Sweet Little Lies

Chapter 41

CHAPTER FORTY-ONE

I feel my body begin to tremble, a cold sweat breaking out across my skin. The realization hits me hard. Zach covered up Charlotte’s suicide. Disposed of her body? Hates me so much he helped Amanda set this whole thing up? Tears well up, unbidden. I blink rapidly, trying to force them back, the salt stinging my eyes. The room seems to spin, and I struggle to focus.

“Amanda,” I manage, my voice quavering, “I’m so sorry about Charlotte. It’s awful, devastating. But this isn’t the answer. Killing me won’t bring her back to you.”

Amanda’s eyes flash with anger. “I know it won’t. She’s gone!”

I scan the room desperately, searching for any possible escape. The rough texture of the wooden chair digs into my arm, and suddenly I notice something—a slight give in the right armrest. I subtly wiggle and pull at the loose arm, feeling it give way slightly more with each tug.

I press on, desperate to reach her. “Would Charlotte have wanted you to hide her suicide? To cover up her pain like it never existed?”

Amanda flinches, her grip on the lighter faltering for a moment. “I…I was protecting her memory.”

“Were you?” I ask softly. “Or were you protecting yourself? The family image?”

“You don’t understand.” For a heartbeat, I see the real Amanda—a grieving mother, lost and confused. But then, as quickly as it appeared, the vulnerability vanishes. Her face hardens once more.

“Maybe I don’t,” I admit. “But think about what Charlotte would want. Would she want you to do this? To throw your life away?”

“You don’t know what she would want,” Amanda spits. “You didn’t know her.”

“I didn’t know her, you’re right. But I know this isn’t what she would have wanted for you. If you would just let me go?—”

She turns to me, her eyes now hard and glittering with rage. The transformation is terrifying.

“I will never let you leave,” she snarls, her voice low and guttural. “You’re going to die right here, in this bakery where you seduced my future son-in-law. You’re going to pay for what you did. You’re going to pay for Charlotte’s death.”

She pats the jewelry hanging around her neck. “That’s why I’m here, wearing all my best jewels. You killed my daughter, so there’s no one to inherit them now. Besides, I’d rather die on my own terms than set foot in one of those prisons.”

As Amanda speaks, I continue to work at the loose chair arm, desperation lending me strength. If I can just break it free, I might have a chance… “Oh, Amanda, this isn’t you. You’re a good person. You would never hurt me. I know it. Please, you have to let me go,” I plead, my heart racing. “I won’t marry Tucker if that’s what you want. I’ll cancel the wedding.”

“Cancel the wedding?” she scoffs. “You expect me to believe that? If I let you go, all you’ll do is turn me in to the police. You and Tucker will get me locked away for life, and then he’ll turn around and marry you after all. No, this is exactly how it’s going to go down. Charlotte was my only daughter, and you took her life away from her. Now I’m going to take yours.” She flicks open the lid of the lighter.

With a final, desperate tug, the chair’s right arm breaks with a loud crack. Amanda whirls around, her eyes widening in shock. With my right hand free, I waste no time fumbling for the zip tie around my ankles. The voluminous folds of my wedding dress stop me, tangling around my legs.

“No!” Amanda screams, lunging toward me.

I lose my balance, toppling sideways onto the slick floor. The sharp smell of gasoline assaults my nostrils as I hit the ground hard, the impact knocking the wind out of me. The chair shatters beneath me, finally allowing me to pull my legs free. A shard of the wood still dangles from my left wrist. Amanda is on me in an instant, her fingers clawing at my dress, trying to pin me down.

“You’re gonna pay for what you did to her!” she shrieks, her face contorted with rage. “You took everything from me. My daughter, my future!”

I thrash wildly, my free hand searching for purchase on the slippery floor. My fingers brush against something solid—the leg of a prep table. I grab it, using it as leverage to pull myself away from Amanda’s grasp.

With a surge of adrenaline, I manage to plant my left foot against her chest and kick hard with my right. My heel connects with her face with a sickening thud. Amanda reels backward, blood streaming from her nose. She groans, her hand grasping at her face.

I scramble backward, trying to create as much distance between us as I can. That’s when I notice it—the lighter, about ten feet away. Amanda must have dropped it when she came after me. I start moving toward it. She must have seen it too, because she lunges in the same direction.

Time slows down as I struggle forward, my vision blurring from the earlier blow to my head. The fall from the chair has left me disoriented, and my limbs feel leaden. Amanda, driven by her manic rage, reaches the lighter first. My heart plummets as her fingers close around it.

With trembling hands, she flicks it open. Desperation surges through me, and I summon every ounce of strength left in my body. Just as her thumb moves to ignite the flame, I lash out with my foot, connecting solidly. The lighter flies from her grasp, skittering across the slick floor toward the kitchen doorway.

We both scramble after it, slipping and sliding in the gasoline. The acrid fumes burn my lungs as I gasp for air, my wedding dress hampering my movements. Amanda, unencumbered, pulls ahead.

She snatches up the lighter, triumph glinting in her eyes as she turns to face me. Time slows to a crawl as I watch her thumb descend on the ignition wheel. A small flame springs to life, dancing in her crazed eyes.

A wicked, almost gleeful smile spreads across Amanda’s face as she locks eyes with me. In that moment, I see no trace of the grieving mother—only a woman consumed by vengeance and madness.

“This ends now,” she whispers, lowering the lighter toward the gasoline-soaked floor.

Terror grips me as I realize what’s about to happen. I open my mouth to plead, to reason, to do anything to stop this madness, but all that comes out is a primal, desperate scream as the flames come to life, dancing across the floor.

It’s only a matter of seconds before the hem of my wedding dress catches on fire.