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"Got you," he said as Sheila hurried to help him handcuff Constance. The moment the metal cuffs clicked into place around her wrists, Constance's fight seemed to evaporate, leaving her slumped and defeated on the worn carpet.
Finn turned his attention to Sheila, his eyes round with worry. "Are you alright?" he asked. His weapon remained trained on Constance, who lay sprawled on the floor—bewildered and defeated.
Sheila's heart raced, adrenaline still coursing through her veins. She nodded quickly, trying to catch her breath. "I'm fine," she said, her voice shaking despite her best efforts to remain steady.
Constance's eyes darted between Sheila and Finn, her face contorted with a mixture of anger and confusion. "I was just trying to do the right thing!" she exclaimed, desperation creeping into her voice. "I was doing it all for Clarissa!"
In that moment, Sheila couldn't help but feel a pang of sympathy for Constance, despite everything. She knew the pain of losing someone precious—she had, after all, lost her own dear sister. The difference was, Sheila hadn't taken Natalie's life. She would have done anything to keep Natalie alive, which couldn't be said for Constance.
"Sometimes, the right thing isn't always clear," she said, her gaze unwavering as she looked at the handcuffed woman on the floor. "But causing harm to others is never the answer."
Finn moved closer to Sheila, placing a reassuring hand on her shoulder. "You did good, Sheila," he said quietly.
As they stood there, surrounded by the chaos of their confrontation, Sheila felt a quiet sense of pride amidst the turmoil.
"Thanks, Finn," she replied, her voice steadier now. She glanced down at her bleeding hand, knowing that it would heal in time.
And maybe, just maybe, her other wounds – including the loss of Natalie – would heal in time as well.
CHAPTER TWENTY EIGHT
Sheila winced as Finn wrapped the bandage around her hand, his brow furrowed with concern.
"You're lucky," he said, meeting her eyes. "If the blade had struck your hand an eighth of an inch to the side, it might have severed an artery."
Sheila glanced down at her hand, shuddering at the thought. "I know," she said, relieved. Losing functionality in her hand would have been devastating.
The parking lot outside Riverside Hotel was a chaotic jumble of flashing lights and urgent movement as police officers and paramedics hurried about. Amidst the commotion, Constance Gerring, handcuffed and defeated, was being led to a waiting cruiser, her eyes void of emotion. A surge of satisfaction welled up within Sheila as she watched the woman who had terrorized innocent lives being brought to justice.
"Gotcha," she muttered under her breath, allowing herself a moment to savor the victory. She couldn't help but feel a sense of pride, knowing that Constance would never hurt another person again.
"Did you ever figure out why she did it?" Finn asked, his gaze following Sheila's to Constance.
"Apparently, she believed she was doing them a favor," Sheila said, shaking her head in disbelief. "Like a sick version of mercy."
Finn frowned, considering her words. "Sick, indeed."
They both fell silent.
"Would you want to know?' Sheila said after a few moments.
"Know what?"
"Your future. Is it better to know or be left in the dark?"
"Left in the dark, definitely," Finn replied without hesitation. "If you know what's coming, you're always bracing for impact. But if you're ignorant, you can at least enjoy the good moments without worrying about when they'll end."
Sheila thought about his response. It made sense, but there was one thing that nagged at her—Natalie's death. Sheila would have given anything to know the future then.
But would it have mattered? If she had stopped Natalie, would Natalie have just found another way?
"What are you thinking about?" Finn asked, noticing her far-off expression.
"Just tired," she lied, attempting to smile. "It's been a long day."
"Tell me about it," he agreed, rubbing the back of his neck.
Just then, a figure emerged from the chaos surrounding the hotel. Bailey Jessop's clothes were rumpled and stained, her hair a tangled mess that hung limply around her pale face. But she was alive, standing tall despite the harrowing experience she'd been through—a living testament to the resilience of the human spirit.
