Chapter 7 - Face to Face
Rebecca froze, her hand hovering two inches above the grip of the revolver.
In the dim, yellow glare of the kerosene lamp, she looked drastically different from the grieving widow I had comforted at Ethan's funeral. Her polished suburban hair was pulled back into a tight, greasy bun, her face was gaunt, and her eyes burned with a feral, vicious intensity.
"Thomas," she breathed, her voice dropping into a dangerous hush. "How did you find me?"
"You left a trail of blood seven blocks long in Austin, Rebecca," I said, stepping slowly into the room, taking up the space between her and the table. "Leo dragged his broken leg through the dirt to save his sister. Did you really think you could hide out here?"
Her eyes flickered toward the gun, then back to my face. A bitter, chilling smirk touched her lips. "That little brat always was tougher than he looked. I should have broken his other leg weeks ago."
Hearing those words spoken so casually—spoken about a six-year-old child—made something ignite inside my brain. I took another step forward, the iron bar tightening in my grip until my knuckles cracked.
"You poisoned Ethan," I said, stating it as an absolute fact. "You used Succinylcholine to kill my brother, forged his insurance policy, and locked his children in a dark basement to rot."
Rebecca let out a short, hollow laugh, standing her ground behind the table. "Ethan was a weak, pathetic fool. He thought he was saving me. He brought me into that house, gave me access to his money, and then had the nerve to complain when I spent it! He was going to divorce me, Thomas. He was going to cut me out of his will and leave everything to those miserable brats."
"So you murdered him."
"I took what was mine!" she shrieked, her voice echoing off the bare wooden rafters. "I earned that money! I spent three years playing loving stepmother to children I couldn't stand looking at! They looked just like him—constant reminders of his stupid, naive face!"
"They were babies, Rebecca!" I roared, the rage finally exploding out of me. "They were three and one when Ethan died! You locked them on dog beds! You fed them out of tin cans!"
"They were bargaining chips!" she spat back, her eyes wide and unhinged. "As long as they were alive, the trust checks kept coming! If they died too soon after Ethan, the insurance company would have asked questions! I had to wait! I had to make it look natural!"
She lunged for the revolver on the table.
I moved instantly.
I slammed the heavy tire iron down onto the wooden tabletop, shattering the wood right between her hand and the gun. The shockwave knocked the revolver off the table, sending it clattering across the floorboards and disappearing down a wide crack in the floor.
Rebecca shrieked, grabbing a sharp kitchen knife from a dish rack and slashing wildly at my face.
The blade caught my jacket sleeve, ripping through the heavy canvas. I grabbed her wrist, twisting it upward with all the strength born from three years of accumulated rage and guilt. The knife dropped from her fingers.
I slammed her down against the table, pinning her arms behind her back, pressing my forearm against the base of her neck.
"Get off me!" she screamed, thrashing wildly like a trapped animal. "Get off me, you bastard!"
"You're never going to see the sun again, Rebecca," I growled into her ear, holding her down with absolute force. "You're going to spend the rest of your life locked in a concrete box, just like the one you built for those kids."
In the distance, the wail of police sirens began to rise through the Texas hills—flashing red and blue lights cutting through the cedar trees as Sheriff's deputies and APD cruisers sped up the dirt trail.
Rebecca stopped thrashing. She lay pinned against the table, her face pressed into the dust, panting heavily as she realized the escape was over.
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"They'll never love you," she whispered, a sickening, desperate malice dripping from her voice. "They're broken, Thomas. I broke them. Every time they look at you, they'll see their father's murderer."
"No," I said softly, as heavy boots pounded onto the wooden porch outside and police officers flooded into the cabin with weapons drawn. "Every time they look at me, they're going to see the man who made sure you were gone forever."
