Chapter 4

I was officially cleared.

Jessica completely broke down, her sobs echoing through the halls of the station.

That night, David called. He said Jessica wasn't stable, and he was so worried she might hurt herself that he was staying with her. He wasn't coming home.

I didn't argue. I didn't even yell. "You're right," I said calmly. "You should keep a close eye on her."

After I hung up, I lit a candle. Then I took a photo of my daughter from my wallet and went to my restaurant.

In the sweltering heat of the boiler room, Ethan was tied to a chair, with a dirty rag stuffed in his mouth. His eyes were wide with terror as he watched me and Marianne.

"You're here," Marianne said. It wasn't a question.

She took the picture of Lily from my hand and placed it on a small crate, right next to a photo of a smiling little boy.

"What's the plan?" I asked.

She just smiled and ripped the gag from Ethan's mouth.

He immediately started screaming, the words tumbling out in a panicked flood.

"Ma'am! I'm sorry! Please, I was wrong! Let me go! I'm just a kid. I didn't know what I was doing!"

Marianne leaned in close, pointing a long, thin finger at the two photos.

"Do you recognize them?" she hissed.

Ethan, who was covered in scratches and bruises from his escape, stared at the pictures, his eyes bulging.

"Ma'am, I'm just a child! The police said it was okay! They forgave me!"

He looked from Marianne to me. "Are you their mommies?"

Marianne tilted her head, a strange grin spreading across her face. She grabbed a fistful of his hair, yanking his head back, and held her other hand out to me.

"The knife, Helen. If you please."

I wordlessly passed her the dagger we had left on a nearby table.

Swiftly, she sliced through the ropes binding his arms, cutting deep enough to take a chunk of his flesh with them.

Ethan howled in pain. Marianne grabbed his chin, forcing him to look at her.

"My son screamed just like that, didn't he?" she whispered. "Did you show him any mercy?"

Then she started dragging him toward the massive furnace.

The furnace door wasn't huge, but it was more than big enough to fit a child.

My eyes widened.

"Marianne, you..."

She paused and looked back at me.

"Are you going to stop me?"

I walked over.

Marianne had Ethan in an iron grip. After days of her torment, Ethan was too weak to put up a fight.

"He's... he's still so young," I murmured.

Ethan's eyes locked onto mine, a pleading hope flickering within them.

"Ma'am! My mom's waiting for me! Please, save me! I went to therapy. I know I was wrong now. I really do!"

I thought of what Jessica had said in the coffee shop. I reached out and gently brushed a stray hair from his forehead, letting out a soft sigh.

"You know, your mother was right. You have such a long life ahead of you."

Marianne's face hardened, her gaze turning glacial.

I turned away from her, toward the furnace, and pulled open the heavy iron door. The heat washed over my face.

"So you can spend the rest of that worthless little life," I said, "apologizing to them."

"No! Please! Don't!" Ethan screamed.

For the first time since I had known him, I saw pure terror on his face.

You never truly understand regret until the blade is at your own throat.

But I wasn't about to give him the chance to learn.

Without another word, Marianne shoved him toward the opening.

His hands scrabbled at the iron lip of the furnace to get a hold.

I lifted my foot and kicked him, hard, directly in his screaming face.

Marianne slammed the door shut, latched it, and turned on the main burner. We stood in silence, listening to the frantic thump-thump-thump from inside. A low laugh escaped her lips.

As the struggling inside grew more violent, her laughter grew louder, drowning out everything else.

She laughed until there was only silence.

Slowly, she composed herself. She turned to me, wiping a tear from the corner of her eye.

"You must think I'm a monster," she said.

She was smiling, but there was no joy in it.

I thought I would be sick. I thought I would feel horrified.

But I felt nothing.

Instead, I opened my arms and pulled her into a tight embrace.

"The real monster," I whispered into her hair, "is dead."