"It can't be just me."
Her voice cracked, the sound alien in the silence. She drew her knees to her chest, wrapping her arms around herself—a solitary attempt at self-preservation amidst the onslaught of uncertainty.
"There must be more to it…," she repeated, her voice trailing off as she sunk deeper into the couch's embrace, her sanctuary in the tempest of her emotions. The house, once filled with the melody of their life together, now resounded with the dissonance of unanswered questions.
Angela's chest heaved, each breath a battle against the swell of emotions that threatened to consume her. The soft fabric of the couch cradled her weary body as she lay there, a silent sentinel in the darkness that now filled the room. Her eyes, once bright with warmth and kindness, flickered in the gloom—haunted.
"Trust," she whispered to the shadows, the word a hollow promise in the empty space. She searched for it, clawed for the certainty that love was meant to bring. But trust was a specter, slipping through her fingers like mist.
She shifted, restless, the elegant lines of her form etched with tension. Her fingers curled into the throw pillow, gripping it like a lifeline as her mind raced—a relentless tide of doubts and fears. What secrets did Will harbor behind those easy smiles? Was their life together just a well-crafted facade?
"I deserve answers," she murmured, the word less a demand now, more a plea to the universe. She wanted—no, needed—the truth, even if it shattered the fragile peace of ignorance.
Am I just losing my mind? Is my mom right?
But the weight of the night, the strain of the earlier confrontation, bore down on her. With her eyelids as heavy aslead, she fought against the pull of sleep, her resolve waning. Angela's breaths grew shallower, steadier, a reluctant surrender to exhaustion.
"Tomorrow," she resolved, a whispered vow carried off by slumber. "I'll find out. I’m no fool, Will Jennings. I will not let you make a fool of me."
And with that final thought lingering in the stillness, Angela slipped into a troubled sleep. Her form, a graceful silhouette cast in moonlight, breathed slowly, deeply—yet her brow furrowed with the ghosts of doubt that haunted her dreams.
Chapter 27
I zippedthe suitcase with a sharp tug, the finality of the motion not quite matching the churn of doubt in my gut. Something was amiss—a piece of this twisted puzzle still eluded me.
"Let it go, Eva Rae," I muttered to myself, my fingers trembling as they clasped the suitcase handle. “Your family is waiting for you.”
The house echoed with the hollowness of my departure, each step toward the front door amplifying the uncertainty that clawed at the back of my mind. I heaved the suitcase into the trunk, the thunk resonating like a gavel on judgment day. My hands swept over the pockets of my jeans, confirming keys, phone, and the ever-present sense of duty.
I slid behind the wheel, the leather of the driver's seat embracing me like an old friend. The engine roared to life, insistent and ready. I cast a last glance at the rearview mirror—the Airbnb shrinking away—and then, nothing but the road ahead.
The highway unfolded like a gray ribbon beneath a sky heavy with unspoken secrets. Cars blurred past, their drivers unknowing of the storm brewing within me. With every milemarker I passed, determination sunk its teeth deeper into my resolve.
"You gotta let it go, Eva Rae," I whispered to the open air, foot pressing harder against the accelerator.
But I couldn’t. Of course, I couldn’t. It kept nagging at me, pulling me. My foot hesitated on the pedal; mybreath hitched.
"Dammit," I exhaled, wishing I just wouldn’t care so much. But I did, and that was my downfall.
I had to go back. I could never live with myself if I didn’t. I simply couldn’t leave an unsolved mystery behind.
The wheel jerked in my hands, tires squealing objections—a quick turn toward an exit carved into the asphalt like a desperate plea. I returned to I95 in the opposite direction.
Going back.
My heart thudded, the engine growled, hungry for truth, while my fingers drummed on the steering wheel. Doubt was a bitter taste at the back of my throat.
"You need to find the truth." The words tumbled out, unbidden. A mantra. “Before you can go back. Before you’ll be able to let this case go.”
The familiar turns loomed up, somber and foreboding. My car, an extension of will and fear, hurtled toward the house where Angela's life had spilled out over polished hardwood.
Each mile devoured brought me closer to the maw of revelation. The house stood sentinel, windows like vacant eyes. I parked with a screech, heart a drumroll against my ribs.
This was it—the dive back into the abyss.
"Show me," I breathed, hand finding the grip of my gun with practiced ease. "Show me what I missed."
Gravel crunched underfoot as I killed the engine and swung the door wide. The house loomed, a silent sentinel to secrets andlies. My sneakers hit the pavement, each step deliberate, echoing in the stillness that hugged the crime scene. No yellow tape fluttered in the breeze anymore; it had been three years, and the world seemed oblivious to the horror that had unfolded within these walls.
