“He was a bad man,” Sydney said through her tears. “Mr. Tripe was a very bad man.”
“You think I’ve been hunting you down to get even for that?” Veronica asked. “I just want to shut you up, once and for all. As long as there was a chance you might come back, tell the police about the hotel…” Veronica shook her head, called over to Patty, “Bring me that other gun, would you, love?”
Patty approached.
The gun hung from her right arm. I wondered if Bob had ended up with the Ruger with only one bullet left in it. If so, it was empty now. That would mean at least Patty was not a threat.
But how many bullets did Veronica still have in her weapon?
Patty stopped a few feet away, gun still in her hand.
“You know how this is going to go,” I said to Patty. “If you ever thought there was going to be a chance for us to connect, to have anything, it’s not going to happen. She’s going to kill me. And your sister.”
Sydney said, “What?”
“Just shut up,” Patty said.
“She’s your sister,” I told Sydney.
“Shut up! Shut up!” Patty shouted.
I was still looking at Sydney. “Patty is… Patty’s my daughter.”
Sydney couldn’t find any words.
In the distance, a siren. People, no doubt, had heard the shots.
“Shit,” said Veronica. “We have to get out of here.”
It sounded as though more than one siren was approaching. A cop car, probably an ambulance, too.
“I’m sorry,” Patty whispered. She looked at Syd and me. “I’m sorry. I really really fucked this up. This isn’t how I wanted it to go.”
A solitary tear ran down her left cheek.
Veronica pointed her gun at my head. “We have to run,” she said. “Bye-bye.”
I got ready. I tried to pull myself over Sydney, to somehow protect her.
And then the shot came. Loud.
But it didn’t come from Veronica’s gun.
Then there was another shot.
Bob, evidently, had taken the gun with three bullets.
Veronica’s body was thrown up against the railing. Feebly, she raised her weapon and fired it once at Patty before she slid down to the planks of the covered walkway.
The one shot Veronica managed to get off had caught Patty in the chest. The gun fell from Patty’s hand as she collapsed against the wooden beams, then slumped down into an awkward sitting position.
I lunged for Veronica, grabbed her wrist and slammed it against the railing. But there was no fight in her. The gun went over the side and down into the creek. Veronica didn’t move.
Syd was screaming.
I got my arms around her. “It’s okay, it’s okay, it’s okay,” I said. I kept telling her it was okay, that it was over, that we were going home, that she was going to see her mother, that everything was going to be okay, that the nightmare had come to an end.
Even though the sirens were closing in, suddenly it seemed very quiet.
I kept holding Syd. I wanted to hold her forever, never let her out of my arms again, but we weren’t totally out of the woods yet. People were hurt. Patty. And Bob. Even though I’d only been nicked in the ear, I was feeling very faint.
No doubt a large part of that was emotional. This roller-coaster ride we’d been on for weeks was coming to an end. I felt like I was shutting down.
“Sydney,” I said softly, trying to calm her, “it’s over. You’re coming home. You know that, right?”
I felt her head go up and down.
“We’re going home. We’re going home now.”
“I know,” she whispered. “I know.”
“The police, the ambulance, they’re coming,” I said. “They might see Bob, but they won’t know anyone’s in here.”
Another nod, a sense that she was pulling herself together, at least slightly. “I’ll tell them,” Syd said.
“I’ll stay here with Patty,” I said. “She’s shot pretty bad.”
“You too,” Syd said, looking at the blood running down from my ear.
“It’s not that bad. But… I’m feeling a bit weird.”
Then we both looked at Patty. There was a huge black spot rapidly spreading across her chest.
“Daddy,” Syd said, not able to take her eyes off the blood, her voice shaky. “You said she was my—”
“Hon,” I said. “Go. Now.”
She looked at both of us a moment longer, sniffled, nodded, then started running down to the end of the bridge.
I slid over, put my arm around Patty, pulled her into me, felt the warmth of the blood that was soaking her clothes.
If only I’d known. If only I’d known.
“They’re coming,” I said to her. “Just hold on.”
“I’m sorry,” she said.
I barely made out the words. They came out raspy, bubbly.
“Don’t talk,” I said, trying to comfort her, putting my face up against her cheek, our tears coming together. “Don’t talk.”
“I just wanted you to love me,” Patty whispered.
“I love you,” I said. “I do.”
I stayed and held Patty as she drew her last breaths while my other daughter flagged down the ambulance and the police.