Millie glances at the door and then the empty safe. I thought I put it back. The footsteps continue to get closer. Running back to the bed, she quickly finishes the makeshift rope. I hope my plan works, she thinks, scooping it off the bed. She's looking for a place to secure it when the back door slams shut. She then hears a second set of footsteps bolting down the stairs. The back door opens and closes again. Running to the window, Millie glances down to see two lanky figures darting into the neighbor's yard.
The totality of the situation crashes over her like a wave. Her hands began to tremble, and her legs felt weak. Drained of all energy, she collapses in the chair. The frightening events flash through her mind. "I could've been killed. "I need to report this." Pushing the horrid scenarios from her mind, she races down the stairs.
Rachel returns to Millie's house a short while later, looking and feeling more haggard than she previously had.
Millie quickly explains the terrifying chain of events. "I'm afraid whoever killed my coworkers is after me," she finishes, more shaken than ever.
"We've had a lot of break-ins in this area tonight, so that may be who it was, but I will keep an officer posted outside your house until we know for sure.
Millie pulls the sweater tighter around herself. "I'd appreciate that, officer."
"You said you didn't notice anything missing?"
"I really didn't look, but the big stuff seems to be there."
Could you do a quick inventory for me, please?"
"It's a waste of time," Millie mumbles, stepping back inside.
A forensic tech walks over, shaking his head. "Neither the front nor the back door appears to be jimmied."
"So maybe she forgot to lock the doors. Which seems a bit odd after all that's going on, unless…"
"She's the killer, and the robber decided to invade the wrong home."
Jeff walks over to Rachel, gun in hand. "I found this in the entryway table door. It's the same type of gun that killed the victims. I will know if it's a match once I get it to the lab."
Millie steps outside to find them holding her husband's gun. "That's Steven's." She nervously explains. "He insists that I carry it with me since the murders began. Said he feels better about leaving me that way."
"What time did you say your husband left last night?
"A little after eleven."
"You told me earlier he left around midnight."
"No, no, I said his plane took off at midnight."
"Your neighbor claims she saw you and another man get into an Uber shortly after your husband pulled away."
"She must've mistaken me for someone else because I set the alarm and then headed upstairs."
Jeff walks up to them. "Can I speak to you for a moment, Sergeant?" The two step to the side.
"I checked the neighbor's camera, and it doesn't show anyone entering their backyard. And Miss Clark's alarm was set around one AM, but it wasn't by her." He shows the sergeant her alarm log before he continues. "According to the records, her husband set it to stay away from his phone and was disarmed at five am per customer request."
"That would give her plenty of time to slip out to meet her mystery man, then slip back in to cover her tracks."
"The airline manifest shows Steven boarding at midnight, heading to Minnesota. And as far as I know, there isn't a military base out there.
"I want you to follow up on that."
"Yes, sergeant."
"And have forensics pull the neighbor's security footage."
"They've already tried; unfortunately, their cameras only go as far as their drive."
"Go back and talk to the neighbor; see if she can give you a better description of the car. And have forensics check the other neighbors' security footage and any street cams in the area. And I want you and Kirk to check all share rides that service this area."
Stepping inside, Millie glances around and shivers. The house that once felt like refuge—warm and certain—now feels hollow, as if someone has scooped out every happy memory she and Steven once shared. She looks down and finds the officer has scuffed her dark hardwood. She then recalls all the flashlights searching every inch. How strangers have rifled through all her drawers, leaving faint pry marks behind. Her safe space, the home she once adored, doesn't hold the warmth and the security she once felt anymore. Of course Steven being gone heightens the cold, empty darkness she feels. She eyes the decor and finds the home she once adored has lost the charm it once had.
Her fingers hover over the golden frame on the mantel. Picking it up, Millie traces its edge with the lightest pressure. The realtor insisted they take that picture the day they closed. The photograph inside shows two young faces on their front porch. Their arms are slung over each other's shoulders, bright with the kind of reckless optimism ready to conquer the world. "We were so happy," Millie thinks, the words a brittle memory of the way things used to be.
A cold draft eases up her spine. Shivering, she pulls her sweater tighter. The imaginary coldness lingers on. She steps further inside and exhales, a release from the tension she's felt these past few days. I doubt I'll ever feel the same about this house or this neighborhood again.
Her coworkers' voices resurface. Every comment was devious, petty, and precise, cutting away at her heart like a razor's edge. Millie recalls her coworkers used to laugh at her jokes. Now they cross the corridor at a distance, as if she's diseased. When forced to work with her, they asked to be reassigned. The patients weren't any better. She'd walk through the door, and they'd either demand another nurse or threaten to go somewhere else. Even the patients she'd grown to adore. Once she's comforted, he treats her as if she's a stranger in a store aisle.
A horrific thought suddenly comes to mind. "It's my childhood all over again," she cries. Humiliation rises in her chest as she recalls the horror she was forced to face.
She no sooner steps on the bus on the first day of school than she's shoved to the floor. She turns to find older kids looming over her like carved rocks. "We don't like outsiders," a child says, as a foot finds her ribs again and again. After a month of being tortured, she decides to fight back, which wasn't the best of plans. After several warnings, she''s expelled. At first, being kicked out feels like freedom because now she has time to breathe and to scheme.
"I made sure every sniveling little brat got what was coming." A small, involuntary smile flickers across her face as she recalls how carefully she retaliated to ensure nothing could be pinned on her. She feels proud of herself for a beat, for standing up for herself, not letting them push her around. She sinks into the entryway chair as if her legs couldn't support her weight anymore. "I fought them once," she whispers. "But can you do it again?"
A flood of tears trickles down her cheek as the scenarios replay in her mind. Her energy leaks out, leaving her in an exhausted state. "I'm not strong enough to do it again. I'm not," she admits. "Oh, Steven, why did you have to leave me? Why? Why did you leave me to face this alone?" Her voice breaks. "I can't do it anymore," she says. "I can't. I just can't."