Chapter 42 #2
A current of tension runs through the crowd.
“We know who was behind the tragedy at Stratford,” Kristie says. “And yet you continue to question my son.”
Her composure thins.
“My son, Nicholas Talbert was a good man.”
Brooke shifts beside me, her knuckles tightening around the strap of her bag.
“He volunteered in community outreach,” Kristie presses. “He mentored younger students. He had plans to pursue public service. The so-called evidence surfaced after he could no longer speak for himself.”
The reporter tries again. “What about the footage from Stratford that showed him entering the property the night—”
“Context matters,” she snaps. “Selective editing does not create truth.”
Her voice rises.
“You want a villain? You have one. His name is Seth Kincaid.”
I lean closer to Brooke. “She just put a target on both of us again.”
Kristie steps forward, abandoning the script entirely.
“My son was targeted,” she adds. “Smeared. Used as a scapegoat by people who needed a monster.”
Phones lift higher.
“I will not allow his name to be dragged through the mud,” she states. “He cannot defend himself but I will.”
Her aide moves toward her, whispering urgently.
“Seth Kincaid will be found,” Kristie says, her voice going cold. “And anyone who aided him will answer for it.”
The aide tries again, but she pulls away.
She steps down from the stage without another glance at the podium. Her heels strike the stairs too hard. The microphone squeals behind her.
The crowd erupts with overlapping questions.
She ignores them.
Then she storms off the stage and heads straight for the trailer, heels striking hard, posture rigid with fury.
Travis’s voice comes through Brooke’s phone. “Makeup trailer is on the east side of the lot. She's probably moving there.”
Brooke looks at me once. “Now.”
We move with the flow of staff crossing the lot. We don’t rush. We walk like we have jobs to do and deadlines to meet.
The makeup trailer sits behind two equipment vans. A small set of steps leads to the door. Light glows inside. A makeup artist stands near the entrance, talking fast, trying to soothe Kristie’s rage.
Kristie’s shoulders are stiff. Her face is tight. Her eyes are bright with anger.
The door shuts behind them.
Beau peels off toward the vehicles and disappears into shadow.
I stay a few steps back from Brooke, watching the lot and listening for anyone moving our direction.
Brooke climbs the steps and opens the door without waiting.
I follow.
The makeup artist turns, startled. “Who are you?”
Brooke closes the door, steps in, and puts a needle in the woman’s neck before she can raise her voice. The makeup artist makes a short sound, tries to turn, then sags. Brooke catches her and lowers her behind a chair.
Kristie spins toward Brooke, eyes wide. “What the fuck?”
Brooke moves fast, grabs her wrist, and puts the needle in her before she can scream.
Kristie tries anyway. The sound comes out warped. Her knees buckle. Brooke holds her up until her body stops cooperating, then sets her into the chair.
Kristie’s head tips to the side. Her eyes fight to stay open and lose.
I scan the trailer, then the small back hallway. “Clear,” I say.
We wrap her in a dark jacket from the rack and secure her arms. We use the back exit Travis flagged. Beau meets us behind the trailer with the vehicle ready.
We load her and leave the lot before anyone realizes her trailer has gone quiet.
The lake road is narrow and empty. Trees press close. The farther we drive, the less the world exists.
When Kristie wakes, her eyes open to dark water and the low hum of an engine. She tries to sit up. She can’t.
Her hands are zip tied behind her back. Duct tape covers her mouth. More duct tape wraps her arms, legs, and ankles tight enough to make movement pointless. Her body jerks. Her breathing hitches against the tape. Her eyes go wide, then furious, then terrified again.
Brooke leans closer so Kristie can see her face.
“Hi Kristie.”
Kristie’s muffled scream turns frantic.
Beau arranged the boat ahead of time. It is waiting for us when we arrive.
Once we're aboard, he guides it father out, carrying us away from the shore until the lights on land shrink into small points in the distance.
The water is dark. The air is cold enough to sting my face.
The engine hum stays low, and the lake stays quiet, which makes every sound feel louder.
Kristie’s eyes dart between us, then to the water, then back to us again.
I sit on the bench with my elbows on my knees, watching her without empathy. She earned this.
Brooke sits beside me, posture calm, gun resting on her thigh, eyes fixed on Kristie’s face. She looks the way she looks right before she pulls a trigger, quiet and focused.
Beau cuts the engine when we reach the middle.
The boat rocks gently. The sound of water against the hull turns into a slow rhythm.
Brooke leans forward.
“Did you enjoy watching me drown, Kristie?” Brooke asks. “Because I’m about to enjoy watching you.”
Kristie makes a muffled sound through the tape and tries to scoot back, but the tape on her legs turns it into a pathetic scrape.
Brooke keeps her eyes on her. “When we toss you into this lake, you’ll sink fast. Even if the tape loosens, the zip ties won’t. You won’t be able to swim up. You won’t be able to paddle. You’re going to sink and die.”
Kristie’s eyes go wider. Her breathing goes frantic under the tape. I watch her throat move as she tries to swallow around panic.
Brooke tilts her head slightly. “Do you know what it feels like to drown, Kristie?”
Kristie screams behind the tape.
Brooke’s mouth tightens. “It hurts. It’s not peaceful. Your chest burns. Your lungs fight. Your brain screams at you to breathe, and you can’t. You think you’re about to explode from the inside.”
She pauses, and her gaze doesn’t soften.
“But I woke up after,” Brooke continues. “I had to live with it. I had to live with the pain in my lungs. I had to live with the memory. You don’t get that part.”
Brooke’s eyes flick down to the water, then back to Kristie. “You’re going to die at the bottom of this lake, and nobody’s going to find you.”
Kristie’s eyes squeeze shut for a second, then open again.
Brooke’s voice drops lower. “Silver lining, you’re going to see your son real soon.”
Kristie jerks her head, a furious denial that turns into fear again immediately.
“When you get there,” Brooke smiles, “tell him I sent you.”
I shift forward and plant my boots, watching Kristie’s eyes as they lock on mine.
I drag Kristie toward the edge of the boat. The hull rocks as her weight shifts. Beau steadies the boat with his stance, keeping us balanced.
Kristie twists and tries to kick, but her ankles are locked. The tape around her legs holds. Her breathing turns frantic and ragged under the duct tape. She makes a sound that is half sob and half scream.
Brooke steps closer and rests her hand on Kristie’s cheek, almost gentle.
Kristie’s eyes lock onto Brooke’s face. The fear in them is raw. Brooke doesn’t look away.
Beau glances at me. “Now.”
Brooke pushes Kristie over the edge.
She drops into the lake with a heavy splash.
The water swallows her quickly. Her body bobs once, then starts to go under. The tape and the zip ties do exactly what Brooke says they'll do. Kristie’s head disappears, and the water closes over her.
The lake goes quiet again.
Brooke stands at the edge of the boat, staring at the dark surface. Her shoulders are still. Her hands don’t shake.
I watch the water for any sign of her. I don’t see anything. I don’t hear anything except the small lap of water against the boat.
Beau starts the engine.
The boat rumbles back to life, and we begin to move.
Brooke stays looking at the spot where Kristie went under, like she is making sure she doesn’t come back up.
I step closer to Brooke and slide my hand into hers and squeeze once.
Beau steers us back to shore.
I don’t feel anything for Kristie. I only feel for Brooke. I feel rage for what they did to her. Now I feel the simple satisfaction of seeing her get revenge.