Volume M-N

Claire’s black sedan idled in the shadows of the boathouse, a mechanical beast crouched in the dark. The rain had intensified, drumming a relentless rhythm on the roof that matched the pounding in Elena’s chest.

"You're sure about this?" Claire asked, her eyes scanning the tree line. "Sarah isn't just your sister anymore. She's a liability."

"She's scared," Elena said, her hand resting on the door handle. "And she's greedy. That's a combination I can work with."

Meredith reached from the back seat, her fingers cold on Elena’s shoulder. "Be careful, Ellie. She has Arthur’s blood."

"So do I," Elena said.

She opened the door and stepped out into the storm. The boathouse was a rotting wooden structure at the end of a long, narrow pier. It leaned precariously over the water, a testament to neglect.

A single lightbulb swayed above the door, casting long, dancing shadows.

Elena walked down the pier, the wood slick and treacherous under her feet. She could hear the water lapping against the pilings, a hungry, sucking sound.

She reached the door. It was unlocked.

She pushed it open.

Inside, the air smelled of gasoline and mildew. A small boat was tied to the slip, bobbing gently. And standing on the dock next to it was Sarah.

She was wearing a trench coat, her blonde hair plastered to her skull. She held a flashlight in one hand and a gun in the other.

"You came alone," Sarah said, her voice tight.

"I told you I would."

"Where's the microfilm?"

"Safe," Elena said. "Where's Julian?"

"Running," Sarah said. "He took the car. He thinks he can get to the airport before the accounts freeze."

She laughed, a harsh, brittle sound. "Idiot. Dad froze the accounts the second his heart stopped."

Elena frowned. "His heart stopped?"

"He coded," Sarah said. "Marcus saved him. But not before Dad hit the panic button. The house is in lockdown. Marcus is trapped inside."

Elena felt a surge of fear for the nurse. He was stuck in a fortress with a dead man’s switch.

"Give me the microfilm, Elena," Sarah said, raising the gun. "And I'll let you go. You and Mom. You can disappear. Start over."

"And you?"

"I'll take the fall for the fire," Sarah said. "I'll say it was an accident. Dad's incompetence. I'll salvage what's left of the estate."

"You can't salvage it," Elena said. "It's built on bones, Sarah. Literal bones."

"I don't care!" Sarah screamed. "It's mine! I earned it! I kept his secrets! I deposited his money! I ruined my life for him!"

"You ruined Mom's life," Elena said softly.

"She ruined her own life!" Sarah shouted. "She was weak! She let him win!"

"She's stronger than you'll ever be."

Elena took a step forward. "Put the gun down, Sarah. It's over."

"It's not over until I say it is."

Sarah cocked the weapon.

But then, a sound came from the water. A splash.

Sarah spun around, the flashlight beam cutting across the dark surface of the lake.

Nothing. Just ripples.

"What was that?" she whispered.

"Maybe it's the ghosts," Elena said. "Coming to collect."

Sarah turned back to her, eyes wide. "Stop it."

"Give me the gun, Sarah."

"No."

Elena lunged.

She wasn't a fighter. She was an archivist. She spent her days handling fragile paper. But rage gave her strength.

She grabbed Sarah’s wrist, twisting it violently. The gun fired, the shot deafening in the enclosed space. The bullet shattered the window above them.

They grappled on the slick wood, slipping and sliding. Sarah was stronger, fueled by panic, but Elena had thirty years of suppressed anger behind her.

They crashed into the side of the boat. The gun skittered across the dock, stopping near the edge.

Sarah scrambled for it.

Elena grabbed her ankle and pulled. Sarah fell face-first onto the wood.

She kicked out, her heel connecting with Elena’s shoulder. Elena gasped, losing her grip.

Sarah crawled toward the gun. Her fingers brushed the metal.

And then a hand reached out of the water.

A pale, wet hand grabbed Sarah’s wrist.

Sarah screamed.

Meredith pulled herself up onto the dock, water streaming from her prison jumpsuit. She looked like a vengeful spirit rising from the depths.

She didn't let go of Sarah. She pulled her closer, until they were face to face.

"Hello, Sarah," Meredith whispered.

Sarah stared at her mother, paralyzed by shock.

Meredith reached out with her other hand and took the gun. She didn't point it at Sarah. She pointed it at the water.

And dropped it.

*Splash.*

"Go," Meredith said to Sarah. "Run. Before I remember that I'm your mother."

Sarah scrambled back, sobbing. She looked from Meredith to Elena, her face a mask of terror.

Then she turned and ran. Out the door. Into the night.

Elena helped Meredith up. "Mom? How did you...?"

"I swam," Meredith said, shivering. "From the shore. I wasn't going to let you do this alone."

She looked at the door where Sarah had fled.

"She's gone," Meredith said. "But Arthur isn't."

"He's in the hospital," Elena said. "Under guard."

"No," Meredith said. "He's not."

She pointed to the boat. To the radio mounted on the console. It was crackling with static.

*“...suspect vehicle located. Black SUV. Heading south on Route 9. Driver identified as Arthur Vance. Repeat, Arthur Vance.”*

Elena stared at the radio.

"He escaped," she whispered. "He's not dead. He's running."

"He's going to the airfield," Meredith said. "He has a plane. A private charter. He keeps it fueled."

"We have to stop him," Elena said.

"How?" Meredith asked. "We don't have a car. We don't have a gun."

Elena looked at the boat. It was an old speedboat. But the keys were in the ignition.

"We have this," she said.

"The airfield is across the lake," Meredith said. "Five miles."

"Then we better hurry."

Elena jumped into the boat. She turned the key. The engine roared to life.

Meredith climbed in beside her.

They sped out of the boathouse, the bow cutting through the black water. The rain stung their faces, but Elena didn't blink.

She could see the lights of the airfield in the distance. A beacon in the storm.

And on the runway, a plane was taxiing.

She pushed the throttle forward. She wasn't just chasing a criminal. She was chasing her past.

And this time, she was going to catch it.

The boat engine roared, drowning out the storm, but not the fear.