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Cold sweat trickled down Sheila's temple as she stared into the barrel of her own gun, gripped tightly in Constance's hand.
"Take it easy," she said, raising her hands slowly. Her heart pounded in her chest, and she mentally calculated how long it would take for backup to arrive. Help should be there in less than ten minutes...but what if she only had seconds to live?
"Into the corner," Constance said, her voice sharp and her gaze fierce.
Sheila obeyed, her legs feeling like jelly beneath her. She caught sight of her bleeding hand, the sting now a distant reminder of the danger she was in. As she backed up, she tried to convince Constance to calm down and not do anything rash. "You don't want to do this, Constance. It won't end well."
"Be quiet!" Constance snapped, looking Sheila up and down in contempt. "Your job is all about justice, but you don't know anything about mercy, do you?"
The question puzzled Sheila. What was Constance talking about?
"Mercy," Constance repeated, her eyes still locked on Sheila as she waved the gun slightly. "I wanted to be an angel of mercy for these women. So many people walk around with terrible futures ahead of them, and they come to people like Sage to learn about those futures."
Constance paused, then went on. "I used to admire Sage, used to think she was so special because of her abilities. But what's the point if all you do is point out a horror others can't avoid? It's like there's a runaway train, and you're going to all the passengers just to tell them they're going to crash soon. Why not let them enjoy the ride while they can?"
Sheila watched Constance's face, trying to read her thoughts. It was clear that Constance was not in her right mind. She was a danger to herself and others, and Sheila knew she had to try and reason with her before things got worse.
"I understand that you're angry, Constance," Sheila said in a calm tone, her eyes never leaving Constance's. "But killing me won't solve anything. Let's talk about this. We can find a way to make things right."
Constance, however, just ignored her. "It's cruel, that's what it is," she said. "The kind thing – the merciful thing – is to provide a solution, a way out."
"Constance," Sheila said cautiously, her voice steady, "if you think it's cruel for Sage Walker to reveal these horrible fates, why aren't you targeting her instead?"
"Because if Sage didn't tell them their futures, they'd just find another psychic who would." Constance's grip on the gun tightened, her knuckles turning white. "What I'm doing is merciful, Sheila. If you only knew the fates I was saving these women from, you'd appreciate my efforts."
As Constance spoke, Sheila felt the weight of her words sink in. This woman truly believed she was helping others by ending their lives before they could face the horrors that awaited them. But Sheila knew better. She had seen firsthand how strong the human spirit could be in the face of adversity.
She needed to reason with Constance while also looking for an opportunity to disarm her. Taking advantage of a brief moment when Constance's gaze faltered, Sheila quickly assessed the room, noting the location of the bed, the door, and any potential weapons or obstacles.
"Constance, I understand that you believe you're doing the right thing, but taking someone's life isn't mercy," Sheila said, trying to appeal to the killer's humanity. "These women deserve a chance to face their futures and fight for the life they want."
Memories of her sister Natalie flooded Sheila's mind—the strength she'd shown in the face of adversity, even as she struggled with the weight of her own future. If only Natalie had held on a little longer, maybe she could have found hope too.
"Look, I know about pain and loss," Sheila continued, her words coming faster now. "My sister chose to end her life because she couldn't face what was ahead. But that doesn't mean it was the right decision. There's always hope, Constance. Always."
Constance's eyes narrowed, anger flaring within them. "I thought you, of all people, would understand," she said. "You have a death aura around you, Sheila. I sensed it when I saw you at the police station. That's why I followed you—I wanted to save you from the terrible fate that awaits you. And now I'll get to end your life, which will be for your own good."
Sheila shook her head, her jaw set in determination. "No, Constance. You're not saving anyone. You're causing the cruel fate you claim to want to prevent. That's far worse than any prediction Sage Walker or any other psychic could make."
"You say that now," Constance said, licking her lips, which had gone dry. "But if you knew you had some terrible fate in store for you, you'd want out—just like Clarissa, my sister, did. She was in terrible pain, but they just kept her going, hooked up to those disgusting machines. She wanted to be free—I knew because we had a special bond."
"Constance, I'm sorry for your loss," Sheila said, her voice softening. "But you can't take away someone's right to live their life just because you think you know what's best for them. It's not your decision to make. And as for me, I don't believe in fate. I believe we make our own destiny. And I'm not going to let you take that away from me."
Constance's grip on the gun wavered for a moment, her eyes flicking away from Sheila's face. Then her face hardened and she raised the gun, pointing it directly at Sheila's chest. "I'm sorry, Sheila," she said, her voice laced with regret. "But I have to do this. It's the only way to save you."
At that moment, they heard a commotion outside the door. Bailey's frantic voice pierced the tense silence.
"They're in there! Yes, hurry!"
Constance's attention flicked toward the door, her grip on the gun faltering for a split second. Seizing the opportunity, Sheila lunged forward, channeling her years of kickboxing training into a single, desperate move. The two women grappled for the weapon, their arms locked in a struggle of life and death.
The door burst open as Finn appeared, his own gun aimed at Constance. "Drop it!" he shouted.
Sheila fought to keep her focus on disarming Constance, even as the sound of Finn's voice gave her hope. Sweat beaded on her forehead, mixing with the blood from her hand, as she used every ounce of her strength to twist Constance's wrist in the right direction.
"Let go!" Constance snarled, her eyes wild with fury. But Sheila refused to relent, remembering Natalie's strength and using it to fuel her own resolve.
With a final surge of effort, Sheila wrenched the gun free from Constance's grasp. It clattered to the floor just as Constance lunged at her, teeth bared in a vicious snarl. But before she could reach Sheila, Finn grabbed her from behind, pinning her arms to her sides.
