Lorna Sees Me

I stared at Lorna through the gap in the curtains. She was standing on her back porch, smoking a cigarette—a habit she claimed to have quit in 1999. The smoke curled up into the dusk, a gray signal against the darkening sky.

She was watching my house.

Not casually. Not like a neighbor checking on a friend. She was *surveilling*.

Her eyes flicked from window to window. The kitchen. The bedroom. The studio vent.

She was waiting for something.

A signal?

Or a mistake?

I held the burner phone in my hand. I had retrieved it from the studio. It was my only link to the outside world, and the battery was dying. 15%.

I needed to know whose side she was really on.

I remembered the conversation I had overheard on the baby monitor.

*"...should be over by Sunday... And the payout?"*

She was bought.

But was she *loyal*?

Or was she just greedy?

Greed is fragile. Fear is stronger.

I needed to scare her.

I went to the bathroom. I grabbed a bottle of red nail polish. *OPI Big Apple Red.*

I went to the bedroom window. The one facing her house.

I wrote on the glass. Backward, so she could read it.

*I KNOW ABOUT LEO.*

I stepped back. I turned on the bedside lamp.

The words glowed red in the window.

I watched Lorna.

She saw it.

She froze. The cigarette dropped from her fingers.

She stared at the window. Her mouth opened.

She looked terrified.

Not angry. Terrified.

She fumbled for her phone. She dialed.

I watched her talk. She was agitated. Waving her hands. Pointing at my window.

Was she calling Graham?

Or someone else?

I needed to hear what she was saying.

I ran downstairs. I grabbed the baby monitor receiver.

I ran to the dining room wall. The one closest to her house.

Static.

I moved along the wall. Near the window.

*"...said she knows! She wrote it on the window!"*

Her voice was thin, tinny. But clear enough.

*"No, Graham isn't answering! He's at the office!"*

She wasn't talking to Graham.

*"What do I do? If she knows about the boy..."*

Pause.

*"You said it was foolproof! You said she was crazy!"*

Pause.

*"Fine. I'll handle it. But I want double. Double the share."*

She hung up.

She was handling it.

What did that mean?

I saw her back door open.

She came out.

She was carrying something.

A basket.

A picnic basket.

She walked toward the fence. Toward the gate between our yards.

She was coming over.

To bring me cookies?

Or poison?

I ran to the back door. I unlocked it.

I stood in the kitchen, waiting.

The door opened.

"Merritt?" Lorna called out. Her voice was trembling. "Are you home?"

"In the kitchen," I said.

She walked in. She saw me.

She saw the red paint on my hands (from the nail polish).

She flinched.

"Oh, dear," she said. "You've been... painting."

"Just writing," I said. "Did you see my message?"

She set the basket on the island.

"I saw it," she said. "You're confused, Merritt. There is no Leo."

"Then why are you shaking?"

She put her hands behind her back.

"I'm worried about you," she said. "Graham says you're getting worse."

"Graham says a lot of things."

I looked at the basket.

"What's in there?"

"Muffins," she said. "Blueberry. Your favorite."

"I don't like blueberry," I said. "I like poppyseed."

"Oh. Well. Maybe you'll like these."

She opened the basket.

Inside, nestled in a checkered napkin...

A muffin.

And a syringe.

She grabbed the syringe.

She lunged.

She was fast for an old lady.

But I was younger. And I was desperate.

I dodged.

She stumbled. She hit the counter.

"It's for your own good!" she screamed. "Just sleep! Go to sleep!"

She came at me again. The needle glinted in the kitchen light.

I grabbed the first thing I saw.

The heavy cast-iron skillet on the stove.

I swung it.

*CLANG.*

It hit her hand.

She dropped the syringe. She screamed. She clutched her wrist.

"You broke it!" she wailed. "You broke my hand!"

I kicked the syringe away. Under the fridge.

"Sit down," I said.

She sat on the floor, cradling her arm. She looked small. Pathetic.

"Who were you talking to?" I asked. "On the phone."

"No one," she sobbed.

"Don't lie to me, Lorna. I heard you. You said 'I want double.'"

She looked up at me. Her eyes were full of hate.

"My son," she spat. "I was talking to my son."

"Graham isn't your son."

"Not Graham," she said. "Gavin."

I froze.

Gavin.

The brother. The dead twin.

The man in the garden.

"Gavin is alive?" I whispered.

"Of course he's alive," she said. "He's the one who planned it."

My world tilted.

Gavin wasn't the enemy. Or the savior.

He was the architect.

"He hates Graham," she said. "He's always hated him. Graham got everything. The looks. The charm. The company."

"And Gavin got what?"

"Nothing," she said. "He got the short straw. The bad luck."

She laughed. A bitter sound.

"So he decided to take it back. All of it. The money. The house. The wife."

"The wife?"

"Not you," she said. "Elena. He loved Elena."

"But Elena married Graham."

"Because she didn't know," Lorna said. "She didn't know Gavin existed. Graham hid him. Just like he hides everything."

"So Gavin kidnapped Leo?"

"He rescued him," she said. "From Graham."

"But you said you were helping Graham."

"I'm playing both sides," she said. "Whoever wins... I get paid."

She looked at her broken wrist.

"But I think I just lost."

I stared at her.

The web wasn't just Graham. It was a family feud. A war between brothers.

And I was the collateral damage.

"Where is Gavin now?" I asked.

"In the woods," she said. "Watching. Waiting for the party."

"Why the party?"

"Because that's when Graham is vulnerable," she said. "That's when he's distracted."

"And what is Gavin going to do?"

"He's going to kill him," she said. "In front of everyone. And frame you for it."

Scene 16.

The Finale.

It wasn't Graham's plan.

It was Gavin's.

Graham was setting me up to be committed.

Gavin was setting me up to be a murderer.

And if I killed Graham... Gavin got the company. He got the trust. He got Elena.

And I got life in prison.

"Get out," I said.

"What?"

"Get out of my house."

Lorna struggled to her feet. She cradled her arm.

"You can't stop him," she said. "He's smarter than Graham. He's meaner."

"Get out!"

She ran. Out the back door. Into the night.

I locked the door.

I sank to the floor.

I was fighting two wars.

One against my husband.

One against his shadow.

And I didn't know which one was more dangerous.

I looked at the burner phone. 10%.

I needed to warn Toby. I needed to warn Elena.

I texted.

*Me: It's Gavin. He's the mastermind. He's going to kill Graham at the party. And frame me.*

*Toby: We know. Elena just told us.*

*Me: What do we do?*

*Toby: We stick to the plan. We expose them both.*

*Me: How?*

*Toby: We need a confession. From Graham. And from Gavin.*

*Me: They'll never confess.*

*Toby: They will. If they think they've won.*

I put the phone away.

I went to the living room.

I looked at the invitation on the table.

*A Celebration of Life.*

It was going to be a bloodbath.

Unless I changed the script.

I needed a new ending.

Scene 17: The Twist.

I went to the server room. The "nursery."

I used the bobby pin. I got in.

I looked at the *Script Notes* on the desk.

I picked up a pen.

I crossed out *Tragic End.*

I wrote: *The Reveal.*

I looked at the monitors.

The *Attic* camera.

It was showing the empty tent.

But then... movement.

In the corner.

A figure.

Climbing in through the window.

It wasn't Gavin.

It was Graham.

He was in the attic.

He was looking for Leo.

He was tearing the tent apart. Throwing the sleeping bag.

He was frantic.

He found the note. *THE BAD MAN CAME.*

He read it.

He crumpled it up. He screamed. Silent on the monitor, but I saw the rage in his face.

He knew.

He knew Gavin had Leo.

He knew his brother was back.

He pulled out his phone. He dialed.

I turned up the volume on the console.

*"...I don't care! Find him! Find Gavin!"*

He paused.

*"No, don't touch the wife. I need her for Saturday. She's the patsy."*

He hung up.

He looked at the camera.

He knew I was watching.

He smiled.

A terrifying smile.

"Game on, brother," he whispered.

He walked out of the attic.

He was coming for me.

To secure the asset.

To make sure I played my part.

I ran.

Back to the bedroom.

I needed to hide.

But where?

The closet? No.

The bathroom? No.

I looked at the bed.

Under the bed?

Too cliché.

I looked at the ceiling.

The vent.

I dragged the chair. I climbed up.

I squeezed into the ductwork.

I pulled the grate up behind me.

I lay in the dark metal tunnel. Dust in my nose.

I heard the door open.

"Merritt?"

Graham.

He walked into the room.

"Merritt, come out. We need to talk."

He checked the closet. The bathroom. Under the bed.

"Where are you?" he hissed.

He stood in the center of the room. Looking around.

"You can't hide forever," he said. "The house is locked. The windows are sealed."

He sat on the bed.

"I know you're listening," he said. "I know you know about Gavin."

He sighed.

"He's crazy, you know. Worse than you. He burned down our childhood home. With our parents inside."

He laughed.

"Everyone thought he died. But I saved him. I hid him. I protected him."

"And this is how he repays me."

He lay back on the bed.

"But don't worry," he said. "I have a plan for him too."

"Scene 17," he whispered. "The reunion."

He closed his eyes.

I lay in the vent, holding my breath.

Two brothers. Both monsters. Both planning to kill each other.

And me in the middle.

I looked at the time on my phone. 3:00 AM.

Saturday was here.

The day of the party.

The day of the reckoning.

I needed to sleep. Just for an hour.

I closed my eyes.

And I dreamed of fire.