Chapter 15 #5
They stood there together. Watching the cemetery workers begin to lower the casket. Watching Timea and Fia step closer. Watching Fia finally break—shoulders shaking, face crumpling, tears that had been held back for seven days finally spilling over.
Timea pulled her daughter close. Wrapped her arms around her. Let Fia sob into her shoulder.
York waited until the casket was in the ground. Until the first shovel of dirt hit the wood with that hollow, final sound.
Then he and RJ approached Timea and Fia.
Fia had recovered somewhat. Still red-eyed. Still clinging to her mother. But breathing again.
“Ma’am,” York said.
Timea turned. Her face was composed but her eyes were devastated. “Mr. Newgate.”
“York. Please.”
“York.” She nodded. “Thank you for coming. For—” She gestured vaguely. “For everything.”
York swallowed hard. “If you need anything—either of you—you call me. Day or night. Anything at all. I mean that.”
“Thank you.”
Fia spoke up. Her voice was thick from crying. “Will we—will we have to go—”
“No,” York said. “You, Fia, are an American citizen by birth. And Timea, we’ve processed a green card for you. You can live anywhere you want. Do anything you want. You’re free.”
“Free.” Fia tested the word. “Mama, did you hear? We’re free.”
Timea smiled, wiped her cheeks. Nodded.
“Where will you go?” RJ asked.
Timea looked around. At the trees. The cemetery. The sky above. “I don’t know yet. Somewhere quiet. Somewhere Fia can finish school. Somewhere we can—” She stopped. “Somewhere we can learn to be normal.”
“There’s a town in Washington State,” York said. “It’s called Shelly. Good people. Good school.” He glanced at RJ. “You’d find friends.”
“Washington State.” Timea nodded. “I’ll think about it.”
Ham and Logan came up, and Logan pulled a card from his pocket. Handed it to her. “My number. Call anytime.”
Timea took the card. Slipped it into her purse. “Thank you.”
Logan nodded, glanced at York, then he and Ham walked down to their rental cars.
“He loved you.” Emotion thickened York’s voice. “Both of you. Everything he did—even the terrible things—he did trying to get back to you. That doesn’t excuse it. But I thought you should know.”
“I always knew.” Timea’s eyes were bright.
“From the moment they told me he was dead, I didn’t believe it.
I felt him. Out there. Alive. And I believed he would come back to me.
” She pressed her hand to her chest. “Even now it’s hard to believe he’s dead, but this is different.
I…I felt him let go. Finally. After sixteen years, he let go. ”
Fia was crying again. Quietly. Timea pulled her close.
York and RJ stepped back. Gave them space.
As they walked toward the parking area, York looked back. Timea and Fia stood at the graveside. Two figures in black against the green grass and brown earth. The workers had finished. The mound was complete. Someone had placed a small bouquet on top—white lilies.
Beyond them, near the tree line, President Isaac White still stood. Watching. His Secret Service detail patient and quiet around him.
As York watched, the president raised his hand. A small wave. Acknowledgment.
York nodded back.
The president turned. Walked into the trees. Disappeared from view.
RJ took York’s hand. “It’s over.”
They walked to the car together, the sunset spilling out over the horizon. Warm despite the autumn chill.
“I need Thee ev’ry hour, most gracious Lord.”
The hymn played in his memory.
“No tender voice like Thine can peace afford.”
York got in the car. Started the engine.
And drove away from the cemetery, hoping James Cooper was finally resting in the peace he’d spent a lifetime searching for.
Because the hunt for Alan Martin was finally over.
Thank you for reading WEST!