Confusion turned to anger; anger to hope and then, after seeing the almost imperceptible shake of Richard's head and the hurt in his eyes, hope to despair. My children were still dead. Yet, for some inexplicable reason, here stood their father; my husband; my deceased husband. My free hand whipped across Richard's face of its own volition. I could see that Richard had expected it; knew it was coming, but he did nothing to avoid it. Truth be told, I think it hurt me more than him, my hand stung from the blow. "You damned bastard!"

"That, I just may be," Richard replied in a flat, toneless voice. He turned his gaze to Hiram. "I thought we had an agreement."

I noticed, with no little satisfaction, that Hiram's smile had faltered.

"Things changed," Hiram tried to explain, waving his hands in the air as he spoke.

Richard looked at the pistol in Hiram's hands. "Put that thing away before you hurt someone."

Hiram hesitated briefly, then slid the pistol inside his jacket, presumably into an unseen shoulder holster. I noted the location. With the pistol now secured, my odds were improving. I glanced at my watch. Help should be arriving any...

"Wilkes isn't coming Marabel," said Richard, turning his attention back to me. "No one is."

My heart fluttered. How could he...? Then it hit me like a sack of potatoes tossed off the back end of a moving pick-up truck. How could I have missed it? How could I have been so blind, so naive, so damn stupid?

Richard nodded. The look on my face must have told the entire story.

"How long," I asked?

"Eleven years," Richard replied.

"Then the crash...it was deliberate?" I felt a deep-seated anger beginning to well within me.

Richard look puzzled, then shocked when he finally figured out what I was asking. "No. God no, Marabel, I'm not that kind of monster."

"Well then, exactly what kind of monster are you, Richard," I asked, my voice dripping with as much vitriol as I could manage? While Richard tried to muster up an answer, I made move.

Hiram had been standing to the side listening. His smile had vanished completely. I was glad. I stepped towards Hiram. Hiram predictably reached for his pistol. Taking another step I placed my right leg behind Hiram's, jabbing at his throat with my right hand, thumb pointed outwards. The sudden blow caught Hiram off-guard. I lifted my right leg up and back, catching and raising Hiram's leg. Hiram, who had already been stumbling backwards from the throat strike, went crashing to the ground. I added my weight to his on the way down. The hard impact of his body hitting the ground gave me a sudden rush of pleasure. Hiram lay on the ground gasping for air. I had already regained my feet, Hiram's pistol now firmly gripped in my hand. Keeping the pistol pointed at Richard, I placed some distance between myself and Hiram. A subtle movement caught my eye. "DON'T MOVE," I shouted. Richard froze, smiling an enigmatic smile. I almost pulled the trigger.

"C'mon Marabel. No one is coming. And by the time you get someone to believe your story, if anyone believes your story, it will all be over. Besides, you know you want to know."

I blinked. I wanted this to all be over, what ever this was. I wanted to wipe that smile off of my supposedly deceased husband's face. I wanted to scream. But damn him all to hell, he was right. I couldn't call the agency, I didn't know who to trust. Certainly not Wilkes. I didn't have a lot of choices. At the very least, perhaps, I could do something for the children. Richard's smile broadened. Did he know me that well? I pulled the trigger. The look on Richard's face was priceless. I think he might've pissed himself. I didn't care. The smile was gone. "Don't think I won't shoot you if the situation warrants it." I almost added 'dear' as an afterthought. Richard nodded, his face now unreadable. It occured to me that I had never really known my husband.

Richard waved towards a nearby path. I nodded.  As we walked the path, children began to flicker in and out of my field of vision, appearing then disappearing; either alone or in groups; one second there, the next second gone. Something became apparent as we walked. Whether real, or imagined, the children were all looking at me. What was it Jake had said, that I'd be dead by Monday?