Page 25 of Her Last Promise (Rachel Gift #19)

The Christmas lights cast an unsettling glow across Nathan Mitchell's neighborhood, transforming what should have been a scene of seasonal cheer into something almost grotesque. Multi-colored strands outlined rooflines and windows, their cheerful blinking now seeming more like desperate signals for help—the same decorations Rachel had seen earlier but now shining in all their glory in the night. Lights glowed and twinkled, inflatable snowmen bobbed in the December wind, their perpetual grins taking on a sinister quality. Rachel found it hard to look at them.

Novak pulled the car to a stop and took a deep breath. The contrast between the festive displays and their grim purpose here seemed to bother him just as much as it was getting under Rachel’s skin. A mechanical Santa on someone's lawn raised its arm in an endless wave, making a quiet grinding sound that carried across the still evening air. The sound reminded her uncomfortably of hospital machinery—ventilators and heart monitors.

“You think Nathan’s home yet?” Rachel asked as they approached the porch.

Novak checked his watch. “It’s five-after-eight. I’d say he probably drug out his time at the hospital with his mother after we released him. I doubt he’s home yet.”

Rachel nodded, her eyes drawn to a particularly elaborate display across the street—a full nativity scene where the floodlights created harsh shadows that made the figures look more like specters than saints. The baby Jesus in his manger seemed to be reaching out with grasping hands, while Mary's peaceful face appeared twisted in anguish. "Trying to make up for lost time with his mother. Can't blame him after we kept him cooped up in interrogation all day."

Their footsteps crunching on the thin layer of frost that had formed on the concrete of the sidewalk. Icicle lights dangled from the eaves of Nathan's house, their cold white light creating prison-bar shadows across the front door. Rachel didn’t recall noticing them earlier in the day. The porch light was on, but the rest of the house was dark save for a warm glow emanating from what Rachel assumed was the living room window. When Rachel pressed the doorbell, she could hear the muffled chimes echo through the house.

Slow, hesitant footsteps approached, and Rachel could hear the subtle sounds of someone checking through the window to their right. The door then opened just a crack at first, and Tanya Beswick's face appeared in the narrow gap. Recognition flickered across her features, and she pulled the door wider, though her expression remained guarded. She was still wearing the same clothes from earlier, but they looked more rumpled now. She did her best to greet them with a smile, but it came off as forced.

"Agent Gift? Agent Novak?" Confusion colored her voice, mixing with exhaustion and a hint of fear. "I thought... I mean, you already questioned Nathan today, right? Did you not find him at the hospital?" She glanced past them into the night, as if expecting to see her nephew-in-law being led up in handcuffs.

Rachel kept her voice gentle, aware of how their presence must seem like another assault on an already battered family. And she also knew they had no time to waste, so she skipped over all of the explanations and got straight to the point. "Mrs. Beswick, we need to talk. It's about Michael."

The name hung in the air between them like frost. Tanya's hand tightened on the door frame, her knuckles whitening.

"Michael?" Tanya's voice quavered. "But he's in France. He has nothing to do with—" She stopped, something clicking into place behind her eyes. Rachel could almost see the moments of doubt, the small inconsistencies that might have nagged at Tanya's subconscious, suddenly aligning into a terrible new picture.

Rachel reached into her coat pocket and withdrew her phone. The security footage still-frame she'd queued up showed Michael’s face just before attacking Jessica Martinez in the hospital parking garage. The image was grainy but clear enough—a man moving with purpose, his stance familiar to anyone who knew him. She held it out to Tanya.

"Is this him? Is this Michael?"

Tanya's face crumpled as she studied the image, years of family history rewriting themselves in her mind. The slight shake of her head wasn't a denial—it was resignation, acknowledgment. The truth she'd perhaps known deep down but hadn't wanted to face. Her hand trembled as she reached out to steady herself against the doorframe, and Rachel instinctively stepped forward to support her.

"I swear," she whispered, her voice cracking like thin ice, "I had no idea. And Nathan... oh God, Nathan couldn't have known either." Her eyes snapped up to meet Rachel's, sudden fear replacing the shock. "You're saying he's... killing people?"

“It seems that way,” Novak said.

“I don’t…I just…” She started to cry softly and backed into the house. She gave a sad little half-gesture for Rachel and Novak to follow her inside. “You’re sure?”

The question seemed to echo in the entryway, bouncing off the walls. Rachel chose her words carefully, watching as each one landed like a physical blow. "We're not entirely sure that's been his intention. But people have died, yes." She paused, allowing Tanya a moment to process this. The older woman's face had gone pale, and she swayed slightly where she stood. They were now in the living room, and Tanya practically collapsed into an armchair.

"What we need right now is to find him,” Rachel said. “Is there anywhere you can think of… someplace that might mean something to him that he may be hiding away? Somewhere isolated, maybe?”

Novak stepped forward, his presence steady and reassuring. "It could be anywhere from their past, Mrs. Beswick. Any place that might have meant something to Michael or Nathan."

Tanya shook her head, wrapping her arms around herself as if warding off a chill. "I... I don't know," Tanya managed, her voice barely above a whisper. "He left for Paris right after college. Ended up in Avignon when he got married. He's barely been back since then…only twice that I know of, and one of those moments was when Marjorie was first put into the hospital." She glanced at a family photo on the wall, showing what must have been Michael's wedding day. "How could I not have seen this coming? How could none of us have known?"

"What about their childhood?" Rachel pressed, watching Tanya's face carefully. "Any places that might have been significant to them growing up?"

A flash of something—a memory, perhaps—crossed Tanya's face, but it faded into sadness. "Nothing I can think of. They lived in the same house until they both graduated and moved out. Marjorie—their mother—she moved after that, thank goodness." Her voice caught on her sister-in-law's name. "The old neighborhood..." She shuddered slightly. "It went downhill fast. Last time Marjorie mentioned it, she said half the houses on their old block were condemned."

Rachel felt a familiar spark of intuition, the kind that had solved cases before. If Michael was obsessed enough with his mother's case to kill for her, maybe he'd returned to where it all began—the house where she'd raised him and Nathan. A place where no one would think to look, in a neighborhood people avoided.

“Was it here in the city?” Novak asked.

“Yes.”

"Do you remember the address?" Rachel asked, trying to keep the urgency from her voice.

Tanya's brow furrowed. "I went there a few times, but I can't... I'm sorry, I just can't remember the exact address." Her hands fluttered helplessly, as if trying to grasp at memories that kept slipping away. "Everything's just... it's all jumbled up now. Michael... I just can't believe..."

Novak was already pulling out his phone. "No worries, Mrs. Beswick," he said, his tone reassuring as he began dialing. "I can get it." He stepped away, speaking quietly into his phone as he contacted the bureau.

Rachel turned back to Tanya, who remained in the armchair, looking lost, tears gathering in her eyes. The Christmas lights from the porch cast colored shadows across her face, making her tears seem almost iridescent. "Thank you for your help," Rachel said softly. "We'll do everything we can to resolve this with minimal harm to everyone involved."

But even as she spoke the words, Rachel knew they might be a promise she couldn't keep. As she and Novak walked back to their car, Tanya made her way to the doorway again, a solitary figure framed by Christmas lights that no longer seemed capable of pushing back the darkness. Rachel couldn't help but think of how many families this case had already torn apart and how many more might suffer before it was over.

The neighborhood's cheerful holiday displays felt even more discordant now. Rachel chose to ignore them and the way it all made her feel. She was already busy trying to plan out their next moves, wondering if they were finally on the right track—and more importantly, if they still had time to save the lives that hung in the balance.

Novak ended his call as they reached the car. "They're pulling the address now," he said, his breath visible in the cold air. "Should have it in a few minutes."

Rachel nodded, her hand resting on the car door handle. She cast one last glance at Tanya's silhouette in the doorway. When they got into the car, Novak’s phone buzzed at him. They both looked at the screen as she pulled it out. They had the address…the childhood home of Nathan and Michael Mitchell.

They took up their usual positions, and Novak keyed the engine to life. As they drove away, the Christmas displays in their rearview mirror seemed to blur together into a carnival of forced cheer, each blinking light like little fallen stars.

And like the darkness between those blinking holiday lights, time was running out.