My mind supplies answers, I shouldn't know. "There's a ravine. I’ve passed it on my way to work. If I send the car over with him in it..."
She nods. “I’ll help you.”
"Absolutely not. You stay with Elena. I'll do this alone."
"Lupo—"
"No." I touch her face. "You can’t be involved with this. And I need to know you're both safe. Go back inside and whatever you do, don’t let Elena come out here to the barn."
She searches my face, then nods again.
When she runs back to the house, I empty his pockets of any identification. Then I carefully wrap up his body in blankets. I wait until dark, until I know Elena is asleep before loading Draco into his Mercedes.
Isabella watches me as I load a gas can into the trunk. "How long will you be gone?" she asks.
"A few hours. It's a long walk back here."
"Walk?"
"The car has to go into the ravine with him."
She wraps her arms around herself. "What if someone stops you?"
"They won't. And I’ll stay out of sight walking back." I pull her close, kissing her forehead. "Lock the doors. If I'm not back by dawn, don’t come searching for me."
"You'll be back."
I drive to the edge of the ravine, quickly soak the interior with gasoline, and send the car over the edge. The sound of the crash and the following explosion echoes through the darkness.
Then I turn around and start walking back home.
My ribs aching. The wound throbbing. But I don't stop.
By the time I see the farm lights, it's long past midnight. Every muscle aches. I'm covered in dirt and sweat and traces of blood.
The door opens before I reach it. Isabella pulls me inside, locking the door behind us.
"Elena?"
"Sleeping. I checked three times." She looks me over. "Are you hurt?"
"No. Just tired."
"Did anyone see you?"
"No one. It's done. He’ll never hurt you again."
She nods, then takes my hand and leads me to the bathroom. She undresses me without speaking, puts my clothes in a bag, guides me into the shower.
The water washes away Draco's blood. Washes away the evidence but not the memory.
Isabella appears beside me, still clothed. She helps me wash, her hands gentle on my battered body, cleaning the cuts on my hands, the reopened wound on my ribs.
"You came back to us," she whispers.
"I promised I would."
When I'm clean, she wraps me in a towel. But instead of leading me to bed, she stands there, looking at me in the dim light.
