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For a heartbeat, theylocked in a silent battle of wills before Ripley relented, nodding slowly.‘Okay, but I'll be nearby,’ she said, but the set of her jaw suggested hercompliance was far from unconditional.
Ella nodded,acknowledging Ripley's concession with a heavy heart. She knew the risks, knewwhat was at stake, but the thought of endangering Ripley further was somethingshe couldn't bear.
Pierhead Lighthousewas only a stone's throw away. Ripley pulled the car to a stop. Ella's focuswas singular, directed towards the dark silhouette of the lighthouse that stoodcalling to her from the shore.
She checked herammunition levels, jumped out of the car and lost herself amongst the rain,ready to end this once and for all.
CHAPTER THIRTY
The man's grip on thegun was firm as he herded Gail Banks up the weathered planks of the pier. Thefoggy morning was his canvas, and the rain was his accomplice. Gail's stepsfaltered as they reached the bridge that led to the lighthouse, her heelsclacking against the soaking wood in an erratic heartbeat against the roar ofthe lake.
With each step closerto the lighthouse, Gail's body trembled more intensely as she took deeperbreaths.
‘Where are you takingme?’ Gail pleaded. She raised her hands, not in defiance but in desperatesubmission.
‘I'm trying to makethings right,’ he said. He needed her to understand, to be the lifeline he hadbeen denied.
For a fleeting moment,the mask of the predator slipped, revealing a glimpse of the man he once was, aman buried under layers of pain and madness. But the moment passed as quicklyas it came, snuffed out by the darker currents that ran through his soul.
They followed thebridge and reached the shore, the ground shifting from the solidity of wood tothe uncertain give of wet stone. It was a narrow strip of land, caught betweenthe raging waters and the towering lighthouse, a no-man's land that belonged neitherto the earth nor the water. He'd been here many times before, and it alwaysfelt like he was on the edge of the world.
'It doesn't have to belike this, Simon,' Gail said. 'I can help you, but you have to let me.'
He searched Gail'sface, seeking a glimmer of courage, of resilience. Any sign that she couldcarry the burden he could no longer bear alone. Yet, as Gail's eyes stretchedand her lips parted in a silent scream, he saw it—the same paralyzing fear thathad sealed his mother's fate.
He saw only thereflection of his own haunted past, the same despair that had once gripped hismother before the darkness overtook her, before she became another victim ofhis uncontrollable wrath.
But her words, meantto soothe, only served to ignite the fury that simmered beneath his surface.
A surge of anger beganto bubble up inside. He clenched his jaw, fighting against the rising tide offury that threatened to consume him. His knuckles whitened around the pistol'sgrip, the metallic taste of restraint bitter on his tongue. He could not—wouldnot—allow himself to unravel.
‘Help me,’ heimplored. The plea hung between them. He needed her to be the savior he hadlost, the anchor in his tempest-tossed world. Yet, he knew that fear was atreacherous companion, and in its presence, salvation seemed but a distantshore.
Gail's pallid facereflected back at him the image of another—his mother on that fateful night.Gail reached out for his wrist, pleading silently for sanity to prevail. Buther touch was like a match to kindling; it had ignited the smoldering ragewithin him, each flicker morphing into a wild inferno.
‘Don't touch me,’ heshouted. ‘On your knees, Mom.’
He watched as Gailcomplied, her body folding onto the cold, wet ground. The act of submission haddredged up memories best left buried. Memories of another time, another pleafor mercy.
‘Mom, I'm sorry,’ hewhispered, the confession slipping through his lips like a ghost from the past.‘I didn't mean for it to end that way. You know I didn't. It just... happened.’
In his mind's eye, hehad seen her again—his mother—her eyes expanded with a fear that had crippledher ability to help, to understand. And now Gail, wearing that same expression,had become the vessel of his confession. She was a surrogate to bear the sinshe could not carry alone.
‘Listen to me. We canget through this,’ Gail cried, her hands still raised high.
But his mind had beena fortress besieged by paranoia. Trust had become an artifact of a life he onceknew, not this existence where every shadow harbored threats, every glance apotential betrayal. He had envisioned the chain of events as if they were dominoesalready set in motion: Gail would alert the police at the first opportunity,tell them of his dark impulses, and they would lock him away—forever entombedin a cell of his own making.
‘No!’ The word was agunshot, reverberating off the pier’s wooden planks behind them. ‘You don’tunderstand. There’s no going back.’
He raised the gun. Hisfinger curled around the trigger.
‘Please,’ Gailpleaded, but her voice was a distant murmur against the roar of blood in hisears. The wind chill and beating rain were no match for the heat runningthrough his veins, the gun aimed unwaveringly at Gail's temple.
‘Nobody understands,’he muttered. ‘They never do.’
But suddenly, an aliensound sliced through his spiraling thoughts.
‘Drop the weapon!’ thevoice shouted.
