The Conversation

"I'm Iris," she rasped, her hand still massaging the bruises forming on her neck. "I'm your cousin."

Elias lowered the gun slightly, but his gaze remained intense, scanning her face as if searching for a familiar map. "Iris. Uncle Julian's niece. The one who cleans."

"Yes," she said. "But not anymore."

Sabrina was still sobbing on the trunk, her body curled in on itself. The guard was by the window, hands raised, his bravado gone. Marcus climbed out of the chase, dusting himself off, his eyes wide as he took in the tableau.

"We need to go," Marcus said. "Julian is on his way."

Elias turned to Sabrina. He walked over to her, his movements stiff but purposeful. He knelt down.

"Don't cry," he said softly.

Sabrina flinched away. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry, Elias."

"You brought me pizza," he said. "You brought me books. You were kind."

"I kept you in a cage!" she wailed.

"You were in a cage too," Elias said. "Yours just had bigger windows."

He stood up. He looked at the gun in his hand. It was heavy, alien.

"I didn't kill her," he said to the room. "Sarah Miller. I didn't kill her."

"I know," Iris said. "We know, Elias. We found the article. She ran away. She's alive."

Elias blinked. The gun wavered. "What?"

Iris pulled out her phone—not the one Julian's goon had smashed, but Marcus's. She brought up the article she had saved.

*MISSING TEEN FOUND IN SEATTLE.*

She held it out to him.

Elias stared at the small screen. He read the headline. He read the date. 1993.

"Three years," he whispered. "I was in the dark for three years... and she was already safe?"

"Yes," Iris said. "Julian knew. He let you rot."

Elias’s hand trembled. A lifetime of guilt, of believing he was a monster, crumbled into dust. He wasn't a killer. He was a victim. A pawn in a game played for money he didn't even know he had.

"He told me I pushed her," Elias said, his voice cracking. "He told me I was sick. He gave me pills to make me forget. And I believed him."

He looked at the guard. "Did you know?"

The guard shook his head frantically. "I just work here, man. I just watch the perimeter."

"You watched a prison," Elias said.

He turned to the window. The fire at the main house was a distant glow, a dying ember.

"I want to leave," he said.

"We're taking you," Iris said. "We have a car."

"No," Elias said. "Not in a car. I want to walk. I want to walk out the front gate."

"Elias, Julian could be here any second," Marcus warned.

"Let him come," Elias said, tightening his grip on the gun. "I'm not hiding anymore."

He walked to the stairs. He didn't look back at the room that had been his second cell. He walked down the steps, out the front door, and onto the wet grass.

The night air was cool. He took a deep breath, filling his lungs with the scent of rain and freedom.

Iris, Marcus, and a weeping Sabrina followed him. They walked down the driveway, a strange, ragtag procession.

They reached the main gate. It was closed, the iron bars looming high above them.

Elias stopped. He looked at the keypad.

"Do you know the code?" Iris asked Sabrina.

Sabrina nodded, wiping her eyes. She stepped forward and punched in the numbers.

The gate swung open.

Beyond it lay the road. The world.

Elias took a step. Then another. He crossed the threshold.

He stopped. He turned back to look at the estate. At the smoke rising from the ruins of his childhood home.

He reached into his pocket and pulled out Marcus's phone. He looked at the article one last time.

He touched the screen. "She's alive?"

The lie broke.