Chapter 6 - Cracking the Facade
We had less than two hours.
"If we're going to catch him, we need undeniable proof," I said, the terror inside me transforming into a cold, hard rage. "A phone call isn't enough. He'll just claim he came to save us. We need him to confess on camera, or we need the police to catch him in the act."
"The local sheriff, Miller, is a good friend of your father’s," Clara said, picking up her landline phone. "He won't dismiss a call from me. But if we call him now, sirens will scare Derek away before he exposes himself."
"Then we don't have them bring sirens," I said. "We have Sheriff Miller hide down the road. We let Derek think he has the upper hand until the very last second."
While Clara called the sheriff, I went into the bedroom to check on Lily. She was awake, sitting up in bed, hugging Barnaby. Her little face was tense, reading the shifts in the atmosphere.
"Mommy? Is Daddy coming?" she asked softly.
I sat on the edge of the bed and took her small hands in mine. I looked into the eyes of the little girl who had saved both of our lives with a single whisper. "Yes, sweetie. Daddy is coming. But he can't hurt us anymore. Grandma and I have a plan. I need you to do something very important for me, okay?"
Lily nodded solemnly. "What?"
"I need you to hide in the secret closet in the hallway—the one where Grandma keeps the Christmas blankets. No matter what you hear, no matter who calls your name, you do not come out until Grandma or I open the door. Can you do that for me?"
"I can do it," she whispered bravely.
I kissed her forehead, a fierce wave of maternal love washing over me. I would burn the world to the ground before I let anyone hurt her.
By 9:00 PM, the mountains were shrouded in pitch-black darkness. The wind howled through the trees, making the old logs of the cabin groan. Sheriff Miller had arrived twenty minutes prior in an unmarked truck, parking it a quarter-mile down the gravel road, hidden beneath a canopy of pine branches. He and his deputy were now stationed in the shadows of the detached garage, armed and waiting.
Inside the cabin, my mother and I turned off all the lights, leaving only a single lamp burning in the living room. I set my phone up on a bookshelf, concealed behind a stack of old novels, with the video camera recording and aimed directly at the front door.
Then, we waited.
Every minute felt like an eternity. My chest felt tight, the air inside the cabin heavy with anticipation. I held a small iron fireplace poker in my hand, my knuckles white.
At 9:42 PM, the crunch of gravel echoed through the howling wind. Headlights swept across the living room windows, casting long, monstrous shadows against the wall.
May you like
A car engine cut out. A car door slammed.
Footsteps approached the porch—heavy, deliberate, and unhurried. There was no panic in those steps. No rush of a husband coming to save his terrified family. It was the slow, confident stride of an executioner coming to finish a job.
