Army Staff Sergeant Daniel Montoya and his wife, Esmerelda, had two beautiful girls they adored more than life itself. Jannie, two, was the youngest and a precocious child full of life and laughter much like her mother. At six, Ariel was the steady Eddie, a severe child, focused, and a daddy’s girl through and through. The children meant everything to Daniel and Esmerelda. Their every waking moment was occupied with thoughts of how to create a secure future for the girls.

As happens far too often, Sergeant Montoya received orders to report with his unit to a distant land of constant strife. His third rotation. The couple was heartbroken at the news. The Army had assured Sergeant Montoya that stateside duty was his reward for selfless service. After a year at home, both he and Esmerelda had almost believed it. But, the nation called, military families always answer.

The family did everything together over the next few weeks. Even at night. It had been a tradition that when in the days and weeks before David was to deploy, the girls all crowded in bed with their mother and father, and always with the promise of see you first thing in the morning. The only exception being David and Esmerelda’s last night together. That night was always reserved say their farewell as loving husbands and wives do when they face the very real possibility that it could be their last moments together. That night was tougher than most. David was melancholy.

“If I don’t make it back — ”

“Don’t,” Esmerelda interrupted with a finger to his lips, “You will come back to us.”

David tightened his embrace of her. The scent of her made his heart skip.

“But, if for some reason I don’t, promise me you will take care of our little girls forever.”

Worried now, Esmerelda said, “Why would you say that? You’ve never asked me before.”

“Promise me. I need to hear it.”

Esmerelda took David’s face in her hands, kissed him deeply. “I promise.”

For the rest of the night until a half hour before it was time to wake the girls to say goodbye, David and Esmerelda made love as though they might never see each other again.

Six weeks after David deployed, Esmerelda was late.

After she dropped the girls off to school and daycare, Esmerelda brought home a home pregnancy test. It was a precaution really, a verification that the impossible could not happen. She and David had agreed to have her tubes tied after Jannie’s birth. It had been a difficult delivery, and both had nearly perished on the table. No one had wanted to go through the trauma again. But, as luck would have it, the indicator turned blue. Esmerelda’s heart beat faster than the flutter of a hummingbird’s wings. She crumpled onto the bathroom tile and cried tears of confusion, fear, and yes, joy. When she rose again, she was certain of two things. David would want the baby as much as she, and he had to know as soon as possible. Past experience had taught her that modern technology could not always be relied upon to reach her husband when he was deployed so, as she and David had agreed, she sat and wrote the news in a letter.

Two months went by, then four and Esmerelda’s multiple attempts to contact David went unanswered. All the while their child grew inside her. Finally, after nearly eight months of worry, a woman and a man arrived at her door one sunny morning, the woman, in Army dress blue, and the man was dressed in black. Esmerelda knew the terrible news as soon as she saw them walk up the concrete path to the house, slow and somber. She let them in anyway. She accepted a stack of unopened letters she had mailed to David. More sorrow reared its ugly head. Something was wrong with the baby.

Esmerelda’s doctors brought in specialists to explain in great detail the science of it all. Her hospital room overflowed white lab coats. Their words barely penetrated her grief. When the doctors completed their forensic explanations, she understood one simple truth. There was a greater than fifty-fifty chance for both her and the baby survive childbirth. The doctors stared at their hands, agreed that her assessment was correct, and filed out of her room. Once again, Esmerelda found herself alone.

Word spread throughout the hospital of Esmerelda’s plight. Soon her story was the talk of the community. The local television station did a spot on her and the children: “War Hero’s Wife Faces Impossible Decision.” That got the attention of a religious zealot and ambitious state representative who took it upon herself to call a press conference where she pronounced her unyielding support for life and her plan to introduce legislation to protect Esmerelda’s baby from Liberals who hate the unborn. She flooded her Facebook page with photos and doctored videos of bloody fetuses and torn infant limbs. It was a fundraising bonanza. Of course, the press conference and Esmerelda’s story went viral on the internet. The world now knew her pain.

Special interest groups on both sides of the debate sounded off. One side staking a position that all medical decisions were hers and hers alone. The other side proclaimed themselves the guardian of the unborn, and that human life begins at conception with legal rights. They hired an attorney to represent the fetus. Groups picketed up and down the sidewalk of her home where her little girls stared out the window in amazement. They thought it was a paradeUnsolicited phone calls filled her message box. Hate mail overflowed her mailbox to the point the local post office decided to hold all but her bills at their location. The stress was so great that soon she found herself in the hospital restricted to bed rest. She wasn’t there a day before the hospital stationed an armed guard outside her door. The debate raged on with only one important step overlooked. No one had bothered to ask Esmerelda what she wanted. Until late one night, a kindly nurse entered her room to administer her meds.

“This must all be overwhelming for you,” the nurse said when she was done with her duties.

“I’ve had to send my girls to live with friends. I haven’t made arrangements for my husband’s funeral. And now, all this . . .” Esmerelda could barely hold back her tears.

The nurse sat in a chair near the bed. “If you were to have the child, and you don’t survive, isn’t there anyone who can take care of all three of your children?”

“My husband and I were only children. Both our parents passed away years ago, and any Aunts or uncles are elderly or in poor health,” Esmerelda said. “I cannot bear the thought of foster home for my girls. David would never forgive me.”

The nurse stood, walked to the door and turned. “If you kill this baby, you’ll burn in hell for eternity.”

Esmerelda did not hear the door close above her screams.

The hospital staff searched diligently for the nurse who so upset Esmerelda, but there was one problem, the description she gave did not match any nurse on duty that night or anyone on the hospital’s payroll. From that night on, the guards had to verify the identity of everyone entering her room.But, the damage was done. Two days later, a story broke across the news that Esmerelda had decided to abort. It was just the red meat issue the conservative governor of the state needed to motivate his base in the upcoming election.

He was ten points down and taking fire from both his right and left flanks. The people needed a cause to rally around to distract from his failing policies. So, he intervened on behalf of her unborn child. He, along with the State Representative who first politicized Esmerelda’s dilemma, drafted a bill on behalf of Baby Doe to stop any attempts to abort for any reason before the twenty-week deadline already in place. The bill passed by a hair in an over-night emergency session. The ACLU filed suit to stop the enforcement of the law, and a court agreed. The governor focused his aim on Liberals and judicial activists at every stump speech across the state. He wrapped himself in the flag and waved a bible at every detractor. Fundraising emails on both sides of the issue flooded inboxes. Millions came in. Esmerelda watched it all unfold on television.

A thousand miles away, Barton Simms, a wealthy retiree who had made his fortune in oil and gas and then parlayed that fortune into real estate, watched all of it with great intensity. He had been married once, long ago, until a tragic car accident took the love of his life. Childless and a widower, he poured himself into his work and his faith. A devout Christian, he read the bible daily and attended services twice a week. As he watched the treatment of Esmerelda and learned more of how she’d come to be in such a desperate state, his heart wept. Surely, there must have been something a man in his position could do. He prayed all night, and when the sun came up, he had his answer.

Over his morning tea, Barton penned a letter to Esmerelda. He read over it twice ensuring that every word relayed exactly to message he wanted her to receive. No misunderstanding. When he was satisfied, he placed a pot of water to boil, drowned an egg in the pot, and placed a phone call while he waited for his breakfast.

Forty-eight hours later, Esmerelda awoke to find an envelope on her blanket. There was nothing particularly unique about it, just a plain, sealed, white envelope. The kind she’d used many times to write to David. She used the nail of her index finger to slice open the seal and removed the sheet of paper inside. She smiled. The paper had a torn, perforated edge as though it had been carefully ripped from a spiral notebook. Her first thought was that it was a note from the girls, but she quickly changed her mind when she saw the fine, delicately formed, cursive script in ink on the page. She read:

Dear Mrs. Montoya,

We have not had the pleasure of meeting. I hope my letter is not an intrusion. I wish to begin by saying how sorry I was to learn of the loss of your husband. You, your husband, your family have given too much for this country. I feel ashamed that all I can say is thank you for your service.

I am also deeply saddened to see how badly treated you have been. You have had to endure so much. My heart cries to think of it. I am an old man, you see, a widower, unblessed with children of my own. I can only imagine the impossible nature of the decision you must make.

That is why I am writing you.

I believe I can help ease your decision. I know how that must sound, but it’s true. I know each day the decision you must make gets harder, so let me get to the point. I am a wealthy man. My modesty makes that an uncomfortable statement to make, but it’s a fact. To explain how I can assist you, I must see you in person. If you agree, all you have to do is the following.

Beginning tomorrow morning, whenever anyone enters your room and asks you how you are feeling today, answer yes. If you wish not to see me, answer no. Do this for twenty-four hours. Undoubtedly, you will encounter some strange reactions. Rest assured no will think too long or hard on the response. If you choose yes, I will be by your bedside when you wake the following morning. If you choose no, you shall never hear from me again, but you will be in my prayers.

Sincerely,

Barton Simms

Esmerelda turned the page over in search of an address or phone number and found only blank space. She checked the envelope again, nothing. She read the letter again, and then a third time. When she was through, for a reason she didn’t understand herself, she returned the letter to the envelope and slipped it beneath her pillow. More confused than ever, the heart monitor near her bed changed from the slow, steady pulse, to a rapid, staccato. Her breathing shallowed, sweat formed on her brow. The door to her room flew open. Two nurses rushed to her side. Words formed on their lips, but Esmerelda couldn’t make them out. One nurse moved to the side her bed and fiddled with the Intravenous bag hanging there, and Esmerelda faded off into slumber.

She dreamed of David. He was in the chair beside her bed. His desert uniform was ripped to shreds, bloody, still smoldering. His face, well, half his face was gone. A frightening sight to be sure, but it was David. She had never been afraid of him.

“I don’t have much time,” he said.

“I’m afraid,” Esmerelda said, “I don’t know what’s right.”

“A bad man is coming.”

“The man in the letter? But, I haven’t said yes.”

“He will come.”

“What about the baby?”

“Our girls need you. That’s all that matters.”

For the first time in a long time, Esmerelda awoke with a light heart. The girls surprised her with a visit. She hadn’t seen them in days.

“Daddy came to see me last night,” Jannie said between sips of hospital juice.

“Me, too,” Ariel added.

Just then, Esmerelda’s doctor walked in. “How are we feeling today?”

Esmerelda thought for a moment and said, “No.”

Her doctor, accustomed to asking that particular question a hundred times a day had grown immune to the answer and didn’t notice at all. She went about her checks and left in less than five minutes. Same thing with the nurses and orderlies throughout the day and always, Esmerelda answered no. She never got more than a quizzical glance. By the time the sun faded in the western sky, and the girls had long gone, and the nurse visits had slowed to its night routine, a thing happened that had never happened before. The door to her room opened, and the guard stationed outside stuck his head in and smiled.

“How are we feeling today?” he said. By now, Esmerelda had grown strong in her conviction. She answered in a clear, powerful voice. “That is a shame,” the officer said and slowly closed the door behind him.

Five minutes later, Esmerelda turned off the lights and fell fast asleep.

The following morning Esmeralda met with the physician in charge of her case. Decision day had arrived. To wait any longer only increased the danger. The ACLU had gotten a judge to stay any attempt to impede her decision. She would have until the morning, or it was out of her hands. Time had run out.

A visitor arrived that night while Esmerelda napped. A tall man, dapper in an expensive tailored suit. He often referred to himself as old but was only sixty-five with graying hair at his temples below his hat. He sat with a box of chocolates in his lap and waited to Esmerelda to sense his presence and wake. He didn’t have to wait long.

“You’re him,” she said.

“I know I said I wouldn’t come, but I remembered you haven’t heard my proposition.”

“It doesn’t matter.”

He raised his hand patiently. “Everyone says no until they hear my offers. As I mentioned in my letter, I am a very wealthy man despite the fact that few know my name. I am not recognized on the streets. That is by design. My wealth is an embarrassment at times. How does one work the word billionaire into a conversation without sounding braggadocios? I have been blessed, it is true, but a great sorrow can accompany blessings. I have a frail heart. I’ve already told you I am without a wife or children, and frankly, I have grown accustomed to living alone — for now, but I am willing to alter my life for the greater good. I offer your family this: I will make your daughters my own, with all the advantages that come with wealth — the best of everything. Upon my death, they will inherit all of it.”

Esmerelda, shocked, could only think of one thing to ask, “Why?”

He shrugged, said, “I am a true believer.”

“In what?”

“In the righteous hand of God. So, I am here to ease your worry.”

Esmerelda sat up. “Believe me, if it were so simple —

“This will sound harsh, but your life is not important. My offer extends to the unborn.”

After weeks of unbelievably shocks to her senses over a very short time span, Esmerelda found herself confronted by the most shocking of all.

She screamed. “Guard!”

No guard answered her cry. Barton Simms stood slowly, adjusted his hat, placed the box of candy on the bed at Esmerelda’s feet, and walked out without another word. And once again, no one saw or heard a thing.

The hospital personnel arrived in the morning with papers for Esmerelda to sign: one to abort, the other a consent to hold the hospital harmless if the delivery resulted in death for her, the baby, or both. Esmerelda, shaken by Barton Simms visit, but unmoved, signed the first. Her doctor scheduled the procedure for the next morning.

No real investigation occurred after the death’s of Esmerelda and her child during delivery. And no one seriously questioned why she gave custody to a wealthy and kindly gentleman she hardly knew. He was a billionaire, after all. Given the situation Esmerelda faced, who wouldn’t? Besides, the paperwork was all in order. Esmerelda’s signature was a dead-on match. Why would anyone suspect forgery, or that the paperwork Esmerelda thought she was signing was not the paperwork she actually signed. Who would do such a thing? No hospital under such a bright media spotlight would make such a huge mistake. It would have to have been intentional, and for it to be an intentional act, someone with a great power and wealth would have to have been behind the deception. Too many people involved. Too many secrets to keep.

Six days after the burial of Esmerelda and what would have her third little girl next to David in a little cemetery outside of town — generously paid for by an anonymous benefactor — Ariel and Jannie settled in to their new home with Barton Simms. The adjustment period was awkward; the girls missed their mother and father. Barton did his best to help them feel at home, but unaccustomed to children, he could not shed his aloofness. However, Barton was a man of his word, and as promised, he adopted the girls and made them heirs to his vast fortune. They wanted for nothing with the passing of time except to be with their mother and father again. To help with their care, he hired, Magdalena, an au pair in her thirties to take care of day-to-day chores that come with raising girls. Barton soon convinced himself of normalcy in his home.

One day after a visit to his physician, Barton returned home to find Jannie and Ariel playing in his library, his sanctuary filled with rare books. The girls had been told never to enter. It was one of the few rules he would not bend. Barton gathered up the girls and set off to find Magdalena. What was he paying her for if she was not capable of keeping the girls disciplined? He found her in Jannie’s room replacing toys that had fallen or knocked from the shelves.

“I specifically said the girls are not allowed in the library,” Barton said.

“Yes, sir. They must have gone in while I was up here straightening. It won’t happen again,” Magdalena said.

“It had better not,” Barton said, then paused when he saw the damage in the room. It wasn’t just the toys from the shelves that were out of place, the bed was a mess, and all of Jannie’s clothes were strewn about.

Magdalena watched him survey the damage and worried she might bear the blame, said, “Ariel’s room is in the same state. I’m afraid your room is as well.”

Barton turned to the girls. “Well, what is the meaning of this . . . rebellion? Explain yourself immediately.”

The girls looked at each other, and Ariel, being the oldest, spoke up, “It wasn’t us, sir.”

“No,” Barton said as calmly as possible. His heart could not take stress. “If not you, then who?”

“Daniella, she did it. She didn’t mean to be bad. She was having a little fun.”

Barton searched Magdalena’s eyes for an explanation. He found none, but she seemed unusually nervous.

“And who is Daniella?” He said to the girls. “An imaginary friend?”

“No, sir,” Ariel said. “Daniella is our little sister.”

Jannie piped up, “Mommy and daddy brought her to meet us.”

Barton staggered slightly, almost imperceptibly, his mind in a jumble as thick and disarrayed as the spots before his eyes. A sharp pain in his heart caved his chest. Quickly, he reached inside his jacket and retrieved a pill bottle, opened it with shaky hands, and placed a small pill beneath is tongue.

“Are you well, sir?” Magdalena inquired.

Barton waved her away as rushed from the room and down the spiral staircase to his library where he kept the family Bible. He kept it opened to his last reading to remember his place each morning. When he reached it this time, he found the pages turned to Isaiah. It was not where he had stopped previously. What’s more, a passage had been circled in what looked like blood.

Isaiah 26: 14

They are dead, they will not live; they are shades, they will not arise; to that end you have visited them with destruction and wiped out all remembrance of them.

The pages flipped. First forward then backward and suddenly stopped. And there was another passage circled in blood:

Samuel 20:16
And Jonathan made a covenant with the house of David, saying, “May[a] the Lord take vengeance on David’s enemies.

Barton, the son of a minister and raised in the strictest of Church doctrine, knew the passages were out of context, still . . . What was the father’s name again, he thought. When he remembered, he did not stagger, he didn’t see spots, Barton Simms fainted.

Barton awoke in his bed, dressed in the clothes he had been wearing all day. Magdalena stood at the foot of his bed.

“How long was I out?” he said.

“Only a short while. I found you on the floor in the library. You woke briefly, and I asked if you wanted your doctor. You said no.”

“I did.”

“Yes. Then you stood and walked to your room and lay on the bed. I followed because I was worried.”

Barton rose slowly to a sitting position at the edge of his bed, his feet squarely on the floor.

“Thank you. I’m fine now.”

“May I ask . . . what happened?”

“It’s nothing. Sometimes my heart . . .”

“Yes, but you screamed — ”

“I did.”

Magdalena nodded.

“Did I? Did I frighten the girls?”

Magdalena shook her head. “I don’t know if I should say. Where I come from, well, we take these things seriously.”

Growing agitated, Barton said, “For the love of God, spit it out!”

She swallowed hard, said, “The girls claimed you were talking to their mother and father.”

A week passed, and rather than confront the girls, Barton chose to act as if nothing had ever happened. Strangely enough, the week came and went without incident, and Barton settled into a routine. Time allowed him to doubt the events of the prior week, consign them to vivid imaginings and childish pranks. Outwardly, at least, but inwardly, he was a blind man walking a tightrope. Barton found the flier that changed his life forever on his bed.

READING BENEATH THE STARS!

Join us for the annual Green Mountain Reading beneath the stars.

Local authors read your favorite children’s book.

STORIES COME ALIVE!

The date and time were just below that last line and only a couple of days away. Clearly, the girls were expressing a desire to partake in the festivities. But, why didn’t they come to him and ask? It crossed his mind to confront the girls, but, in one of those moments where his reason overcame his instinct, he saw an opportunity. He’d offer to take them as though the idea had been his all along. He’d concede the win to the girls, and they’d see he wasn’t a bad sort. Play along. It might be just the thing to change the dynamic of their relationship.

The evening of the event, Barton found himself in surprisingly good spirit. He actually looked forward to the evening, not the reading of children’s book, but the anticipated smiles on the girl’s faces. As he thought about it, the only smiles he remembered seeing on their faces was the day the girl’s trashed the bedrooms. That is how he had come to see it in hindsight, a simple use of imagination to excuse bad behavior.

The festivities location was near the lake, a natural formation that stretched one hundred yards across in the shape of a pork chop. At night, the flat surface was like a mirror and reflected the moon and stars with crisp clarity. The night was cool, but not cold enough for heavy coats. The girls giggled and walked ahead of Barton and Magdalena, whom Barton had brought along as a precaution if the girls became unruly in public. No need in chancing an embarrassing display in front of strangers. Folding chairs were lined up ten rows deep with ten chairs per row in front of a small elevated stage. Barton had pulled a few strings and secured seats for Magdalena and the girls in the center of the first row, which was set back only fifteen feet from the stage. Jannie would have no trouble seeing the illustrations on the page from there. The stage, plywood over wood pallets and curtains of brightly covered material beneath a multi-colored tent that would have been more appropriate in a neighborhood backyard. No matter, the girls didn’t care, and the total time invested from start to finish was only ninety minutes.

Barton’s patched together family found their seats and settled down to begin as darkness fell. The stars above made their twinkling presence known one by one. An audience of young parents with children ranging from infants to third graders waited with great anticipation for a world of imagination to be shown to them. Barton had brought his own folding chair and found a spot in the back. The lights went up, the reader adjusted her microphone, and began. Five minutes into the story, Barton, bored to tears, took a stroll.

He found a dirt trail into the thick tree line up the mountain that angled around the lake. What leaves remained on dry branches were brown.Most of the rest covered the ground and crunched beneath his feet. Despite night’s fast approach, he deduced the trail would be easy to explore, and he had no intention of wandering farther than earshot of the reader’s voice. He rounded a bend and spotted a wooden pier jutting out over the lake like a stiff tongue. He looked back over his shoulder and realized the pier was in direct line of sight of the festival. A perfect compromise of near and far.

He walked to the end of the pier and stopped. The quiet and the slight chill soothed him. Come to think of it, it had been the first time since bringing the girls into his house that he had been truly alone. That made him think of how difficult the next twelve to fourteen years would be for him — if he lived so long. Could he wait? His lawyer told him had no choice. He had agreed to in the contract signed by the girl’s mother. He realized his mistake. Another twelve years before Ariel turned eighteen and the artificial insemination could be performed. Jannie’s time would come four years later. He’d only agreed to the wait because his doctors and his lawyer refused his will no matter how much money he offered. Chances were he’d be long dead before either reached the age of adulthood. The girls would be accustomed to their life of luxury, neither would object for fear of being tossed out on their ear. That’s why the two of them together was perfect; he’d leverage one against the other. If Ariel refused, then Jannie would serve as an alternate, and Ariel was out on the street. If both refused, then they would be two homeless orphans ill-equipped to survive on the streets. Death was the only guarantee in life. Though he might be dead, death would not stop his reach. He would have the family he had always desired, God willing. His own flesh and blood. And God was willing, he was sure of it. God had visited him in his sleep soon after watching the story of Esmerelda’s plight on FOX.

Vivian, his young wife, stood beside a majestic angel in a flowing, white robe. Massive silver wings protruded from the angel’s back. In his dream, the angel shoved her hands into Vivian’s belly and ripped out her insides. Blood and guts dripped from the angel’s hands. Then, two little girls carrying babies in their arms walked through the gaping hole in Vivian. It had been the sign he’d prayed for in the years following Vivian’s death. Car accident was listed as the official cause of death thanks to sizable payments in the right hands. The truth was more . . . distasteful. Vivian’s impregnation had not been his doing, but the abortion had been his idea.Her death on the table a pre-ordained conclusion. Barton could never have allowed it. A Negro child to boot! How could that be explained away? Not that the color of the child was the issue, it simply made the ensuing decisions much easier. It was the betrayal he could not stomach most. Lover, wife, and abomination had to go. And, as he was prone to do with every major decision he had ever made in his life, Barton consulted and found, confirmation in the Good Book.

Leviticus 20:10 If a man commits adultery with another man’s wife — with the wife of his neighbor — both the adulterer and the adulteress are to be put to death.

The Lord had provided guidance. It followed that Vivian’s pregnancy would have to be terminated along with Vivian and her lover. Since he also happened to be her driver, a car accident made for a plausible cover story.

Barton hadn’t thought of these things in years. He felt no pain, and remorse was not in his vocabulary. He had been steadfast in the righteousness of his actions. A true believer.

A rousing round of applause shook him from his thoughts. A second reader took the stage. His amplified voice carried on the water.

“How about a ghost story?”

The children screamed and laughed. A breeze danced along the lake’s surface causing ripples to roll one way then the next with the wind’s direction like a flock of birds in the sky. The moon just over the treetops reflected on the water as insects dipped on the surface in a dangerous game of catch me with the wildlife below. Barton felt at peace. He barely noticed the soft touch of a child’s hand in his. He assumed Jannie had wandered away from Magdalena to find him. Her skin was cold, and he thought Magdalena should have packed gloves. He looked down to say so to Jannie, but there was nothing in his hand at all. The wind, he thought. His palm was warm, damp, and the cool air felt like a touch. Yes, that was it, his mind had played a trick on him. Easy enough to explain. But then, he heard the voices.

“What are you?” It asked.

He jumped involuntarily. His heart raced. Then he heard the reader’s voice bounce off the surface.

“‘What are you?’ Tom said as he checked beneath his bed.”

Barton grinned, amused at his on over-active imagination. He was too old to be such a scary cat.

“It’s your time,” the voice said this time.

Barton had no doubt where the voice came from that time. The water rippled outward from a single spot beneath his feet like a pebbled had been dropped in the water.

“Murderer!” the voice said, except this time it was different, feminine where the first voice was definitely male.

“Blasphemer!” a different voice again, but familiar.

A loud splash to his right startled him. A fish, he thought, but when he looked, he saw an extended hand protruding for the lake’s depths. A sharp, burning sensation shot up his left arm.

“Jesus!” he whimpered through clenched teeth. His hands wildly searched his pockets for his nitro tablets to calm his out of control heart rate. Barton didn’t hear the footfalls behind him.

“Is there something wrong?” Magdalena said.

“My pills! I can’t find them! I had them before we left home.”

“The girls removed them.”

“The girls. Why would they — ”

“It was part of the plan.”

“What in the blue blazes are you talking about?”

“It was simple really, all they had to do was to get you out here to the lake where the girls had spent so many happy moments with their mother and father. Without your heart pills, your death would be listed as a natural cause. The parents explained everything.”

Barton clutched his chest. The pain grew unbearable.

“You . . . Jezebel!”.

“They told me what you were planning. I didn’t believe them at first, then I saw your journal. I knew the truth then.”

“How-”

“David knew where to find everything.”

Barton attempted a step toward her. In his mind, his hands were already around her throat, but the reality was that he stumbled and fell to his knees.

“Is it money? I can give you money. All you want for my pills.”

“I’ll have more than I can ever need. Once you’re dead, I will become the girl’s guardian. I love them, and they love me. It’s all worked out.”

“They won’t see a cent if they break the contract!”

“They don’t care about that. You see, you forgot about the ten million dollar life insurance policy you didn’t cancel after your wife’s death. The one that leaves everything to surviving relatives in the event of her death. Now that you have adopted the girls, well, you see how things will play out. By the way, your wife is waiting for you down there.”

Barton fell to his elbows. The air in his lungs grew stale, but he could not inhale.

As if on cue, pale hands reached up from the water and wrapped around Barton’s legs. His mouth gaped, but only a strangled cry made it past his lips before the hands dragged him down to the lake’s depths.

“All the girl’s parents ever wanted was a secure future for them,” Magdalena said.

Later, when the police and Emergency Medical Team arrived and frantically attempted to resuscitate Barton, he still had the look of horror on his face Magdalena would remember for the rest of her life.

The End

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