Page 92 of The Reckoning
But before Aries can answer, Mother speaks again, her voice carrying just the right note of command. “Boys, we need to call the police. We need to get Arson proper help before he hurts someone.”
“Don’t listen to her,” Arson says, his voice tight with controlled fury. “She’s manipulating you. She’s been manipulating all of us for years.”
Sebastian takes a small step forward, hands raised in a placating gesture. “Mrs. Hayes, maybe you should put the gun down so we can talk about this?”
“The gun stays with me,” she says, her smile tight but determined. “Until Arson is properly restrained. He’s dangerous when he’s like this.”
Lee looks from Mother to Richard, then back again. “I’m calling the police,” he says firmly, pulling out his phone. Then he makes meaningful eye contact with Aries and steps aside.
Mother doesn’t try to stop him. Instead, she smiles faintly, as if everything is proceeding exactly as she planned. “Good. We need to get this situation under control.”
The way she says it—so confident, so certain—sends a chill down my spine. Because even now, with everything falling apart around her, she’s thinking ahead. Planning. Manipulating.
“Right,” Sebastian agrees. “We’ll get everything under control, don’t worry.”
“While we wait,” she continues smoothly, “perhaps you boys could help Richard to the sofa? He’s had quite a shock.”
Drew and Lee move toward Richard, who looks both pained and bewildered at the sudden shift in dynamics. As they settle him on the couch, Mother maintains her position by the door, gun held casually but deliberately visible.
“And Arson,” she says, her voice hardening slightly, “why don’t you sit down, too? Over there.” She gestures to a chair well away from any of us, isolated.
He doesn’t move. “No.”
Mother’s smile tightens. “Always so difficult. So…contrary. Even as a child, you resisted every attempt to help you.”
“Help me?” Arson laughs, the sound sharp and bitter. “Is that what you call it? Locking me away for years? Torturing me with experimental drugs and treatments?”
“You see?” Mother says to Drew and the others, as if Arson has just proven her point. “These paranoid delusions. It’s heartbreaking, really. We tried for so long to get him proper treatment.”
Lee finishes his call, looking uneasy. “Security is on their way. The ambulance, too.”
“Thank you,” Mother says warmly, as if he’s done her a great favor. “You boys have been so helpful. Such good friends to Aries.”
The way she says it—separating Aries from Arson, reinforcing the division—is subtle but unmistakable. She’s already building her narrative, brick by careful brick.
“Mrs. Hayes,” Drew says cautiously, “what exactly happened here? Before we came in?”
“A terrible misunderstanding,” she replies without missing a beat. “Arson has been... unstable since his escape from the treatment facility. He’s been impersonating Aries, living his life, even stealing his clothes and identity.”
The ease with which she lies is breathtaking. The conviction in her voice, the sorrow in her eyes—all of it perfectly calibrated to evoke sympathy, to create doubt.
“That’s bullshit,” Aries says flatly. Finally breaking his silence. “She’s lying. About all of it.”
“I’m sorry,”Richard says softly. “For everything. For not seeing. For not knowing.”
I don’t know what to say to that. Sorry doesn’t erase ten years of Arson’s torture. Sorry doesn’t undo a lifetime of manipulation and control. Sorry doesn’t bring back the mother his sons lost. The pain in his eyes is real. The shock and betrayal. Whatever he did or didn’t know, the revelation of his wife’s murder at Patricia’s hands has broken something fundamental in him.
“She had us all fooled,” I say finally, offering what little comfort I can. “All of us.”
He sighs, and I settle back, waiting for the inevitable. Until something I don’t expect happens. It’s not the police who walks in—it’s Arson’s backers. My kidnappers.
“Hello, Patricia. Still spinning lies, I see,” the older man says.
TWENTY-SIX
ARSON
Iflex my wrists, the broken zip tie hanging loose around my wrist. No one noticed when I snapped them—all eyes on Patricia’s confession, her transformation from poised socialite to cold-blooded killer happening right before us. But for all the satisfaction of finally hearing the truth, I’m fucking trapped. Boxed in. The gun in Patricia’s hand makes any sudden movement a death sentence—maybe not for me, but for Lilian.
