Beneath the Surface

Chapter 36: Twisted Confession

Chapter 36 - Twisted Confession

Jake's Point of View

The car engine rumbled softly as I sped down the highway toward my parents' house. The road was familiar, but my thoughts were far from the cracked asphalt stretching ahead. Valerie's face lingered in my mind, her tear-streaked cheeks and trembling voice.

She'd looked so small last night, curled up in my arms. I'd never seen her that vulnerable before, and it scared the hell out of me. The weight of what she'd gone through—it was something I couldn't shake.

And then Mason had walked in this morning, catching us together. The look on his face was like a gut punch. I owed him a conversation. I owed him the truth.

I needed to tell Mason how much Valerie meant to me. It wasn't just some passing thing, and it sure as hell wasn't a game. I didn't know if he'd accept it, but he deserved to know that I loved her.

The thought of losing Valerie, of failing to protect her the way I should have last night, made my hands grip the wheel tighter. Then there was that moment, back at the farm a few weeks ago, when she'd whispered that she wanted to go home. I'd brushed it off at the time, thinking she was just overwhelmed. But now... Now, I couldn't get it out of my head.

Valerie wanted to leave. She felt safer away from me, from all of this. The realization hit me like a brick, and I didn't know how to fix it.

The turn-off for the farm came up quicker than I expected, and I slowed, pulling onto the gravel drive. The house stood there in the distance, its silhouette framed against the golden afternoon sky. Usually, there was something comforting about coming back here. Not today.

Something felt... wrong.

The driveway was lined with vehicles I didn't recognize, all dark SUVs with tinted windows. I parked a little way down, stepping out of the car slowly. The air was eerily quiet, save for the crunch of gravel under my boots.

When I reached the porch, the door was ajar. My dad, stood just inside, his face pale and drawn. He was speaking with someone—a man in a navy suit.

"Dad?" I called out, stepping inside.

Phil turned, his expression flickering between relief and something darker. "Jake." His voice was tight. "You need to sit down."

I frowned, stepping further into the room. That's when I noticed the handcuffs.

"Mom?"

Karen sat on the couch, her hands bound in front of her. Her face was a mixture of defiance and desperation, her lips pressed into a tight line. Two officers stood nearby, their stances stiff and professional.

"What the hell is going on?" I asked, my voice rising.

"Sit down, son," one of the officers said, gesturing to a chair near the kitchen table.

I didn't move. My gaze flicked between the officers, my dad, and my mom. None of this made sense.

"Jake," my dad said, his voice breaking slightly. "Please. Sit down."

Reluctantly, I sank into the chair, my legs feeling like jelly. "What's happening? Why is Mom—?"

"We've been working on Josephine's case for almost two years now," one of the officers began, his tone measured. "And we've finally identified the person responsible for her murder."

The room seemed to tilt. My breath caught in my throat.

"What?"

The officer's gaze shifted to my mom, who sat motionless on the couch. "It was Karen."