Chapter 58

The wheel spun under my grip, a sharp pivot that cut through the hum of routine. My foot pressed harder on the gas, urgency bleeding into the motion as the car veered off course. The therapy center sign became a blur in the rearview mirror, shrinking behind us.

"Hey!" Matt"s voice, laced with confusion and concern, broke the silence. "Where are you taking us?"

"Shortcut," I lied, not meeting his gaze.

We passed the familiar storefronts and street corners, all drowned in the golden wash of a morning sun desperate to pierce through gathering clouds. Then, without warning, I swung the car onto a gravel-lined path, the tires crunching a staccato against the loose stones.

"Since when is a cemetery a shortcut to physical therapy?" Matt said, his voice rising an octave. He gripped the dashboard, knuckles white.

"Trust me." The words came out terse, my focus narrowing.

I pulled up beside a wrought-iron fence, overgrown with ivy, the shadows of the headstones stretching like fingers across the ground. Killing the engine, I grabbed the keys and flung open the door. Matt reached for my arm, a silent plea etched into the lines of his face.

"Eva Rae, what are you doing?" His eyes searched mine, looking for the plan, the method in the madness.

"Stay here," I commanded, more forcefully than I intended. "I"ll be right back."

"Right back? You can"t just—" But I was already outside, slamming the door shut on his protests.

"Matt, please." I leaned down, meeting his bewildered gaze through the window. "Just wait for me."

"Fine," he grumbled, though his fingers drummed an anxious rhythm on the dashboard.

"Thank you." A hollow thanks, but it was all I could offer before turning away.

I didn"t look back as I strode toward the sea of stone and marble, leaving him alone with the idling hum of the vehicle and the unspoken tensions that hung between us like ghosts.

Gravel crunched under my sneakers, the solemn rows of gravestones passing in a blur. My breath came in short gasps, misting in the chilly air as I wound my way through the cemetery"s silent occupants. Ahead, a solitary figure hunched over a grave, shoulders shaking with quiet sobs.

"Monica," I called softly, not wanting to startle her more than necessary.

She jerked upright, turning toward me with red-rimmed eyes. "Eva Rae? How did you know?"

"Your house… it's swarming with cops and empty." I knelt beside her on the damp grass, ignoring the cold seeping through the fabric of my pants. "This place," I gestured around us, "your son's grave seemed like somewhere you might go."

Monica"s gaze dropped, her fingers tracing the engraved name on the stone before her. "I had nowhere else."

"Understood." My voice was low and steady despite the adrenaline that still coursed through me. I kept my eyes locked on hers, searching for something beneath the grief and desperation.

"Monica."

My voice was barely above a whisper, the cemetery"s silence amplifying the weight of my question. "Why did you kill Steven?"

She looked up, her eyes hollow. "My grandchild," she murmured, almost to herself. "He would"ve destroyed that little girl"s life. He already had."

She paused and shook her head.

"Someone had to stop him." Monica"s voice grew firmer, her conviction piercing the humid air between us. "And apparently, I was the only one capable enough."

I exhaled slowly, the moral quandary settling like frost over the grass. "I understand why you did it, Monica. But you know I can"t just let this go."

Her head bowed, a nod acknowledged the inevitable. "I know, Eva Rae."

"Come on." I offered my hand, palm open and steady. "Let"s get you out of here."

Monica"s hand trembled as she placed it in mine. With a gentle tug, I helped her to her feet, feeling the weight of her surrender.

The chill of the gravestone"s shadow clung to my skin as we moved away, Monica"s hand still resting in mine. Her steps were hesitant and unsteady, like she was walking through a nightmare she couldn"t wake from.

"Left foot, right foot," I muttered under my breath, a mantra to keep us both grounded. The wind whispered through the leaves above, an audience of ancient oaks and weathered stones to our grim procession.

"Thank you, Eva Rae," she breathed out, her voice quivering with fear and gratitude.

"There really isn't much to thank me for," I replied, eyes scanning the horizon for any onlookers. The cemetery lay deserted, its silence a heavy blanket over us.

A sharp click broke the quiet. My gaze snapped toward the sound, and my heart stuttered.

"Monica, what?—?"

"Sorry." Her apology was a ghost of a whisper, her eyes pained. "I can"t let myself go to prison."

The gun trembled in her grasp, but her intent was crystal clear. Silver muzzle—a slash of dread—pointed straight at me.

"Monica, don"t do this," I pleaded, voice steady despite the thudding of my pulse in my ears.

"I can"t be stopped now." There was a finality in her tone, a resignation that chilled me more than the weapon she wielded.

"Think about Victoria," I tried, reaching for the woman who had sacrificed everything already.

"A little late for that."

And then, it happened.

She swung the gun's handle at my head. All I saw was a flash of movement, a blur of regret etched into her features, and then pain exploded across my temple. The world tilted, a kaleidoscope of color as I crumpled, the damp earth rushing to meet me.

Distantly, I heard the rustle of footsteps retreating. Blood warmed the side of my face, a stark contrast to the chill seeping into my bones. Through the haze of agony, I realized Monica was gone, leaving me alone with the betrayal and the throbbing wound she"d inflicted.

Grit and gravel embedded in my palms, I pushed against the ground. Every pulse sent a fresh wave of agony from the wound on my head. My vision blurred, painting the world in smears of gray and red. But Monica was out there, somewhere beyond the rows of silent stones.

"Monica!" The name wrenched itself from my throat, raw and desperate. There was no answer but the whispering wind.

Legs unsteady as a newborn fawn's, I forced myself upright. Blood snaked down my neck, warm and insistent. I stumbled forward, one step, then another, driven by the need to find her, to end this.

"Come on." It was a mantra, a plea to my own body not to fail me now.

The cemetery gates loomed ahead, iron bars that seemed to mock my sluggish pace. I broke through, gasping for air that did nothing to ease the fire in my lungs or the pounding in my skull.

I got out into the street, and there he was. Matt was standing sentinel on the sidewalk, leaning on one of his crutches, holding the other in the air like a soldier"s rifle. Monica lay crumpled on the pavement, one arm twisted beneath her, her chest rising and falling with shallow breaths. The gun she"d brandished lay just out of reach, an ironic twist of fate that left her defenseless.

"Eva Rae?" Concern was etched deep in his voice, his eyes scanning me from head to toe.

"What happened?" The words were thick with urgency.

"I—I tripped her," he said, the corner of his mouth lifting in an attempt at levity despite the situation. "Guess these things are good for more than just walking."

"Tripped her?" A bubble of incredulous laughter escaped me, but it popped as pain ricocheted through my head. "With your crutch?"

"Yeah," Matt nodded, steadying himself. "She was running, and I just… I couldn"t let her get away."

"Good man." I reached him, leaning heavily against his sturdy frame. My legs threatened to buckle, but Matt held firm.

"Let's just hope she stays down long enough for the police to arrive," I murmured, pressing a hand to the back of my head. The world swam, but with Matt"s help, I remained on my feet, ready to face whatever came next.

Fumbling for my phone with unsteady hands, I dialed 911. The operator picked up instantly, her calm voice a stark contrast to our ragged breaths.

"Police and an ambulance," I managed to say between gasps. "Suspect apprehended. Officer hurt."

"Location, ma"am?" the voice prompted efficiently.

"Greenwood Cemetery entrance," I replied. The words felt like they were being dragged from my lips. "Send them fast."

"Help is on the way. Can you confirm the suspect is secured?"

"Unconscious," I confirmed, glancing at Monica"s still form. "And disarmed."

"Stay on the line, ma"am. Are you able to administer first aid to yourself or the suspect?"

"First aid…." My vision blurred at the edges, dark spots dancing before my eyes. "Not sure?—"

"Matt?" I leaned into him, my knees giving out.

"I got you, Eva Rae," he assured, his grip tightening. Just hang on."

"Officers are en route," the operator"s voice sounded distant. "Hang tight; help will be there shortly."

"Thanks," I whispered, the darkness creeping closer. "Matt… you really saved the day."

"I always have your back," he murmured, his voice solemn as we waited for the sirens to cut through the graveyard"s silence.