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The house is too quiet.
Jeremy’s fingers twitch around his car keys as he steps inside. The door shuts behind him with a slow creak. He notices the hallway light is off. The same hallway where Verity used to leave post-its on the wall for Crew.
"Have a good day."
"Dad will pick you up."
That was before the car “accident.” Before he loosened the brakes.
He rounds the corner into the living room- and freezes.
His youngest son is tied to a chair. Tightly. Ankles duct-taped. Arms roped. A dish towel stuffed in his mouth. The boy is sobbing, eyes wide, terrified, pleading.
And then- he hears the footsteps.
From the kitchen doorway steps
Crew.
No longer a boy. Not anymore.
He’s taller now. His shoulders lean, but stiff. His eyes unblinking. Cold.
In his right hand: the letter opener from Verity’s old desk.
Long. Thin. Elegant.
A murder weapon disguised as stationery.
“What are you doing?” Jeremy rasps.
“I’m giving you a taste,” Crew says. “Of what you gave me.”
Jeremy shakes his head, stepping forward, “Crew, what the hell is going on?”
“You always made sure everything looked clean. Neat. Polished.” He lifts the dagger. “But you couldn’t clean the blood off her pillow, could you?”
Jeremy freezes.
Crew smiles. Just faintly.
“You think I didn’t hear the pillowcase crinkle under your fingers that night? That I didn’t hear the muffled screams?”
Jeremy’s chest tightens. “That… that was years ago-”
“I was a kid. Not deaf.”
He steps forward.
“You told everyone she died peacefully in her sleep. But I remember how she looked in that hospital bed. Bruises down her neck. The shape of your fingers still blooming under her jaw.”
Jeremy backs up.
“She was dangerous, Crew. She tried to kill Harper.”
“And you used that manuscript as your excuse.” Crew’s eyes gleam now. “You found it the day Mom crashed the car. You made sure her brakes failed. You watched her suffer. Then when that wasn’t enough, you smothered her.”
“She wanted to die-”
“That’s not what she told me.”
Silence.
Jeremy’s jaw clenches.
“She told you?” he whispers.
Crew nods.
“Every day. After you made her a vegetable in that crash. She told me, blinking, one letter at a time, the night before you finished her off.”
Jeremy takes another step- closer to his son. His mistake.
“Crew, listen to me-"
Too late.
The blade slams into Jeremy’s gut. A sharp, wet snap.
He gasps. Blood spills from his lips. His knees buckle.
Crew holds him up. He leans close, his voice calm.
“She begged you to let her live. And when she died, you told me it was better this way.”
Jeremy gurgles, trying to breathe.
“Well, now I’m better too, Dad.”
Jeremy collapses. Convulsing. Eyes wide. Dying.
And then- the front door opens.
Lowen walks in, clutching groceries. She sees Jeremy on the floor, twitching. Crew standing over him. Her child still tied to a chair.
The bag drops.
“What-what did you do?!”
Crew turns to her. Calm. Serene. Bloody.
“He died in his sleep. Just like Mom.”
Lowen screams. She runs to the boy, but Crew steps in front of her.
“You gave him the knife,” he says softly. “You handed Dad the fantasy and told him it was real. You made sure he read it. You watched him sink. Then you climbed into his bed while Mom was still warm in her grave.”
“Crew, I-”
He slams her into the wall. One hand on her throat.
“You wanted to be her so badly. Let’s see how close you can get.”
She claws at him, but he’s stronger now. Fueled by memory. By fire. By Verity.
He jams his fingers into her mouth, deep. Choking her. Gagging her. Just like Verity described in the manuscript.
“You liked that manuscript. You enjoyed it. And now, you’ll live it.”
She chokes. Gurgles.
Crew whispers into her ear as her legs start to go limp.
“You’re dying in your sleep, Lowen. Just like she did.”
He watches the light fade from her eyes.
Her son watches too.