Chapter 8: The Note She Left
The text under the photo read: Come alone. Or he burns like your parents did.
My blood turned to ice. I didn’t think. I didn’t call the police. I just grabbed my coat and ran for the door.
“Clara!” my great-aunt called after me. “Don’t go! It’s a trap!”
“It’s the only way,” I yelled back.
I drove Elias’s spare car—he’d handed me the keys earlier, said “just in case”—following the directions in the next text. An hour outside the city, down a dirt road, past an abandoned farm.
The shed sat at the edge of the woods, dark and silent. I left the engine running, got out, and walked toward it slow.
“Colleen?” I called. “I’m here. Let him go.”
The door creaked open. Colleen stood in the shadows, holding a lighter. Elias was tied to a wooden post, gagged, but his eyes found mine and he shook his head hard—*no*.
“You really think you can fix everything?” she sneered. “You think being the victim makes you special?”
“I don’t want to be special,” I said. “I just want you to turn yourself in.”
She flicked the lighter open. Flame danced in her eyes.
“First… you tell me you’re sorry you were born.”
---
