Page 74 of The Locked Ward

I’ve held a gun before, but I’ve never stared into the small round eye of a pistol’s muzzle.

“What are you doing?” I gasp.

“Every good Southern woman keeps a gun around just in case,” Honey tells me. “You never know when an intruder is going to come into your home under false pretenses.”

“I’m not—” I start to protest, then fall silent. I gave a false identity to Honey and her butler the last time I came here. They won’t even have to lie about it.

“Did you know North Carolina is a stand-your-ground state?” she asks.

She isn’t posing a question. She’s giving me justification for what she’s about to do.

I feel it build up in me, the dark, bottomless rage that sweeps over me from time to time. If I had a chance of being faster than a bullet, I’d leap through the space between us and rip off Honey’s head.

It’s a struggle to stand still and let her claim control. Adrenaline is coursing through my body—the fight-or-flight response—and I’ve never been one to run. My entire body is straining to attack her.

“You think the senator was fucking my daughter?” The words sound especially coarse coated in Honey’s genteel drawl.

“I don’t care.” I enunciate all three syllables. “All I want is for Georgia to get a fair trial.”

“Michael Dawson is a dear friend of our family. He loved Annabelle, but not like that.”

My eyes dart around the room, gauging time and distance. There’s nothing within reach I can throw at Honey. I can’t duck beneath furniture because she’ll see me. I can’t get through the door before a bullet hits me. If I scramble for my gun, she’ll fire before I can aim at her.

There’s no escape.

“Why are you doing this?” I ask. “You said yourself no one would believe the video.”

“You pushed me too far,” she replies. “You never should’ve come here.”

I should be terrified. But rage is tamping out all my other emotions. Honey threw me away when I was a helpless baby. She kept me from my twin. She made my parents lie to me for my entire life.

Honey feels like the nexus of all evil.

Something is nagging at my subconscious, cutting through the edge of my fury and commanding me to pay attention. My mention of a DNA test for the senator incited Honey. That was the only thing that set her off. Why would she want to kill me over that particular detail?

Honey releases the safety. The clicking sound seems to reverberate between my ears.

My vision tunnels as she lowers the gun another inch, aiming for the center mass of my body. I have no idea if she’s a good shot. I’m less than six feet away from her. Maybe if she misses, I’ll have a chance.

“Want to know a secret?” she whispers, stepping closer to me. She’s not going to miss.

My blood runs cold. She looks deranged. Mascara is smeared beneath one of her eyes, and her lips are thin and hard.

“I’m going to sleep well tonight,” she whispers.

In the instant before Honey pulls the trigger, time slows to a crawl. I inhale the cloying scent of the lilies filling the air. I’m aware of the dark glitter of Honey’s eyes.

And I see her hand steady on the gun.

Her left hand.

The missing puzzle pieces rearrange themselves and slide into place.

“You killed Annabelle!” I manage to shout.

Then something explodes into my side and I’m knocked backward to the floor. I can’t breathe. The pain is like an electric shock.

In the strange, silent numbness that follows, I’m vaguely aware of the door bursting open and a man appearing.

It’s Senator Dawson. His dress shirt is unbuttoned at the top and his hair is rumpled.

“What happened?” he shouts at Honey.

“I did it for you!” she cries. She moves closer to me. I can see the gun rising in her hand again. I start to fumble in the bag still strapped across my body for my own weapon, but my fingers are slow and clumsy.

The senator comes up behind Honey, knocking her gun to the floor and wrapping her in a bear hug. She thrashes for a moment, then sags in his arms.

But this isn’t like Annabelle’s funeral, where he was comforting her. Even in my dazed state, my body suffused with agony, I see his arms tightening.

“You’re hurting me!” she cries.

He looks at me. “Why did you say she killed Annabelle?”

The edges of my vision are receding. Every breath is agony. I’m about to pass out. But I have to tell him what I realized after Honey reacted to my comment about collecting the senator’s DNA from Annabelle’s room.

An investigation would also test samples of Annabelle’s DNA to rule out her hair or body fluids in the room. And those two DNA tests, side by side, would turn up something incendiary.

The senator’s rumpled appearance confirms my suspicion. He probably hurried downstairs straight from Honey’s bed.

“Because she didn’t want anyone to know you were Annabelle’s father,” I gasp.

My words find their mark, true as Honey’s bullet.

The senator’s face turns ashen.

“No, no, it wasn’t like that! I did it for you!

” Honey yells. “Annabelle began to suspect. She took one of your cigar butts and got your saliva tested. The company emailed her the results the night of her birthday. She wanted to confront us together, to tell Stephen. She said she was sick of this family’s lies.

Don’t you see, darling? I only tried to keep her quiet so Stephen wouldn’t know. ”

I start to swim in and out of consciousness, feeling my mind drift into a dreamlike state.

“I didn’t mean it!” Honey is begging now. “It was a horrible accident. But I did it all for you!”

Love can look so many different ways, I think.

It can be reflected in a man walking a baby through the darkness of night to provide comfort to the little being who doesn’t even belong to him yet.

It can mean a mother who looks up every time her daughter comes through the door with a smile so big it’s like someone is delivering a gift.

It can also mean protecting a daughter, like the senator did to Annabelle.

His methods were harsh, but he didn’t interrupt Colby’s night with Annabelle because he wanted her for himself. He did it because he didn’t want Annabelle to date her half-brother.

“You took away the only person I’ve ever loved!” the senator roars.

Honey’s face collapses. His words seem to eviscerate her.

“You love me !” she cries. “We still have each other!”

His silence provides his answer.

Annabelle was the only person the senator loved, but it seems as if the senator was the only one Honey loved. She killed her own daughter in a fit of rage to preserve her affair and reputation.

The last thing I see is the senator violently shaking Honey, her head whipping back and forth, as he screams obscenities at her.

Then I slip out of consciousness.