrated edge.The blade caught the moonlight as he tested its sharpness against his thumb, drawing a thin line of blood.
Perfect.
He stepped out of the car and checked his watch one last time.The timing had to be exact—the same hour as their confrontation seven years ago, under the same full moon.He felt certain that was when Elias would also return to the picnic site where it had all begun.
He slipped the knife into his belt and began to walk, his footsteps nearly silent on the carpet of pine needles.Ahead, destiny waited in a moonlit clearing, where a checkered blanket had once held three friends, and where, he believed, blood would finally wash away his sins.
CHAPTER TWENTY THREE
Elias Harrow emerged from the tunnel and stood for a moment, staring.His artist's eye registered the silvery light pooling on the forest floor, transforming the familiar woods into something ethereal, a landscape both alien and intimate, just as it had been seven years ago on a night just like this.
That was the last time he’d actually been out here.
He paused, letting his eyes adjust to the brightness of the full moon.For generations, his family had maintained this secret passage; the entrance behind him was nearly invisible—a small opening in the hillside, partially concealed by a natural formation of rock and the strategic placement of native shrubs.
As a child, he’d played in these woods, treating the tunnel as his own private adventure, never fully appreciating its historical significance.Tonight, at fifty-three, haggard and hollow-cheeked, he used it for a more personal escape.
“Almost there, Lina,” he whispered.
Memories flickered across his consciousness: the checkered blanket spread across the small clearing, the bottle of wine, Lina’s nervous smile that he’d misinterpreted as anticipation rather than guilt.The wicker basket she’d packed with such care.So ordinary, so domestic, for a night that would end in such devastation.
When he'd said to Lina and Eric, "How long have you two been betraying me?"Lina's face had changed, horror and shame washing across her features.Eric, his best friend, had gone pale, his hand frozen in midair, wine glass tilting dangerously.
“Elias, please,” Lina had whispered.“It’s not what you think.”
But there had been no explanation that could repair what had been broken.Their betrayal had been thorough, conducted while he’d been consumed with his art, blind to the fracturing of his marriage.By morning, Lina was dead.Her final devastating act had shattered what remained of his world.
For seven years, he had been trapped in grief, suspended in time.Perhaps tonight, under the same full moon, he might finally break free and find the peace that had eluded him for so long.With this hope guiding him, Elias Harrow continued through the moonlit woods, unaware that he was not the only one making his way toward the picnic spot on this anniversary night.
***
The patrol car’s headlights swept across Elias Harrow’s weathered farmhouse as Jake pulled into the gravel drive.
“How should we proceed?”Officer Delgado asked when she walked to the car to meet them.
As Jenna and Jake got out of the car, the second officer, Mike Donovan, rounded the house to see who had pulled up.
