“What happened?” I asked again, more stern this time, trying to keep my voice steady despite the match in her hand.
“A lot happened back then.”
“What. Happened?”
Her jaw tightened. She struck the match, and the flame caught. “Patrick found out. He confronted me, threatened me.”
“So you killed him.” I said it flat, matter-of-fact, watching that flame dance.
“He went for the gun first.” Her voice rose. “I just got there faster! He ran like a coward, and I chased him outside and—”She stopped herself, chest heaving. The match burned closer to her fingers.
“And you shot him.”
“Yes.” She glared at me, shaking out the match. “I shot him.”
I held her gaze, unblinking, trying to ignore the relief flooding through me. “And your son?”
Something flickered across her face: fear. “That's different.”
“He saw it, didn't he? He saw you murder his father.”
“He wasn't his real father.”
“What did you do to him?”
“He wasscreaming.” It exploded out of her. She pulled out another match and struck it hard. “He was on the porch, and he wouldn't stop. He ran inside, I followed, and he kept screaming that I killed his father over and over. I couldn't—I needed him to stop.”
“So you stopped him.”
“I just wanted him to shut up.” Her hands shook, the flame trembling. “I grabbed a pillow, and I just—I put it over his face to make him pass out, to get him quiet for one second, but—” Her voice cracked. “None of this would've been so complicated without him! I could've just left. I could've?—”
“But he never woke up,” I finished coldly.
A figure stepped out of the shadows—tall, broad-shouldered, unmistakably Ben, but his face looked wrong somehow.
His eyes were wide, horror-struck, fixed on Lauren as if she'd grown a second head. “You told me Patrick killed him.”
Lauren turned toward his voice, and for the first time since I'd woken up, she looked genuinely surprised. “Ben…I thought you were checking the perimeter still.”
My jaw dropped. “B—Ben…”
“I heard…” His voice came out strangled as he slipped his phone into his pocket. “I heard what you said. About my son. Tell me I misunderstood.”
She didn't respond; she just pulled out another match as the other one burnt out.
“Lauren…” Ben's voice broke. “Put the matches down.”
“Why?” She struck it, the flame casting dancing shadows across her face. “So she can run to the police? So she can tell everyone what I did? I don't think so.”
Ben stepped directly in front of her, and his shoulders shook. “You let me think he died in a struggle,” he said, his voice rough as sandpaper.
Her expression didn't change. “Yeah, well, that version served you better.”
She waved the match dangerously close to the puddle's edge.
“You used me.” His words came out broken.
“I needed you.”
