Chapter 49
The cold seeps into my palm as Ivory presses a picture frame into my hand.
Behind the glass rests a faded photograph of a cabin.
Sunlight streams through the trees, dappling the porch.
I remember Ivory and I hiking to this place together chatting about growing old together, a dream we held close. Now it just feels like another ache.
The cabin wavers, blurring under my tears.
With the wood worn smooth from age and tender care, it’s the thick frame Stewart found in an antique shop and whittled a secret compartment in it to blend with the wood grain.
Inside that compartment I had hid the safe deposit box key that held all of Stewart’s embezzlement evidence against Ramsey Shenk, along with the SD card with video footage of him killing my husband. And now I have it all back.
“I saw you opening the compartment once, when you didn’t know I was watching,” Ivory says, her voice draining into the silence snuffing her out.
“Did you look at what was inside?”
“Yes,” she continues, a strange mix of sorrow and determination in her eyes. “I know everything Ramsey did to Stewart… and to you.”
My grasp tightens at Ramsey’s name that has become a stone that sinks in my chest. Memories flood back, unwelcome and brutal, images I've fought so hard to keep locked away.
“You and Stewart deserve justice, Shari. I want to give that to you.” The offer is nothing but a breathy whisper.
Justice. The word echoes even though it feels distant, unattainable, a cruel joke.
I want to scream, to lash out, to tell her there’s no such thing as justice if she dies, because that feels inevitable now that she’s clinging to a thread of life.
I look at the picture of the cabin, at the promise of peace it holds, a promise that was stolen from us both.
Ivory stubbornly waits, patiently letting time stop. Each moment is a weighty burden that she’s taking from me as she holds me in place, one hand clutching mine and refusing to release me.
I close my eyes, and for the first time, I consider what she’s telling me to do. Expose the truth. Release the pain. Surrender the fight. And give Stewart a little bit of peace. It will finally be over.
“I’m ready.” Ivory releases her grip on me, and I rush to where I think I saw her toss the phone. I search for the glossy reflection of glass on the floor.
“We’ll get you fixed up, Ivory. You’re strong. I know you’ll be okay,” I reassure her, myself, both of us.
I finally find my phone hidden under a broken bucket and start to dial, but Ivory’s softspoken words stop me. It takes every ounce of my focus to hear her.
“Shar,” she rasps. “When the cops ask, tell them it was me.”
“Tell them what was you? I don’t understand.”
“The abduction. It was me.”
But that doesn’t make sense. In fact, the more I think about it, the less sense all of it makes. Ivory is holding something back. Someone did take her. Someone did bind and torture her. And I stepped into their crime scene when I followed Ivory in here.
“No,” I argue, “I know you were actually abducted. I saw the bondage marks on your wrists. You didn’t do that to yourself. Who? Was it Fred?”
Her head lolls weakly. “I already told you it wasn’t Fred.”
My pulse pounds in my ears. “Then who? Was it Gillian? Or Marshall? Ivory, please—who?”
She opens her mouth, but only a gurgle comes out. Her eyes roll back.
“Ivory!” I shake her shoulders. “Ivory, stay with me!”
She slumps forward limply, but she’s already gone.
I feel her soul depart as if it was my own.
I fumble my phone with trembling fingers and dial 9-1-1.
I’m barely able to choke out the address before the operator dispatches emergency services.
When I hang up, her stillness smothers me and the questions that will never be answered haunt me.
Ivory wasn’t lying. She was abducted. Someone bound her up. Hurt her. Left her to die. My throat tightens as I stare at the open garden shed door. If it wasn’t Fred… then who?
And then there’s the biggest mystery of all. While Ivory was bound up in this garden shed, who was running around breaking my camera, developing pictures in my darkroom, and stealing my cabin photo? I may never know, and I’m not sure I’m okay with that.