What in the hell was Bradley doing? He was so quiet. Was he here to partake in Ron’s sick plan? My stomach lurched again. I could only hope Bradley wasn’t as twisted as Helena’s stepfather.
Helena must have been putting all the pieces together, and I think she realized keeping Ron talking was far more preferable than giving him time to act.
She said, “How long have you planned this? You sent the wallet to Ami back in October, didn’t you? That’s how she knew something was going on. It was in the grave though, I know it. I remember Adam throwing it in, so it was definitely buried. And you sent that wedding band to my mom.” Helena paused. “I remember seeing the wallet in the hotel room; it was on the nightstand. But I never saw the ring. It must have been on the body. But why would your brother have your ring?”
To my surprise, Ron actually answered, “Russ had the ring in the pocket of his jeans. I’d told him to pawn it for money when he got a chance, we were running low.”
“You’re disgusting and you’re sick,” Helena cried. “You dug your own brother’s body up—”
“To give him a proper burial, you little bitch!” Ron’s composure seemed to be faltering. He hit Helena and the back of her head made painful contact with mine. “Give me the knife,” Ron demanded. “I’m tired of all this talk. It’s time to end this.”
I assumed he was talking to Bradley, who’d been silent up to this point. I was right. Bradley piped in, “Hey, hey, you said the knife was just to scare them. I only agreed to help ’cause I need the money…and I think the one with the darker hair is hot. So, I’ll definitely do her if you want me to, but you’re not paying me enough to help you commit murder.”
I tensed against Helena, my hand seeking hers. Shit, Bradley was planning on hurting us. Well, me, for sure. It was hardly reassuring to hear he wouldn’t murder, but, oh, rape was just fine.
“I’m not going to kill them. At least not yet,” Ron said, his voice cold. “You can do what you want with the darker-haired one, but I want to have a little fun first with both of them, maybe carve up those pretty faces a bit before we get their clothes off.”
I let out a whimper, and Helena choked back a sob. Remaining calm was no longer an option. I began to struggle, as did Helena. We worked feverishly together to untie the ropes. They loosened significantly but still not enough for us to break free.
Ron and Bradley were busy arguing about what to do with us—and in what order—but then something Ron wanted to do must have finally sickened Bradley. His burly form, in full guard uniform, came into view as he headed to the dark doorway. “No, fuck no,” he yelled over his shoulder. “You can do what you want, but that’s even too sick for me. I’m out of here. Fuck the money.”
When he reached the doorway, Ron rushed him. Ron raised the knife in the air and stabbed Bradley in the back. A scream caught in my throat. Bradley fell to the ground, and Ron pounced. The knife was rising and falling and blood was spilling. It was gory and messy, and I had to turn my head. Ron was killing Bradley, just a few yards in front of me.
The scream that was caught in my throat finally spewed forth, prompting Helena to scream as well. But it wouldn’t do any good. Nobody could hear us from down in the bowels of the west wing. Suddenly, Ron turned toward us, bloodlust in his eyes.
I knew Bradley was just the start. Ron would torture and kill both Helena and me. I braced myself against Helena and waited for the horrors to begin…
But then, out of the blue, a calm male voice came from the doorway. “I suggest you put that knife down, Ron. Nice and slowly.”
Wait, I knew that voice.
But, no, it wasn’t Adam, nor was it Nate. The voice belonged to…Stowe?
And sure enough, when he stepped into the room and the glow from the flashlight hit him squarely, I saw that this man—our apparent savior—was indeed Stowe Hannigan. Huh?
Even more curious was our attacker’s reaction. Ron didn’t drop the knife, like he’d been told to, but he did stop in his tracks.
“You…” he began, fear painted in the lines on his face. “What are you doing here? How’d you even find me?” Clearly, Ron knew who Stowe was, and vise versa.
Stowe’s hands were in the pockets of the jacket he wore. I suspected his hands were on a weapon of some sort. He looked very calm and collected, like this was all just a social call. He said to Ron, “You’re very predictable, my friend. I knew where you’d go. But I must admit you did elude me for a while. It was harder than expected to pin down your exact location up here.” He glanced at me but only for a second.
He then continued speaking to Ron, “You were told to leave this alone. And you clearly didn’t. So here we are.” Stowe shrugged his shoulders. “Tell me, Ron, what choice have you given me?”
Ron began to back away, seemingly terrified of Stowe.
Who is my next-door neighbor? Is this why he had stayed on in Harbour Falls? To track down Ron Mifflin? And why had he glanced at me? Had I somehow helped?
Of course I had. I’d unknowingly led Stowe right to Ron. Thank God. Stowe must have suspected I was involved when I’d taken him to Fowler’s Motel. No wonder he’d been so willing to help. And today when he saw Helena in my car, he knew who she was. That’s why he’d given her that second look. Which meant Stowe knew the secret.
