"I'm heading to the cabin. Sarah doesn't know we've discovered her plan. I might be able to reach them before—" I couldn't finish the sentence, the words sticking in my throat.
"Eva Rae, wait for us. She's dangerous, more unstable than we realized. The calendar entries from the last few days show complete dissociation from reality. She's writing as if she's already become you."
"That's exactly why I can't wait," I replied, already moving toward the rear exit. "Tommy doesn't have hours left—he might not even have minutes."
The sound of a door closing came through the phone, followed by muffled footsteps. Matt and Juan were leaving the house, hopefully seconds before the police returned.
"We're out," Matt confirmed breathlessly. "Heading to the car now. We'll meet you by the cabin. Don't go in alone, Eva. Please."
"I'll try to wait," I said, both of us knowing it was likely a lie. "Be careful."
I ended the call, tucking the phone into my pocket as I slipped out the back door of the abandoned gas station.
I had spent my career stopping killers before they claimed their next victims. Now I was racing to prevent a twisted mirror version of myself from committing her ultimate crime—a performance designed specifically for my eyes, using Tommy's life as her final, devastating prop.
As I stood outside the building waiting for Matt and Juan, I saw a truck parked in the back of the parking lot. I didn’t even think about it for a minute. I had watched Matt hot-wire enough cars to know exactly how it was done.
There was no time to waste.
Chapter 50
I abandonedmy stolen vehicle about half a mile from the cabins and continued on foot through the dense forest of longleaf pine trees. I couldn’t risk Sarah seeing my truck as I approached the area. Sarah's cabin appeared through the trees like something from a twisted fairy tale—weathered wood siding and moss-covered roof. I spotted her car immediately and knew that’s where they were. I crouched behind a fallen oak, its rotting trunk providing cover as I studied the clearing. Sarah's blue Honda sat parked at an angle near the front steps, driver's door still ajar as if she'd been in a hurry, or wanted it to look that way.
Time was a luxury I didn't have. Matt and Juan would be at least twenty minutes behind me—assuming they'd evaded police after leaving Sarah's house. Twenty minutes might as well be twenty hours for Tommy. I'd seen enough crime scenes to know how quickly situations involving unstable perpetrators could deteriorate, especially when children were involved.
I circled the cabin's perimeter, staying within the treeline, my footfalls silent on the carpet of pine needles despite the persistent ache radiating through my body. Each movement required calculation—balancing stealth against speed, caution against urgency. MyFBI tactical training took precedence over my less stable emotions, providing a framework of practiced protocols that kept panic at bay. Assess. Plan. Execute.
The cabin sat isolated at the end of the service road, backing against a steep hill that would make approach from that direction impossible. Two small windows faced the front clearing, curtains drawn but light visible through thin gaps. A larger window on the west side offered better visibility. I moved toward it in a low crouch.
I pressed my back against the rough wooden siding beneath the window, listening. A child's muffled sob came from inside, followed by a woman's voice—too low to make out words, but carrying that distinctive lilt I'd come to recognize as Sarah's "sweet" persona. The false warmth in her tone now chilled me more than outright threats ever could.
Slowly, I raised myself just enough to peer through a gap where the curtains didn't quite meet. The cabin's interior came into focus—a single main room with a small kitchenette to the left and doors leading to what I assumed were bedrooms to the right. A stone fireplace dominated the far wall.
Tommy sat tied to a wooden chair in the center of the room, a rope securing his small wrists to the armrests. His face was streaked with tears, eyes wide with terror as he tracked Sarah's movements around the room. No visible injuries, at least not yet. That was something.
Sarah paced in a pattern that seemed almost choreographed—three steps toward Tommy, pause, gesture with the gun, four steps to the fireplace, pause, mutter something to herself, then repeat. She was wearing an outfit disturbingly similar to ones I often wore—dark slacks, a simple button-down shirt, and practical shoes. Her blonde hair had been replaced with a red wig. The transformation wasn't just psychological anymore; she was physically becoming "me" for her final act.
The gun in her right hand was a .38 revolver—the same caliber used to kill Collins. The same we had found in her basement, I assumed. She held it with uncomfortable familiarity, her indexfinger resting alongside the trigger guard rather than on the trigger itself.
I studied her body language, the indicators of mental state that I'd been trained to recognize. Her movements carried a jittery energy—steps too precise, turns too sharp. Her free hand twitched at her side, fingers spreading and contracting in an unconscious rhythm. Micro-expressions flashed across her face between longer periods of eerie calm—flickers of rage, satisfaction, even something like tenderness when she looked at Tommy. Classic signs of a fractured psyche struggling to maintain control.
Sarah stopped suddenly, cocking her head as if listening to something. Her lips moved in what appeared to be a response to an unheard voice. Tommy's eyes widened further, his body shrinking back against the chair as much as his restraints would allow.
I needed to get inside. Now.
The front door wasn't an option—too exposed, too noisy. I eased away from the window, continuing my circuit of the cabin. At the rear, I found what I was looking for—a back entrance, likely leading to a storage area, based on the cabin's typical layout. The wooden door showed signs of water damage, the frame slightly warped from seasonal swelling and contraction.
I entered a small storage room cluttered with fishing gear and dusty camping equipment. Light spilled through a doorway ahead, connecting to what appeared to be a narrow hallway running alongside the main room. Moving silently despite the debris underfoot, I positioned myself just inside this hallway, where shadows provided cover while offering a partial view of Sarah and Tommy.
From this vantage point, I could hear Sarah's voice clearly for the first time—the gentle, singsong quality that had once seemed so genuine now overlaid with something brittle and false.
"It won't hurt, sweetheart," she was saying to Tommy as she made another circuit of the room. "It will be quick, just like falling asleep."
Tommy's frightened whimper cut through me like physical pain. I pressed myself against the wall, calculating angles and distances, noting the positions of each piece of furniture that might providecover or obstruct my view. Sarah was approximately fifteen feet from my position, Tommy another six feet beyond her. The gun remained in her right hand, occasionally rising to emphasize points in her one-sided conversation.
I slowed my breathing, forcing my heart rate down through practiced control. The hallway's shadows concealed me for now, but any movement toward the main room would expose me immediately. I needed to understand exactly what Sarah was planning before I revealed myself—I needed to know the script she was following in order to disrupt it effectively.
I settled deeper into my hiding place, becoming part of the cabin's shadows as Sarah continued her delusional monologue to Tommy, unaware that her carefully orchestrated final scene had gained an unscripted audience.
