Chapter 177

Chapter 177

Elizabeth's brows knit together. "What is this?"

David didn't answer. He lifted his hand and tapped lightly on the puppet's chest. From inside came a faint sound—not wood knocking against wood, but a human groan: hoarse, weak, as if it were rising from somewhere deep underground.

Elizabeth's pupils contracted a fraction.

"Henry." David smiled, his tone flat, as if what he'd done were nothing more than a trivial favor. "On your wedding day, I shoved him into this puppet. I was going to give it to you as a wedding gift. Then things blew up, so I took him back with me."

He paused, looking straight into Elizabeth's eyes. "He's still alive."

Elizabeth sat there, perfectly still. She stared at the puppet, at the faint movement of its chest, at the barely-there rasping breath coming from within, and her mind went completely blank.

Henry.

The man she had loved and hated in her previous life, the one who had finally killed her. The man she had smashed in the groin in this life, humiliated, ground into the dirt. He was still alive.

"Why?" Her voice came out rough.

David was silent for a beat. "Because I figured that you might want to deal with him yourself."

Elizabeth said nothing.

She stood up, walked over to the puppet, and crouched down in front of it, studying it closely.

The puppet's eyes were painted on, pitch black and lifeless.

But she knew there was a real pair of eyes behind them. Eyes that had once watched her with tenderness, that had once calculated against her with icy precision, that had once shed crocodile tears right in front of her.

She lifted her hand and gently stroked the puppet's face. The wood was icy cold, but she could feel the warmth of breath beneath it. She was alive. He was alive. Perfect.

"David," she said softly, "thank you."

David shook his head. "Don't. You gave me a way out. I owe you."

Elizabeth didn't ask why. She simply straightened and said to the men waiting at the door, "Take that puppet to my basement."

They obeyed, grabbing the duffel bag and carrying it out.

The conference room was just Elizabeth and David. Elizabeth took a document from her bag and slid it across the table to him. David unfolded it, glanced down, and his pupils tightened.

"This is...."

"Several of Nightfall's strongholds in Europe," Elizabeth said calmly. "And a few routes the Scott family runs over there. The things you've always wanted."

David looked up at her, words catching in his throat. Elizabeth gave a faint smile. "You've done so much for me. I should at least show some appreciation. Take it."

David was quiet for a long time. Then he reached out and picked up the file. "Thank you."

Elizabeth rose and walked toward the door. At the threshold, she paused, speaking without turning around. "David, you're so much better than Henry."

She pushed the door open and stepped out. Behind her, David stayed where he was, staring at the closed door as the corners of his mouth slowly lifted into a faint smile.

The basement was on level minus three of Nightfall's headquarters. It had originally been used to store weapons and ammunition, then later converted into an interrogation room.

Elizabeth rarely used it; she rarely needed to interrogate anyone personally.

Today was different.

When she opened the door, the puppet had already been taken out of the duffel and placed on the chair in the center of the room.

It sat there with its back straight, hands resting neatly on its knees, like a toy patiently waiting for its owner to come home.

Elizabeth walked over and stopped in front of it. She laid her palm on the puppet's chest. Beneath her hand, a heart was beating—weak, but real.

"Henry." She called his name in a low voice.

A violent tremor tore through the puppet from the inside.

It started in the chest and spread out to the limbs, then down into every finger, every toe.

The puppet shook on the chair, making a harsh noise, like bone grinding against bone.

Elizabeth didn't move.

She just stood there, watching it convulse, listening to its muffled cries.

After a long time, the puppet finally went still. The breathing inside was even heavier now, like a wild animal with its throat pinned under a boot, struggling to drag in air and never getting enough.

"I know you can hear me." Elizabeth's voice was soft, almost like she was soothing a child. "And I know you hate me. You hate that I shattered your manhood, hate that I ruined your future, hate that I've forced you to live like a dog. But do you have any idea why I hate you?"

There was no sound from inside the puppet.

Elizabeth crouched down so they were eye level.

"You killed me. In our last life, you killed me. You locked me in a basement, tortured me, slit my wrist, and left me lying alone on that freezing floor, waiting to die. Do you have any idea how much that hurt?"

Her voice shook, and in her eyes, hatred flared, raw and bone-deep.

"You don't remember. You don't know any of it. All you know is that in this life I've gone crazy, that I'm vicious, that I refuse to let you go. But you have no idea why I lost it, why I turned ruthless, why I have to grind you into the mud."

She stood, took a step back, and looked at the puppet.

"Henry, I'm not going to kill you. Death would be way too easy. I want you to live. Really live. Live till you're old, till you can barely walk, till every last tooth falls out. And you're going to stay in that puppet, thinking. Slowly. Over and over, about what exactly you did wrong."

She turned and walked toward the door. Behind her, a low, muffled sobbing rose from inside the puppet. She didn't look back.

When Elizabeth came out of the basement, Jacob was already waiting in the car. He was leaning back against the seat with his eyes closed, his face giving nothing away.

Elizabeth opened the door, slid in beside him, and rested her head on his shoulder.

"Tired?" He asked.

"Yeah." She closed her eyes.

Jacob didn't say anything else. He just slipped an arm around her shoulders and patted her lightly. The car eased forward and drove off into the night.

By the time they got back to Smith Manor, it was already late.

Tina was waiting at the door. When she saw them get out of the car, she bowed slightly. "Mr. Smith, Mrs. Smith, the bath is ready, and dinner's prepared."

Jacob gave a small nod and led Elizabeth into the hall, his hand wrapped around hers. Jack was already asleep, his little cheeks flushed pink, one tiny fist still clutching the stuffed bear Sawyer had given him. Elizabeth stood at the door for a moment, then quietly closed it.

That night, Jacob didn't sleep.

He sat in his study with a stack of files spread out in front of him.

They were the results of the investigation he'd ordered—about Jack's background, about the child from back then, about how Sawyer had found out those things. There was a lot of material, but very little that was actually useful.

Jack had been left at the Smith family's front door four years ago.

It had been raining that day. A stranger had stood at the doorbell, a baby in her arms, and pressed the button.