Chapter 8 - THE BOY BEHIND THE WHEEL
Tyler’s face was completely devoid of emotion.
The ice pack he’d been holding earlier was gone.
His eyes were cold, dead, and fixed on Madison.
“Give me the lockbox, Maddie,” Tyler said softly.
My heart hammered against my ribs.
“Tyler, put the gun down,” I begged, my voice trembling. “What are you doing? You followed us?”
“I followed Madison,” Tyler corrected, his gun never wavering. “I knew she figured it out. I saw her packing her bag. I hid in the back of the truck when you parked it in the alley.”
He had been back there the entire time.
“You were sixteen,” Madison whispered, clutching the rosary. “You were sixteen, and you ran us off the road.”
Tyler flinched slightly, a flash of guilt crossing his face before it hardened again.
“I was drunk,” Tyler said defensively. “Dad let me take Grandpa's truck to a party. The roads were icy. You guys swerved into my lane. I panicked. I drove away.”
“You left them to die!” Madison screamed.
“I didn't know they were dead!” Tyler shouted back, his hand shaking. “I drove to Grandpa's house. I told him what happened. He took the blame. He paid Dad to keep it quiet. He adopted you to fix it.”
I felt physically ill.
“You let Grandpa live with that guilt?” I asked. “You let him die thinking everyone believed he was a murderer?”
“He was an old man!” Tyler rationalized, sounding exactly like our father. “His life was over anyway! I had my whole future ahead of me!”
“And Dad used it,” Madison realized, her eyes widening. “Dad didn't blackmail Grandpa for his own crime. Dad blackmailed Grandpa to protect you. That’s why Dad hated Olivia. Because Grandpa left the truck to her, and the truck had your DNA in it.”
Tyler nodded slowly.
“If Olivia tore apart the interior, she would find the truth. She’d find the blood. Dad’s blood, from when he moved the body of Joey Russo, and my blood from the crash.”
He cocked the gun.
“Hand over the box, Madison.”
I gripped the steering wheel. The engine was still running.
“Tyler, you can’t do this,” I said. “The police are already investigating Dad. They’re going to find out.”
“Not if I have the evidence,” Tyler said.
He leaned forward, pressing the cold barrel of the gun against the back of my seat.
“Drive, Liv. Take us to the old quarry.”
The quarry.
He was going to sink the truck. With us inside it.
I shifted into drive. My foot hovered over the gas pedal.
I looked at Madison. She was terrified, but she gave me a tiny, almost imperceptible nod.
She trusted me.
“Okay, Tyler,” I said, keeping my voice steady. “I’ll drive.”
I pressed the gas slowly. The truck rolled forward.
We were approaching a sharp curve on the mountain road.
“Speed up,” Tyler commanded.
“The brakes are touchy,” I lied.
As we hit the curve, I didn't turn the wheel.
Instead, I slammed my foot on the brake with every ounce of strength I had.
The heavy Ford truck violently jolted to a stop.
Tyler, who wasn't wearing a seatbelt, was thrown forward.
He crashed violently into the metal partition behind our heads.
The gun fired into the roof of the cab with a deafening blast.
Tyler dropped the weapon, groaning in pain as he slumped into the floorboards.
“Go!” I screamed.
Madison and I threw our doors open and scrambled out into the cold night air.
We sprinted down the dark highway, running back toward the glow of the distant town.
I pulled out my phone and dialed 911 as we ran.
“My brother has a gun,” I gasped to the operator. “He’s at the old mountain pass. He confessed to a hit and run.”
By the time the police cruisers swarmed the highway, Tyler was sitting on the hood of the blue truck, holding his head in his hands.
He didn't resist. He just looked completely defeated.
As they handcuffed him, I walked over to the open door of the truck.
I reached inside, under the floor mat, and pulled out the small velvet box containing the real diamond bracelet.
I turned around and handed it to Aunt Linda, who had just pulled up behind the police cars.
“It’s over,” I said.
But as Linda opened the box, her face went completely pale.
“Olivia,” Linda whispered.
She lifted the bracelet.
Engraved on the inside of the gold clasp, plain as day, was a name.
Not my grandmother’s name.
“To Celia Moretti.”
Linda looked at me, terrified.
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