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Ned’s gun.
FIFTY-ONE
AVA
I stand frozen with shock and horror as Marley points the gun at me, her forefinger curled around the trigger. She has gone mad. Primal fear spirals down my spine. But what I fear for most is the life of my baby. My sweet Isa.
Snuggled against my chest, she’s directly in the line of fire. If a bullet shoots through her tiny, frail body and enters my chest, we’re both goners.
“P-put the gun down, Marley,” I stammer.
She smirks. “Don’t worry, Ava. I’d never harm Isa. I love her.” She lowers the gun, aiming it at my knees. “I don’t really want to hurt you, but I will if I have to. With your kneecaps shattered, you won’t get far. So just give me Isa before any blood is shed.”
For a split second, I think about making a run for it or lunging at her, but it’s too risky. She’s a loose cannon. I manage again to find my voice. Given how dry my mouth is, how shaky I feel, it’s stronger than I imagined. It’s almost the voice of reason.
“Marley, why are you doing this?”
She snorts. “Maybe your mother can tell you.”
My mother? I don’t understand. Yes, there’s been animosity between the two of them, but nothing that would lead to this.
Keeping one eye on the gun, I give her a sideways glance. “M-Mother…?”
Still swilling her wine, my mother seems oblivious to what’s happening. I’m not sure if she even heard me.
“She’s so pathetic.” With the gun still pointed at me, Marley singsongs, her voice theatrically loud. “Oh, Mommy dearest, does the name Yzak Milov mean anything to you?”
Yzak Milov. The name vibrates in my head.
It’s the name of the doctor in the article that investigator sent earlier today. The butcher. The Quack of Quail Valley, they called him.
My mother stops with a start. The wine bottle falls from her hand. The glass shatters and the blood-red liquid puddles on the floor. She sobers up in a second. But she’s white as a ghost. Her mouth hangs open, but words don’t come out.
Marley sneers at her. “Perhaps your feeble mind needs some more help. Does the name Marlena Mann mean anything to you?”
My mother’s eyes widen; the corners of her mouth twitch. Then two little words: “It’s you!”
A satisfied, tight-lipped smile stretches across Marley’s face. “That’s right. It’s me. Marlena Mann. The violet-eyed little girl with the long blonde braids who sat with her Baby Reborn doll next to her bereaved mother behind you while your murderous husband was on trial for killing my sister and her baby.”
The gun is suddenly the last thing on my mind. Marley’s words shock me to the core.
“Mother, is what she said true?” My voice rises. “Is it?”
Silence.
“Tell her, Renata Milov,” barks Marley, brandishing the gun.
Renata Milov. Is that my mother’s real name?
“Tell your daughter who her father was!”
Pressing her lips together, my mother glares at me. Her eyes are as hard and cold as stone.
“Yes, Ava. Your father’s real name was Yzak Milov.”
FIFTY-TWO
AVA
