She spent precisely fifteen seconds panicking. And then she spun around and began kicking at the pipe, her heavy boots making little difference. She pulled at her wrist, trying to twist it, but her bones were too big and she couldn’t slip out of the cuff. She could feel the heat from the fire, the flames getting closer, and she kicked harder, hard enough to bend the pipe, not hard enough to break it, and she kicked again, screaming with rage and frustration, and again.

She heard his voice from a distance, and for a moment she thought she was imagining things. Stephen Henry, playing to the third balcony, his voice coming through the gathering smoke, calling for David.

She had no idea whether she could trust him or not, and she had even less time to think about it. “Stephen Henry!” she screamed. “Get me out of here!”

He emerged from the smoke, walking, no, running, straight toward her, and she half expected him to be bringing a merciful death. Instead he started yanking at the pipe that held her prisoner, and she felt it begin to give with their combined strength.

A moment later it pulled free from the framing, and she scrambled to her feet, pulling the ring of the cuffs off the end of it. “He’s got Sophie,” she said in a strangled voice. “He’s going to kill her. And you knew it.”

He shook his head, his face old and broken. “I didn’t. I didn’t want to. Where are they? Where’s Caleb?”

“He’s gone after them.”

“My poor wounded boy,” Stephen Henry began to intone, and Rachel shoved him aside, too panicked to slap him.

“Fuck your wounded boy. I’m going to save my daughter.”

They barely made it down the rickety front steps as the flames followed, eating the water-soaked wood as if it were dry kindling. It was late afternoon—what little sun there was had already begun to set, and the shadowy darkness was all around.

“He was heading up to the falls,” Rachel said. “I don’t know how to get there.”

“I do,” Stephen Henry said, charging ahead of her, leaving her to follow in his wake.

She had no choice but to run after him. For all she knew he was simply leading her to her death—he’d already lied for and protected his murderous son past all reasonable limits, and there was no guarantee that he was finally ready to stop. He’d just saved her life, but she’d be a fool to trust anyone. It didn’t matter. She’d only been on this trail once, following behind Caleb, and she couldn’t afford to waste even a moment.

“You move fast for a cripple,” she said sharply, catching up with him.

He didn’t even bother to glance at her. He was out of breath, moving fast, and she could barely keep up with him. All she could do was keep her head down and offer up a silent litany of prayer, of bargains, of mindless panic. Don’t let him hurt her. Don’t let him touch her. Let Caleb get there in time.

The sound of the water grew louder, drowning out even her labored breathing. She almost thought she could hear voices, and she tried to push past Stephen Henry, but he shoved her out of the way, bursting through the clearing ahead of her.

And then he was falling back, against her, before she even heard the shot, and she collapsed under his weight, trapped for a moment as she saw David dragging a now-struggling Sophie toward the falls. Rachel shoved the old man off her, hearing his grunt as he landed in the mud, and she struggled past him into the clearing, slipping in the mud as she scrambled toward them.

David had the gun in his hand, pressing it against Sophie once more, and Caleb was a few feet away, held at bay by the threat. “Don’t come any closer, Rachel,” David said, his eyes glinting.

“Please, David,” she sobbed. “Let her go. It’s gone too far—you can’t get away with it. You can kill all of us, but no one will believe you.”

She half expected to hear him laugh maniacally, but he simply looked at her, his tie perfect, his blond hair slightly mussed. “They’ll believe me.

They always do.”

“You can’t,” she cried. “I won’t let you.”

At that moment Sophie moved, reaching up, her fingernails raking across his face so hard the blood spurted, and for a second he let go of her, screaming in pain.

It was enough. Rachel charged at him, slamming her body into his, and he went over the edge, toward the churning waters.

At the last minute he reached out and caught her ankle, and she followed him, hurtling downward, knowing she was going to die, knowing that Sophie would live, when an iron hand grabbed her wrist, catching her. She looked up to see Caleb, holding on to her with his last bit of strength. She looked below to see David swinging beneath her, still clinging to her ankle.

“Let go of her, David!” he shouted.

Everything suddenly seemed to move very slowly. She looked up, could see Caleb’s free arm wrapped around a tree branch for support, support that wouldn’t last long with both their weights pulling against him. Beneath her David thrashed, his hand burning around her ankle and he flailed.

“You love me, Rachel,” he shouted at her over the roar of the water. “You always have. Let go and come with me.”

She stared down at him for a long, raging moment. “Fuck…you,” she screamed, and slammed her heavy booted foot into his face. Once, twice.

With the third kick his fingers let go, and he fell, silently, spinning with the gracefulness of a diver until he disappeared into the roaring falls.

Caleb pulled her up, hoisting her onto the muddy ground, and she pushed away from him, scrambling across the dirt, breathless, until she was able to reach Sophie and pull her into her arms, sobbing. In the distance she could hear the sirens, and the flames from the burning building climbed high into the rainy sky. She buried her face in Sophie’s hair and closed her eyes, letting go for the first time in days.

They were safe.

David was dead.

It was going to be all right.