Chapter 26
PHILIP CLAWS AT LEROUX’S HANDS, trying to free himself, but the man’s grip is like solid steel against his throat. For a brief second, he wonders if this is what his victims feel in their last moments. His vision blurs at the edges, and panic begins to flood his senses.
He had entered the house with a plan, and that plan was to dispatch the detective in his bed as he slept.
He hadn’t been looking for a fight; he was looking for an end to the ceaseless prying into his life.
Philip was always careful, always able to cover his tracks and then move forward untouched and unquestioned.
When Detective John Leroux and Dr. Wren Muller barged into his life, his community—that all changed.
They just wouldn’t leave well enough alone, and that would be their own undoing.
As he finds himself falling over the edge, tumbling into the throes of death, John Leroux’s voice tears through the darkness, a painful jolt back to conscious thought.
“Repent! Repent, you piece of shit!” Leroux yells, gripping his throat, still careful to keep his palm over the hole made by the bullet.
Now Philip feels it all, the pain of the detective’s hand against torn, angry flesh and the sudden rush of liquid filling his throat.
He chokes and gags, trying to suck in a clean breath, but instead of air, he gets only blood.
Through it, he forces a strained smile, his teeth stained with bright red blood that he sputters at the detective.
It splatters across Leroux’s face, creating a stippling effect like a piece of art.
The detective growls in response, squeezing his grip tighter. “You killed Richard Muller. You helped Jeremy Rose. Admit it!” With each accusation, Leroux shakes him, sending shockwaves of pain through his head.
Philip spits, but this time the pathetic spray barely makes its way to its intended target.
He can see the edges of his vision going dark again, like the end of a movie.
The image seems fuzzy, like he could grab at it and pull it closer to finally end it.
His eyes begin to roll around in his skull, feeling like heavy pieces of smooth stone.
“You will pay for your sins, Philip,” Leroux says, slapping Philip’s face to break him from his comforting stupor. The detective sounds far away, like he’s screaming from the end of a long hallway. “And you want to know something before I take my hand off your throat and let you die?” he asks.
Philip blinks slowly, staring into Leroux’s eyes, registering his words, and suddenly feeling less pain.
Leroux grins a sinister smile that sends shivers down Philip’s spine even as his nervous system explodes in agony. “Your wife gave you up. Kathryn told us everything,” he says coolly. “You take that to hell with you now.”
With those words, Leroux slams Philip against the floor and releases his grip. Philip tries to speak, but he chokes on the blood that now rushes into his airway.