Chapter 217
Chapter 217:
“Do they know?” Anson’s voice was slurred, thick with alcohol and malice.
“Know what p>
“That you killed them,” he said.
A jolt — cold and horribly familiar — shot through Eliza. Her knees went weak. It was a conditioned response, a phantom pain born from a decade of his psychological warfare. “What are you talking about p>
“If you hadn’t asked for that toy… if you hadn’t delayed them at the store… they wouldn’t have been on that stretch of road when the car went off the cliff.” His voice was a snake in her ear. It was a lie — a specific, carefully crafted lie he used to tell her when she was fourteen, designed to make her cry, to make her cling to him for absolution. “It was the timing, Eliza,” he whispered. “Your fault. Just like the guesthouse fire was your fault. You destroy everything around you. And I’m the only one who was ever there to pull you out p>
𝖱o𝗆𝖺𝗻𝗰е 𝘢n𝘥 𝗉𝘢ѕ𝘀i𝘰𝗇 𝘰ո
Eliza trembled — but this time, something new rose through the fear. Cold, hard certainty. The ghost story had lost its power.
Dallas saw the color drain from her face. He didn’t ask questions. He took the phone from her hand.
“That lie doesn’t work anymore, Anson,” Eliza said, her voice unsteady but clear enough for the microphone to catch. “I know who cut the brakes. I know it was Buck. Your stories are over p>
“Listen to me, you piece of trash,” Dallas growled into the receiver, his voice terrifyingly low. “If you ever call her again, I will bury you in the plot next to them. Do you understand me p>
He didn’t wait for an answer. He hung up and closed his fist around the phone. The screen cracked with a sickening snap.
“He’s lying,” Dallas said, taking hold of Eliza’s shoulders. “It was Buck. He cut the lines. That is physics. That is fact. You did not kill them p>
Eliza nodded. A single tear escaped — not grief, but rage. “I know. I know. But God, he knows exactly where to cut p>
In the parking lot, Anson lowered his binoculars. He had seen her face — not broken with grief, but twisted in anger. He had seen Dallas holding her.
Eliza was still shaking, adrenaline and fury mixing in her blood.
“For years,” she stammered, staring at the headstone, “he made me believe I was responsible. That my childish whim was their death sentence p>
“Stop,” Dallas said firmly. “Buck cut the lines. Evil isn’t your fault p>
An old man in denim overalls approached, dragging a rake behind him. He stopped when he saw Eliza and squinted against the sun.
“Miss Solomon? Is that you p>
Eliza wiped her eyes. “Yes, Mr. Henderson p>
He was the groundskeeper. She hadn’t seen him in years.
“Haven’t seen you in a long time,” he said, leaning on his rake. “But your brother — he never misses a week p>
Eliza frowned. “My… brother p>
“The young man. Mr. Hyde.” Henderson nodded toward the grave. “Comes every Sunday. Rain or shine. Ten years running p>