Her Deadly End: A gripping crime thriller with a twist

There’s someone in my room.

A creepy dread crawled through her body.

Where’s my gun? 

Eveline Hart stared into the darkness, her heart thumping hard. 

It was still dark outside. The backlit clock on the bedroom wall said it was five thirty in the morning. The windows were shut, and condensation had formed ghostly patterns on the glass.

A rustle in the far corner of the room made her freeze. 

She wanted to raise her head, but her body had turned to lead. It was like someone had drugged her. 

Am I hallucinating? Did I forget my pills last night? Didn’t the doctor say it was going to be rough the first night back? 

The rustle came again. 

Eveline tried to cry out, but her throat constricted. 

A sliver of pale light from the waning moon streamed through her lace curtains. Her eyes widened as she spotted the shadow in the murky corner by her antique armoire. 

The shadow moved. 

She glimpsed his face. It had been painted in combat colours. The moonlight fell on a gloved hand. It glinted on the sharp edge of a knife. 

Eveline gasped in horror. 

How did he get in?

She wanted to scream for help, but no one would hear her. She lived alone in a large house at the end of a cul-de-sac in a quiet neighbourhood. 

A neighbourhood that was supposed to be safe. 

Her phone was on her bed stand and her handgun was in her car. She lay petrified like a comatose patient, able to hear everything but a prisoner in her body. 

Is this how I will die? Raped and murdered in my own bed?

The silhouette moved out of the shadows.

“Where are they?” said a deep voice. 

Eveline jerked up with a start. 

His voice was muffled, but she recognized it. 

So, you came back. 

Her stomach lurched. 

She now knew why he had painted his face. It gave him sufficient camouflage when he broke into her home, but without a mask, he was making sure she knew who he was. 

She knew him all right. 

He stepped up to the edge of the bed, the knife pointing at her throat. 

“Did you hear me?” he snarled. “You know why I’m here.”

Eveline opened her mouth, but no sound came out. He pushed the knife into her neck, drawing a trickle of blood. Every fibre in her body trembled. 

“Please don’t do this,” she whispered. “Please.”

He laughed a dry, sardonic laugh—one of a man who knew he held all the cards. 

“How could you…?” Eveline’s voice cracked. 

“I know you took them!” he thundered. “Show me where they are!” 

His bellow almost deafened her.

The roar reminded her of her past. A past filled with screaming, hitting, hurting, fighting. Fighting to keep her two sons safe. Fighting to live another day. 

She looked into his eyes. 

How could you do this to me? Of all people? After all these years?

A coil of fury swirled up her spine, giving her strength and hardening her resolve.

His dark eyes bored into hers. They were like laser beams burning into her heart, but she had made her decision. 

She raised her head and steeled herself. “You’ll get nothing from me.” 

The backhanded blow stung. Eveline fell back on her pillow in shock. The throbbing pain pulsated on her cheek. 

“You witch!” 

He grabbed her by the hair and pulled her out from under the covers. 

She tried to push him off, but he was stronger than an ox. Just like his father had been.

He thrust the knife into the soft spot in the middle of her throat. She clasped her hands around his and pulled, but his grip tightened even more. 

She gasped for air. 

“Get up.” 

He picked her frail body up by the throat like a puppet master controlling a marionette. He must have known she had just come home from chemotherapy. He must have known she would be too weak to fight. 

He shoved her across the bedroom, holding the knife to her neck, one hand crushing her spindly arm so tightly she was sure he’d snap it in two. 

He pulled her down the marble staircase. She stumbled, barely registering the pain of banging into the wooden banister.

He dragged her across the living room and threw her into her favourite Empress chair. She spotted the rope lying on the floor.  

He came prepared. 

Within seconds, he tied her to the chair. Then he leaned in, his angry eyes lit like volcano fire, bubbling and ready to explode.

Eveline was too exhausted to speak, but she knew her time was up.  

“If you don’t tell me where they are,” he growled, his mouth inches from hers, “I’ll burn this house down with you in it.”

Terror rose inside of her. But it was mixed with a twist of sorrow. She stared back at his soulless eyes, catching a sob in her throat. 

You aren’t the boy I raised. 

Her eyes filled with tears. She closed them as if that would help her unsee the grown man standing in front of her.

You’ve become your father’s son.  

To be continued ….