The Fall(76)

She was lying in her bed, a simple white cotton nightgown poking out of the top of the heavy woolen blanket. Her long gray hair had been coiled on top of her head while her slender arms rested on her stomach. Her usual pale skin so colorless she looked like she was made of wax. Her eyes stayed closed while her chest expanded just enough to show she was still breathing.

“Oh no.” My knees fell beside her bed, my fingers reaching for her icy cold hands. “Please no.”

“Save him.”

“Please.”

“Save him.”

Wracked with guilt, my fingers gripped tighter, knowing I would do whatever it took to keep that promise as the life literally drained out of her in front of my very eyes.

“There is nothing you can do. Please.” Sister Rachel tugged at my arm. “She would want you to be safe.”

I nodded, words getting stuck in my throat as I raced back into the room and collected my bags. My eyes did a quick sweep of the room to make sure there was no other evidence left as I followed her back into the hall.

It wasn’t my own personal safety that I was worried about. Me, being here, was putting them all in danger.

“Quickly, this way.” She darted down the narrow hallway to the far end of the house and out a side door. “The ambulance will be here any minute.”

The cold wind slapped me in the face as we stepped outside. The crescent moon was hidden by heavy clouds and offered little light, the silvery glow making the yard ominous as we walked quickly across the grass.

“In here.” Sister Rachel pulled open a large metal black door of a large brick building that bordered the property from the other side.

I had assumed the windowless building was an old factory or storage facility, long forgotten by an unfavorable economy. But the old rusted metal sign bolted into the brick told me otherwise.

Three yellow triangles, each meeting at their points surround by a circle.

It was an old bomb shelter, one of the thousands that had been built during the Cold War.

“It locks from the inside.” Her fingers held the door, the wind trying to force it open. “Be safe.”

Her eyes said it all. She was just as scared as I was, the heavy metal door shutting between us with a loud thud, taking with it any light.

I fumbled in the dark with my bags, dropping them onto the concrete floor as my hand searched inside one and then the other for the cell I had hidden inside.

It was one of Michael’s burners, given to me under the strict instructions that I only use it in a case of life or death. My hand padded through the bag until I felt the hard surface, searching blindly for the on button, until the screen glowed.

The darkness ebbed just enough for me to see my surroundings, the phone carried in front of my face like a flashlight as I walked deeper into the building trying to find anything I could use.

There was nothing, the place had either been gutted or looted years ago without even a candlestick left. And with no idea of how long I would be in here, I slid the lock into place on the door and cut the power on the phone. As much as I hated being in the dark, I might need it again later.

The sirens came soon after. Their muted whine almost completely drowned out by the thick walls. I had no idea what was happening out there, but I was almost positive Sister Catherine wouldn’t survive.

I was sure it would be chalked up to natural causes, her age a contributing factor, but I knew that it had been the stress that pushed her over. Years and years of protecting a secret had finally taken its toll. Me, discovering it—with no idea on what I would do with the information—had probably shot so much fear into her world that she wasn’t able to recover from the tailspin.

My body shivered as it slowly sunk to the cold, hard floor, my cheeks getting wet. I hadn’t meant to cry, my eyes leaking before I had a chance to stop them. Not that it mattered in here; there was no one to see. No one I needed to be strong for.

The tears didn’t stop, streaming down my face as I sobbed silently. The weight of the responsibility was killing me. I wish I could end it, stop any more people getting hurt because of me.

And then I remembered the dream—the woman in the white dress running in the field. It felt so real, the heat of the sun on my face, the gentle sway of the cornflowers. I wanted to run, run like she had and be free of all of it. Throw my head back and laugh with complete abandon. But it wasn’t possible. That future had disappeared as quickly as the woman had. Or had I been the woman the whole time? It didn’t matter anymore. Moving away, making my father accountable wasn’t enough. I’d never be able to run far enough—never be free.

My stomach twisted as my head fell into my hands. There was only one way to guarantee the conclusion. To save us both.

My father and Michael’s father needed to die.

It was hard to breathe, the idea of killing someone I’d once loved, horrifying. I had planned to bring him to justice, of doing it the right way. Never had I imagined the alternative. Never had I thought . . . Killing my father? Killing Franco? But too much damage had been done—to Catherine, to Rose, to Michael and to me.

It was the only way.

A tremble rose from inside of me, a vibration so strong that I had to check that the floor underneath me hadn’t shifted. But there hadn’t been an earthquake, and what I felt was my resilience to survive. Not only to survive, but thrive.

Maybe I had been fighting too long for something that had always been inside of me. Maybe I had always been capable and I just needed the right motivation. My father had killed for greed, for power, for—who knew what else. But for me it was different. It was personal. The things I’d seen in the last few days had changed me, and my world was never going to be the same.