Now she stood there, watched a steel rod impale me through the gut, and left me to die so Cecil could walk free.
I looked at what remained of my father-in-law's body. Barely recognizable.
In that moment, something inside me finally went dark.
...
Gretchen drove Cecil to a small motel tucked away in the mountains.
For three days, she kept every device powered off. Not a single call answered, not a single message checked.
But for reasons she couldn't explain, a gnawing unease had settled into her chest, as though something terrible was waiting just around the corner.
She turned on the television, restless and unable to sit still.
A news report froze her where she stood. The glass of water in her hand slipped and shattered against the floor.
"According to reports, the chain-reaction pileup in a highway tunnel three days ago has resulted in two fatalities and multiple injuries. One of the deceased has been identified by the surname Gilbert. The other, by the surname Frost..."
