Finding Sarah

Richard drove like a man possessed, the speedometer needle buried deep in the red. The SUV behind us was gaining, its headlights flooding the cabin with a blinding, accusatory glare.

"He's going to ram us," I shouted, clutching the dashboard.

"Let him try," Richard snarled. He yanked the wheel to the left, taking a narrow, unpaved logging road that branched off toward the old quarry.

The BMW fishtailed, mud spraying against the windows, but Richard corrected the slide with a terrifying competence. The SUV followed, its suspension groaning as it hit the ruts.

"Where are we going?" Maya cried from the backseat, clinging to Arthur’s frail shoulder.

"Somewhere he can't follow," Richard said.

We bounced over a fallen branch, the undercarriage screaming. Behind us, the SUV clipped a tree, losing a headlight, but it didn't slow down. Simon was relentless. He had too much to lose.

The road ended abruptly at the edge of the quarry. A sheer drop into black water.

Richard slammed on the brakes. We skid to a halt inches from the precipice.

"Out!" he yelled. "Everyone out!"

We scrambled out of the car. Richard grabbed Arthur, half-carrying, half-dragging him toward the dense brush on the north side of the clearing.

The SUV roared into the clearing and screeched to a stop blocking our exit.

Simon stepped out. He was holding a shotgun.

"End of the road, Richard," he called out, his voice calm, professional. Like he was closing a deal.

We ducked behind a pile of abandoned slate.

"He's going to kill us," Maya whispered, her teeth chattering.

"No," I said, pulling the revolver from my pocket. "He's not."

I peered over the stone. Simon was walking toward the BMW, gun raised. He checked the empty seats.

Then he turned toward the woods.

"I know you're there," he shouted. "Make this easy. We can still negotiate."

"Negotiate what?" I yelled back. "The price of my daughter's life?"

Simon paused. He looked toward the sound of my voice.

"Sarah's daughter," he corrected. "Let's be accurate, Helen. It's important in legal matters."

He took a step forward.

"I have the file, Simon!" I shouted. "I have the birth certificate! I have Sarah's statement!"

"Paper burns," he said, racking the slide of the shotgun. "Just like houses."

He raised the weapon.

I leveled the revolver, my hand steady. I had six shots. He had one.

But before I could pull the trigger, a noise came from the road behind him.

An engine. A low, throaty rumble.

Simon turned.

Julian's gray sedan burst out of the tree line.

It didn't stop. It accelerated, engine screaming, heading straight for Simon.

Simon fired. The windshield shattered.

But the car kept coming.

It slammed into Simon with a sickening thud, throwing him over the hood and into the mud.

The sedan swerved, lost traction, and spun toward the edge of the quarry.

It teetered for a second on the lip of the cliff.

Then, with a metallic groan, it tipped backward and fell into the darkness.

Silence returned to the clearing, broken only by the hiss of rain on hot metal.

Simon lay groaning in the mud, his leg twisted at an unnatural angle. The shotgun was gone.

I stood up, keeping the revolver trained on him. Richard and Maya emerged from the shadows, supporting Arthur between them.

We walked to the edge of the quarry.

Far below, the sedan was sinking into the black water. Bubbles rose to the surface, disturbing the reflection of the moon.

"He saved us," Maya whispered.

"No," I said, watching the water swallow the last of the taillights. "He just balanced the ledger."

I turned to Simon. He was trying to crawl toward his SUV.

"Don't bother," I said.

I walked over to him. I reached into his pocket and pulled out his phone. I dialed 9-1-1.

"My name is Helen Vance," I said when the operator answered. "There's been an accident at the old quarry. And I'd like to report a murder."

I looked down at Simon.

"Make that two murders," I said. "One tonight. And one thirty years ago."

I dropped the phone onto his chest.

I had found Sarah. I had found the truth.

But there was one more thing I needed to find.

The body.

Because if Julian was right... if Sarah really had drowned in the river...

Then whose grave had I been visiting for twenty years?

I looked at Arthur. He was staring at the water, his face blank.

"She's not in the river," he whispered.

"Who?" I asked.

"Sarah," he said. "We didn't put her in the river."

He looked up at me, his eyes clearing for one final, devastating moment.

"We put her in the crypt."