Claire stepped closer.
“But I know what it feels like to spend your life hating someone because grief needs a target.”
Rebecca swallowed.
Behind her, blue lights flashed through the trees.
“Put the gun down,” Claire whispered.
Rebecca’s
face crumpled.
For one second, I thought she would.
Then Hayes appeared behind her.
His shirt was soaked in blood.
“Rebecca.”
She spun.
The gun fired.
Hayes jerked backward.
I screamed.
Police flooded the yard.
Rebecca dropped the weapon.
Officers tackled her.
Margaret ran to Hayes.
I followed.
He was still conscious.
Barely.
His eyes found mine.
“Did it transfer?”
“Yes.”
He smiled weakly.
“Good.”
“Don’t talk.”
“Your mother used to say that.”
Margaret sobbed.
“Thomas.”
He looked at her.
