Chapter 27
The guest room felt both luxurious and suffocating, with its high thread-count sheets and abundance of pillows that Sarah had pointed out with such peculiar pride.
Matt sat on the edge of the bed, removing his prosthetic with practiced movements.
Neither of us spoke until we heard Sarah's footsteps retreat down the hall, followed by Tommy's bedroom door closing and the muffled sounds of a bedtime routine in progress.
"She has burner phones," Matt finally murmured, his voice barely audible above the soft hum of the central air conditioning. "What do you think she uses them for?"
I removed my earrings and placed them on the nightstand with deliberate care. The small gold hoops—a gift from my daughter Christine years ago—were one of the few personal items I'd managed to keep with me through our desperate flight. "Five identical phones, you said?"
"All the same model, prepaid. The one I checked had outgoing calls to the same number." Matt massaged his residual limb, easing the discomfort from a day spent on the move.
"The office wall—it had newspaper clippings of me, all from the past few days. She said she has been following the news because she was worried and wanted to help, but something about it rubbed me the wrong way. Why would she hang up newspaper clippings?"
The weight of what I'd seen in that home office pressed against my chest.
"I’ve started to wonder if her interest in me coming here is more than just doing a speaking engagement and book signing," I continued, keeping my voice low enough that it wouldn't carry through the walls. "Me coming here, doing the speaking engagement. It feels planned."
Matt's hand found mine in the semi-darkness, his fingers warm against my perpetually cold ones. "The question is why. What does she want from you specifically?"
I stood, moving restlessly to the window overlooking the backyard.
Security lights illuminated a perfectly maintained lawn, a child's swing set, and a stone patio with arranged seating.
Like everything in Sarah's life, the yard was meticulously organized, unnaturally perfect.
"The stalking emails we found in Collins' account showed classic progression—observation, perceived intimacy, entitlement, then rage when the fantasy relationship wasn't reciprocated. "
"And when Collins rejected the stalker…" Matt began.
"If it was Sarah, she eliminated him and found a way to make me pay simultaneously." I turned from the window, arms crossed over my chest. "But there's something else bothering me. Her behavior toward Tommy seems off—possessive beyond normal maternal concern."
Matt nodded slowly. "I noticed that too. The way she watches him and corrects him for minor infractions. That intensity when he interrupted our conversation."
"Like he's an extension of her rather than his own person," I added, remembering the look that had passed between mother and son—Tommy's subtle flinch, Sarah's controlling gaze.
"Children raised by narcissists often develop that hyperawareness of parental moods.
They learn to read subtle cues for self-preservation. "
"You think the boy might be in danger?" Matt's expression darkened with concern. Despite the risks we faced, his instinct to protect an innocent child remained undiminished.
I sighed, returning to sit beside him. "I don't know. But if Sarah is unstable enough to commit murder and frame me for it, she's unpredictable. That unpredictability makes her dangerous to everyone around her, including Tommy."
Matt ran his hand through his hair—a gesture I recognized from our years together, his way of processing disturbing possibilities. "We need to be out of here by dawn. Whatever Sarah's involvement, this house isn't safe."
"Agreed." I reached for my bag at the foot of the bed. "We take shifts sleeping. Four hours each."
We continued planning in whispers—exit strategies, rendezvous points if we got separated, what information we still needed to gather before leaving.
Eventually, Matt stretched out on the far side of the king bed, his breathing gradually deepening as exhaustion claimed him despite the danger.
I remained sitting upright against the headboard, listening to the house settle around us.
The central air shut off, leaving a sudden silence that amplified smaller sounds—the refrigerator's hum downstairs, the occasional creak of expanding and contracting wood, the soft tick of a clock somewhere down the hall.
Through the window, I watched clouds slide across the moon, casting shifting shadows across the too-perfect lawn.
An hour passed, then another. Matt slept soundly beside me, his face relaxed in a way it never was during waking hours.
I envied his ability to shut down when necessary, to grab rest in the spaces between crises.
My own mind continued to race, assembling and reassembling the puzzle pieces of our situation.
A soft sound drew my attention—a voice, muffled but distinct, coming through the wall that separated our room from what I presumed was Sarah's bedroom.
I tensed, straining to hear. She was speaking, her tone animated, though I couldn't make out specific words.
No second voice responded. A phone call, perhaps?
I eased off the bed, careful not to disturb Matt, and moved silently to the wall, pressing my ear against the painted surface. Sarah's voice became clearer—still hushed, but distinct enough that I could catch fragments:
"…don't suspect anything… perfect timing having them here…"
I held my breath, straining to hear more. Sarah's voice dropped lower for a moment, then rose again with what sounded like excitement:
"…everything's going according to plan… The evidence is all in place…"
My blood ran cold. I glanced back at Matt, debating whether to wake him, but decided to gather more information first. I leaned closer to the wall, pressing my ear harder against the surface.
"…he'll be mine soon enough… Once she's completely discredited…"
The pronouns sent a fresh wave of alarm through me. She. Me. He? Who was she referring to? Matt? Someone else?
"…I've waited long enough… Tommy needs a proper father figure…"
I jerked back from the wall as if it had burned me, the implications of Sarah's words crystallizing into a horrifying possibility. I moved quickly to the bed, shaking Matt's shoulder gently but urgently.
His eyes opened immediately. One look at my face, and he was fully alert, sitting up without a sound.
"What is it?" he whispered, reaching automatically for his prosthetic.
"Sarah's on the phone in her room, at least I think she is; she could be talking to herself," I murmured, my lips close to his ear. "She's talking about us not suspecting anything, about evidence being in place. And something about Tommy needing a 'proper father figure.'"
Matt's expression hardened as he processed this information. "You think I'm the target? Beyond framing you?"
"It fits the pattern of erotomanic obsession," I whispered, the profile forming in my mind with sickening clarity.
"She eliminates perceived rivals and obstacles to create space for her fantasy relationship.
Collins rejected her advances. I'm an independent woman in your life who could be seen as competition. "
Through the wall, Sarah's voice continued, though her words were now indistinct—the one-sided conversation carried on, punctuated by soft laughter that raised goosebumps along my arms.
Matt and I exchanged alarmed glances in the darkness, the full dimension of our danger becoming clear. We weren't just staying in the home of someone who had betrayed us or who was feeding information to whoever framed me.
We were sleeping under the roof of the killer herself, a woman who had already murdered once and seemed to be orchestrating our destruction with methodical precision.
And the most disturbing realization of all—she had invited us into her web deliberately, bringing the prey right to the predator's lair.
"We need to get out now," I breathed, reaching for my bag.
Matt nodded grimly, already moving with silent efficiency. "And we need to find a way to protect Tommy, too."
As we gathered our few belongings in the darkness, Sarah's voice continued its one-sided conversation beyond the wall, her pleased, confident tone more chilling than any threat could have been.