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Then again, why did he have to know?
"Damn it," she muttered, her grip tightening on the bottle. "I can't keep hiding from everyone like this."
With a sudden surge of resolve, she twisted the cap off and poured the whisky down the sink, the golden liquid swirling into the drain. She felt a sense of satisfaction, a small victory over her darker impulses.
Next, she moved methodically through her cabinets, locating every last bottle of alcohol and emptying their contents down the sink. Each splash of liquor that disappeared into the dark abyss served as a reminder that she was stronger than her fears and pain.
Leaning back against the counter, Sheila stared at the now-empty cabinets, their doors left ajar. The quiet satisfaction she felt from pouring out the alcohol still hummed within her, but it wasn't enough to fill the void that remained. She needed something else, something to occupy her restless mind and keep the demons of doubt and pain at bay.
She ran a hand through her hair and scanned the room, searching for inspiration. "What now?"
She considered going for a jog, but the thought of pounding the pavement alone in the dark didn't appeal to her. Maybe a movie or a book? But she knew she wouldn't be able to concentrate long enough. The options floated by, each one dismissed as quickly as it came.
"Think, Sheila, think…" Her voice trailed off as a memory surfaced, piercing through the fog of indecision like a beacon. Natalie's face appeared before her, the fierce determination in her eyes urging Sheila forward.
Her mother's case. It had been pushed to the backburner in the wake of Natalie's death, the loss of her sister consuming her every thought. But now, as the initial shock began to wane, Sheila realized that solving their mother's murder was a mission Natalie would want her to complete.
A month ago, Sheila had stumbled upon a crucial piece of information: a car had been seen leaving her parents' house on the night of her mother's murder. The car had been linked to Rayland Bax, an inmate in Blackridge Penitentiary. But there was a catch—Rayland was an FBI informant, which meant he was protected.
"Rayland Bax…" Sheila murmured, the name tasting bitter on her tongue. "You might be untouchable for now, but just you wait."
The weight of his name settled in Sheila's mind like a stone sinking to the bottom of a murky pond. She knew that if she wanted to have any hope of getting close to him, she would have to go through his handler, Mitchell Collins.
"Collins…" she muttered under her breath as she recalled her father Gabe mentioning him once before. He had painted a rather unflattering picture of the FBI agent, describing him as uncooperative and unwilling to help other departments. It seemed like a long shot, but for the sake of her mother's case, Sheila was willing to try anything.
"Alright, Mitchell Collins, let's see what you're made of," she whispered, steeling herself for the challenge ahead.
***
Night had fallen in earnest by the time Sheila arrived at the FBI field office where Collins worked. The building loomed before her, its dark windows reflecting the moonlight and giving it an air of mystery. It was surrounded by a tall chain-link fence, the gates locked tight. A few cars were scattered throughout the parking lot, indicating that there were still a handful of agents working late into the night.
"Here goes nothing," Sheila murmured as she stepped out of her car, her boots crunching on the gravel beneath her feet. Her heart pounded in her chest as she approached the entrance, the sound reverberating in her ears like distant thunder.
"Okay, Sheila, just stay calm. You can do this," she told herself, taking a deep breath. The cool air filled her lungs, providing a brief moment of clarity amidst the storm of emotions brewing inside her.
Her palms were clammy, and a knot formed in her stomach as anxiety washed over her. She tried to push away thoughts of what would happen if Mitchell Collins refused to help her—she couldn't afford to entertain that possibility. Instead, she focused on taking deep breaths and steadying her resolve.
As she approached the entrance, the door suddenly swung open and a man stepped out, almost colliding with her. Startled, Sheila stumbled back a step, taking in the man's appearance. He was tall, with short-cropped salt-and-pepper hair and piercing blue eyes that seemed to bore into her soul. His suit was impeccably tailored, and he carried himself with an air of authority.
"Excuse me," Sheila said, trying to steady her voice. "I'm looking for Mitchell Collins. Is he still working inside?"
The man raised an eyebrow, his gaze scanning her from head to toe before settling on her face. "I'm Mitch," he replied, his tone guarded. "What can I do for you?" He was already walking again, moving toward the parking lot.
"Mr. Collins, I understand you're busy," Sheila said, feeling the urgency creeping into her voice as she tried to keep pace with him. "My name is Sheila Stone. I'm a police officer, and I really need just a few minutes of your time to discuss a case. It's important."
Collins slowed his stride but didn't stop walking. He offered her a polite smile, though it didn't reach his eyes. "I appreciate your dedication, Officer Stone, but I'm already late for dinner. My wife won't be happy if I keep her waiting any longer."
Sheila's heart raced as she realized that she might lose her chance to get Collins' help. She decided to lay all her cards on the table, hoping that the gravity of the situation would resonate with him.
"Please, Mr. Collins," she said, quickening her steps to catch up with him. "This is about my mother. She was murdered ten years ago, and the killer was never found. I have reason to believe Rayland Bax may have been involved. I just need some answers."
Collins stopped walking, his surprise evident in the arch of his eyebrows. "Where did you get Bax's name?" he asked as a hint of curiosity seeped into his voice.
"His car was seen leaving my parents' house on the night of the murder," Sheila said. "I went to Blackridge Penitentiary, but the warden wouldn't let me speak with Bax. All I need is a chance to question him."
As she spoke, Collins' expression turned thoughtful, his eyes drifting away from hers as if considering her words. The tension between them was palpable, and Sheila clenched her fists at her sides, trying to keep her frustration in check.
Finally, Collins looked back at her, his face softening with sympathy. "I'm sorry about your mother, Ms. Stone. I truly am. But I can't allow you to meet with Bax. That's all there is to it."
