Switch Blade Romance

The End insight!

March 2nd, 2015.

Manatachie Fall's Arkansas.

Rachel paced the living room of John Henry’s house like a ghost that couldn’t find the door out.
Five days. Five long, dragging days since they’d arrived in Arkansas, and they were no closer to Andrew than they’d been the moment they crossed the state line. No sightings. No solid leads. Just whispers, half-truths, and the lingering stink of Charles Grady hanging over everything like rot.
The idea of going back to Texas without Andrew—without even knowing what had happened to him—was more than Rachel could stand. It sat in her chest, heavy and suffocating, like a stone pressing down on her lungs.
Even if she and Andrew never got back together—especially if they never did—she still needed to find him. Needed to bring him home. To his friends. To his family. To whatever life he still had left, if there was any life left at all.
And deep down, in the quiet place where honesty lived, Rachel knew part of this was her fault.
No, she thought bitterly. All of it might be.
“I cheated first,” she whispered to the empty room. “I was the one who broke it.”
If she hadn’t been so stupid. So needy. So wrapped up in her partner and her own damn loneliness, maybe Andrew would’ve stayed. Maybe he wouldn’t have been anywhere near Charles Grady—or whatever the hell his real name was.
Dr. Anthony stepped into the living room at 8:30 that morning, moving softly, like she didn’t want to disturb the grief that had settled there overnight. Lacey and John were still asleep. They were all exhausted—bone-deep tired. Not just from the last few days, but from the months of unraveling that had led them here.
“Are you alright, Rachel?” Dr. Anthony asked. Her voice was gentle. Almost motherly.
Rachel gave a humorless laugh. “As alright as I can be, I guess. We still don’t know where Andrew is. Or if he’s alive. Or if he’s somewhere in Tennessee with that monster.”
She rubbed her face, dragging her hands down hard. “And we’re supposed to believe the word of an ex–meth-smoking waitress and a drunk old woman drowning in grief because her nephew’s a psychopath? Is that where we’re at now? Is this whole thing just a joke already?”
She laughed again, thin and brittle, the sound of something cracking.
Juanita crossed the room and rested a hand on Rachel’s shoulder. “Honey, the FBI is doing everything they can. Three state police agencies too. Right now… all we can do is wait.”
Rachel shook her head. “That’s not enough.”
“I know,” Juanita said softly. “But it’s what you need to hear.”
Something inside Rachel finally gave way.
She collapsed inward, deep sobs tearing out of her, harsh and animal. “If I’d just tried harder,” she gasped. “If I’d stayed in his life—maybe he never would’ve gotten involved with Charles Grady. Maybe if I hadn’t cheated on him, he wouldn’t have cheated on me.”
She covered her face. “My God. This is my fault. It’s all my fault.”
Juanita pulled her into an embrace, holding her tight. “No, honey. It’s not your fault. He was following Andrew for months. Even before you two broke up. He would’ve found him no matter what.”
Rachel’s voice came muffled through tears. “I just wish we’d known about him sooner. He sat in my lectures for a week and a half. Right there. And I never suspected a thing.”
She looked up, eyes red and hollow. “He’s that good at blending in.”
“Yes,” Dr. Anthony said quietly. “Apparently he always has been.”
Just then, Lacey wandered into the living room, squinting against the light. She wore a half T-shirt and blue boxer shorts, hair sticking up every which way.
“Yeah,” she said groggily, “I don’t think I’m properly dressed for a crying party.”
Rachel snorted despite herself and wiped at her face. “Come here, girl. I need a hug.”
Lacey crossed the room and wrapped her arms around her. Even Dr. Anthony joined in, hands resting on both of them. For a brief moment, it almost felt like something solid—like family.
By 10:30, breakfast had been made. Coffee poured. Eggs, bacon, grits, and toast filled the kitchen with warmth and the illusion of normalcy. John finally emerged from the bedroom around a quarter to eleven, bleary-eyed but smiling faintly.
Rachel found herself smiling too, surprised by it.
They had become something strange and fragile together—an odd little family. Lacey felt like a younger sister. Juanita like a mother. John like a father.
Rachel thought of her real family back in Texas. Her mother Pamela in Lampasas. Her brother David in San Antonio, six hours away. Her father Terry, gone since she was ten, somewhere along the Gulf Coast with his oil rig job and his blonde country bimbo—Georgianna, as Pamela always spat her name.
Rachel had always wanted this kind of closeness. This warmth.
Her phone buzzed.
She frowned. The department knew she was taking time off. Her friends did too.
She pulled the phone from her pocket.
A Facebook notification.
She’d been tagged in a post.
At the same moment, Lacey’s phone went off.
Lacey unlocked it—and froze.
Her eyes widened, filling with something sharp and terrible. “What… wh—Rachel!”
She screamed it. “Look at your phone! Look!”
Rachel glanced down.
Then dropped it.
The room tilted. Her hand flew to her mouth as a scream tried to claw its way out of her throat.
“What in the hell is wrong with you girls?” John demanded.
Juanita rushed over, snatched Rachel’s phone from the table, and stared at the screen.
Her face drained of color.
She looked at John. “John… we’ve got to go. Now.”
Her voice shook.
“I can’t believe this.”