Chapter 14
The camera picked up the sound.
The slosh of liquid.
Gasoline.
She was pouring it in a wide circle on the grass.
All around her.
She was going to set herself on fire.
Right under our son’s window.
She wanted the last thing Leo ever saw to be his grandmother burning to death because of him.
Because of us.
It was the final, ultimate revenge.
To destroy herself in a way that would destroy us too.
To leave us with the trauma forever.
“Oh my God,” David whispered.
Leo was still in his arms.
He was getting scared now.
“Daddy?” he said. “What’s happening? Who is that lady? Why is she in our yard?”
“Don’t look, baby,” David said, turning Leo’s face into his shoulder. “Don’t look. It’s okay. It’s just a bad dream. Close your eyes.”
On the screen, Helen finished pouring the gasoline.
She dropped the can.
She pulled the lighter out of her pocket.
She flicked it.
A small, steady flame.
She held it up.
She looked at the camera again.
And she mouthed two words.
Your fault.
“Marcus,” I yelled into the phone. “She has gasoline! She’s going to light herself on fire! Stop her! Now!”
“I see her,” Marcus said. His voice was calm. Professional. “Team two, move in. Non-lethal takedown. Now.”
On the screen, two figures in black emerged from the shadows of the trees.
They moved fast.
Silent.
Helen saw them at the last second.
Her eyes went wide.
She brought the lighter down toward the gasoline-soaked grass.
One of the guards fired.
A small puff of white.
A tranquilizer dart.
It hit Helen in the neck.
She dropped the lighter.
It clattered on the concrete patio, the flame going out instantly.
She stared at the dart in confusion.
Then her eyes rolled back in her head.
She collapsed.
The guards were on her in two seconds.
They cuffed her.
They checked her pulse.
One of them spoke into his radio.
“Suspect down. Secure. ETA for ambulance three minutes.”
I let out a breath I didn’t know I was holding.
My legs gave out.
I slid down the wall to the floor.
David sat down next to me.
He was still holding Leo.
Our son was asleep now, exhausted, his head resting on his dad’s chest.
“Is it over?” David said. His voice was hollow. “Is it really over this time?”
The police arrived ten minutes later.
The ambulance right behind them.
Helen was taken to the hospital under guard.
Two police officers posted outside her room 24/7.
Her compassionate release was revoked immediately.
The judge ruled that she was too great a danger to herself and others to be free. She would serve the rest of her sentence in the prison hospital wing. Even if she died there.
The next morning, we got the official call.
Helen was back in custody.
No possibility of release.
Ever.
She would die in prison.
And this time…
This time it really was over.
We sat Leo down after breakfast.
We tried to explain it to him in a way an eight-year-old could understand.
“The bad lady was very sick,” David said. “In her head. She wasn’t well. And she tried to do a very bad thing last night. But the good men stopped her. And she’s gone away forever. She’s never going to be able to hurt anyone ever again.”
Leo thought about it.
He ate a bite of pancake.
“Was she sad?” he said.
“Very sad,” I said. “And very angry. But that wasn’t your fault. None of it was ever your fault. You did nothing wrong.”
He nodded.
“Okay,” he said. “Can I go play now?”
“Sure, buddy,” David said, smiling.
Leo ran outside.
We watched him through the kitchen window.
He climbed up the ladder to the half-finished treehouse.
He sat on the platform.
He held up his T-Rex and made him roar at the birds.
No fear.
No nightmares.
Just a kid.
Being a kid.
“I thought it would feel better,” David said quietly. “I thought when she was finally gone for good, I’d feel… relief. Peace. But I just feel… empty.”
“Grief isn’t logical,” I said. “You’re grieving the mother you wanted. The mother you deserved. And that’s okay. It’s okay to be sad about that. Even if she wasn’t good for you. Even if she hurt you. It’s okay to mourn the loss of what could have been.”
He put his arm around me.
May you like
“What would I do without you?” he said.
“You’ll never have to find out,” I said.
