Merciless

22

Sure enough, after I’d traveled about a mile down the gravel road, headlights appeared in my rearview. Most likely, that bastard had been spying from the barn, with the direct view of the back porch and into the kitchen windows. He could’ve parked on the other side of the house, and I wouldn’t have seen his vehicle because I never drove past the ranch anymore. Not like when I’d lived in the foreman’s cabin.

I hadn’t been there since my return from Quantico. Maybe that’s where he’d holed up and was keeping Sophie. It was close enough that he could keep an eye on both of us.

It took every bit of control not to spin a U-turn and play a game of chicken with him.

As I made the drive into Eagle Ridge, I went over the plan in my head several times, not knowing if it’d even work. But if this plan didn’t work, the next one would. And if not this one, the one after that. The thought of Sophie tied up somewhere, grieving, scared, mad, hungry, crying, hurting, and cold-that’s what would keep me going.

At Besler’s, I parked in the space closest to the front entrance, but not under the streetlight. I tucked the keys under the mat, shouldered my purse, and strolled inside. Just another grocery shopper.

I grabbed a cart and headed past the produce section. I spied Naomi at the back of the pet-food aisle. She didn’t acknowledge me when I moved past her and hefted three fifty-pound bags of dog food into my cart. Then I stood beside her, pretending to comparison shop between brands of kitty litter.

We were nearly shoulder to shoulder when I said, “Meet me in the women’s bathroom in three minutes. Knock four times.”

Luck was on my side because no one was using the restroom. Once inside the single stall, I ditched the trench coat and dug out the folded duffel bag. I snapped the AR-15 together, shoved it and the rest of my equipment into the bag, and zipped it shut. I’d just finished changing my shoes when I heard four knocks. I unlocked the door, and Naomi stepped inside.

“Thanks for doing this, Naomi.”

“What am I doing?”

“First off, you should know this is a covert government operation. You’ve heard the phrase ‘plausible deniability’? That’s what’ll happen if you ever tell anyone about this, understand?”

“Yes, you can trust me.”

“Good. Here’s the plan. We’re swapping identities.” I pulled off my hat and tugged it onto her head. “Next, coat and shoes.”

As we faced each other, I had the first hope this switcheroo would work. We were close to the same height, and the buttoned-up trench coat would mask our physical differences. I wrapped the scarf around her neck.

“Here’s the tricky part. Listen very carefully. Stay in the store for ten full minutes after I leave. Buy something simple. Once you get outside, keep your head down so your scarf covers most of your face; that way if my suspect has his binoculars on you, he won’t know you’re not me. Walk quickly, but do not run. Do not look around. Act like you’ve got something weighing on your mind and you cannot be bothered to pay attention to your surroundings. My truck is the black Ford F-150 parked in the center row, the second spot facing the exit. The keys are on the floor.” I paused and studied her. “You all right so far?”

“Yeah, go on.”

“Drive back to the rez. Go directly to Our Lady of Perpetual Help Catholic Church. Park as close to the front entrance as possible and leave the truck keys in the ashtray. There’s mass tonight. First thing you do after you’re inside? Find the coatrack. Hang up this coat and shove the scarf and hat in the sleeves. Then go into the bathroom and switch my boots for your shoes, and put on your coat, both of which will be stashed in this purse.”

“Okay. What do I do with your boots and purse?”

“Leave them hanging on the back of the door hook in the bathroom stall.”

Naomi nodded. “Then what?”

“Then you return to the sanctuary, sit in the back pew, and catch the last of the sermon.”

She wrinkled her nose.

“After the service ends, you’ll pin this folded note”-it read: Find me before I find you-“on the front of the coat and exit the church. Walk over to the Pizza Barn, order your favorite food, and take your time enjoying it.” The note was the biggest gamble. Would he find it before someone else got snoopy and read it?

“That’s it?” Naomi asked.

“Two other important things. You’ll have to walk home after eating.”

“Wouldn’t be the first time.”

Here was the trickiest part. “And in the morning? You’ll have to report your car as stolen.”

Naomi’s mouth dropped open. “What? You didn’t say anything about taking my car! I need it! It might be a piece of shit, but-”

I put my finger over my lips to signal for quiet. Then I reached into my purse and pulled out a stack of bills. “There’s twenty-one hundred bucks here. After the tribal cops find your car, there’s enough to get it repaired, or enough for you to buy a different one. You just need to report it missing. But not until morning.”

She looked torn.

“If the maroon Chrysler out there is your van? Then I’m being more than generous in replacement cost.”

“I know, but…” Naomi looked at me thoughtfully. “Is there a chance the cops will contact me tonight about my car?”

“Slim. But if that happens, tell them the last time you saw it, it was parked in the driveway or on the street or wherever you normally park it.” My eyes searched hers. “And if you really want to be a dick, you can bring Mackenzie Red Shirt into the conversation as a possible suspect. She’s been harassing you after you brought her name up with the Shooting Star case. Harassing you to the point you had to change your cell phone number. Officer Ferguson can back you up on that.”

Naomi’s eyes gleamed. “That would be sweet payback.”

“Can you do that? But only if it comes to that?”

“Yes.”

“Remember. This is a covert op. The tribal police have no idea what the FBI is doing, and we need to keep it that way.”

“I understand.”

“Good. Now run through this for me one more time so we’ve nailed down every detail.”

She ran it down in perfect order, with the same type of clinical detachment I used. I knew there was a reason I liked this girl.

“All right. Let’s do this.”

Luck was still on my side that no one had moved my cart with the 150 pounds of dog food. I set the duffel bag in the cart and rolled the bags on top of it, hiding it completely.

I picked the young cashier I didn’t know. When my turn came, I struggled to heft the first bag onto the conveyor belt. Since it was unwieldy, she didn’t take the next two bags out of the cart, she just rang up the first bag three times. I paid cash, secured the scarf around the lower half of my face, and left the grocery store.

This was the test. I couldn’t look around to see if Sheldon was waiting for the other me to exit the grocery store. Although I’d seen his headlights, I had no idea what kind of vehicle he drove. I unloaded everything in the back of the van. I didn’t adjust the seat, didn’t wait around. I took off and found a parking spot at Smith’s Car Repair two blocks from Besler’s.

I pretended to talk on the phone, in case somebody was watching me.

Ten minutes later, Naomi sped past on her way to the reservation. Less than two minutes after that, Sheldon followed in a dark green Dodge Neon.

Got you now, motherfucker.

No need to follow close and risk blowing my advantage, since I knew Naomi’s end destination. I kept a Chevy pickup between our vehicles as we rolled down the blacktop to Eagle River.

The church was located in the center of town on the main drag. As I passed it, I saw Naomi walking up the stone steps, neither too fast nor too slow. Again, I couldn’t take a chance and case the lot for Sheldon’s car, so I kept driving.

At the three-block mark, I pulled onto a side street, ditched the dog food, and grabbed my duffel, placing it in the front seat. I drove four blocks and backed into a spot at an abandoned bank that had been turned into a private-sale car lot and was a block up from the church.

With binoculars I scoured the church lot for Sheldon’s car, finding it in the middle, but I couldn’t see any activity inside. Hopefully, Sheldon wouldn’t enter the house of worship until after the service ended. I couldn’t wait to see the look on his face when he realized I’d given him the slip.

Nothing happened in the next half hour. Once people started spilling out the main doors, I kept my binoculars focused on picking Naomi out of the crowd.

She hadn’t left too soon or too late. She wore her coat. Her shoes. Carried her purse. No trace of my things on her person at all.

Whew.

Naomi walked with a young boy toward the Pizza Barn. Just another couple of teenagers, hanging out. Sheldon knew Naomi, but he wouldn’t connect her with me.

Cars began to clear out. Even with a straight-shot view of Sheldon’s vehicle, I couldn’t tell what he was doing inside. Fuming, most likely.

I waited for him to get out of the car.

When only three cars remained, Sheldon left his car. He slowly spun a circle, casing the parking lot as he approached the steps.

I checked out his attire. Black combat clothing. Black hikers. Black wool skullcap.

What I didn’t see? A bulletproof vest. Or a weapon holstered in his utility belt. Or his glasses.

A surge of rage stirred up my tranquil pool. Purposely misleading people into thinking he was physically disabled, both his body and his vision, was a coward’s way of fighting.

I hated cowards.

Sheldon briskly scaled the steps, still looking around before he disappeared inside the church.

I smiled.

Three minutes later he left the building and paused outside the heavy, hand-carved wooden doors, his gaze on my pickup. Pretty quick sweep of the church. I refocused my binoculars. He had something crumpled up in his right hand.

Aw. He’d found my hate note.

I smiled again.

I wondered if Sheldon still felt on top of his military op.

Would he go home?

Would he return to my place?

Or would he go to Hope’s and follow through on his threat?

Sheldon didn’t make a move for several minutes.

Then he casually walked around my pickup. He pulled a knife out of the side pocket in his cargo pants. He stabbed the sidewall of my left rear tire. Satisfied the tire was flat, he strolled to his car, climbed in, and started it.

This was it.

My pulse didn’t waver.

Not when he slowly pulled onto the road, heading toward Eagle Ridge.

Not when he passed by me sitting in this crappy decoy.

But my heart almost stopped when I saw Sheldon’s taillights flash and his reverse lights come on.

Oh shit. As the rear end of his car came into view, I ducked and placed my shoulders on the passenger’s seat, staring up at the dingy ceiling.

Gravel crunched as his car backed into the empty spot one vehicle away from mine. He’d settled in, waiting to see if I’d return for my pickup.

That surprised me, because it was a smart move. Strategic. Calculating. Not angry, hotheaded, and panicked.

I wanted him off balance.

See? We’re alike, Mercy.

No, we aren’t.

I closed my eyes and slowly breathed in and out. Sheldon wouldn’t stay here long if I didn’t show up. He’d be on the lookout for me.

Ironic I was sitting right next to him.

Breathe. Think. Plan.

I could get to the heart of this right now. I still had the advantage.

I could burst out of the car, gun blazing. Randomly shoot at him until he told me where he’d hidden Sophie… or until the tribal cops showed up at the sound of gunfire. Even they wouldn’t ignore that.

Or I could come up on his six, knock him out, and tie him up. Drag him back to the foreman’s cabin at the ranch and torture him until he told me where he’d stashed Sophie.

Then you are just like him, aren’t you?

So?

Even as I created and discarded strategies, part of my brain refused to cooperate. The dark part that didn’t want this man arrested. The dark part that wanted this man dead.

Evidently, Sheldon got tired of waiting. He started his car and pulled away.

I didn’t have time to waste debating the morality of murdering a murderer.

Traffic was steady on a Friday night on the reservation, which allowed me to tail him discreetly. When the last car between us hung a left, I hung a right.

Parking along the road, I cut all the lights. I even unscrewed the interior light after breaking the plastic housing. Then I slipped on my night-vision goggles.

And no doubt about it, the hunt was on.

I returned to the road. The night-vision goggles would work perfectly if I didn’t meet another car. The images were shadowy, as if everything had been dipped in liquid silver and spots had tarnished to black.

Damn quiet and dark on the road between Eagle River Reservation and Eagle Ridge Township. We hadn’t passed a single set of headlights.

Would Sheldon lead me to where he was hiding Sophie? Or would he follow through with his threat to hurt my family?

Then he abruptly turned onto a gravel road that served as a cut across to the Viewfield Cemetery and also led to an abandoned camping area. The place had been developed over thirty years ago by Kit McIntyre, the snake who’d tried to buy my ranch, ironically enough, but it’d never become a hot spot for campers. In fact, I’d forgotten that it-and the cut across to the road running in front of our ranch-existed.

Which is why it made an ideal spot to keep a kidnapped woman. No one close enough to hear her scream.

The longer I followed him on this road the easier it’d be for him to spot me. When I figured we were far enough off the main drag, I put my plan into play.

I hit the gas and rammed into the back end of his car.

Sheldon’s car fishtailed. He didn’t overcorrect and jerk the steering wheel. But he did slow down.

Mistake.

I gunned it again, swerving so the front end of the van smashed into the left rear of his car with enough force that taillights shattered and the bumper went flying.

That hit sent Sheldon’s vehicle toward the ditch on the right side of the road. He slammed on the brakes.

Mistake.

The car sat sideways.

After I threw the van in reverse and got far enough to build up decent ramming power, I dropped it into Drive and floored it. Spitting gravel, the engine whining, I made the last impact count.

Metal crunched, squeaked, and crumpled as I nailed Sheldon’s trunk dead center, sending the car sailing forward. I saw a flash inside the car when the front end smacked into the upper edge of the ditch and the air bag deployed.

Steam hissed from the front of the van as I parked on the edge of the road and killed the ignition. I shut off my night-vision goggles and set them on the seat. Then I grabbed the AR and the extra clip, and slipped the cord connected to my handheld infrared around my neck.

The van door creaked as I opened it. I kept the rifle aimed at the back of Sheldon’s car; the trunk was popped up, too mangled ever to close again, and I came around the left side.

The moment of truth.

But the driver’s door was open. The airbag deflated from the deep slice across the center.

No sign of Sheldon. Pity, I didn’t see any signs of blood, either.

Looked like we’d be playing a game of cat and mouse after all.

I crouched in the ditch, figuring out my next move as I listened for sounds. Shoes on gravel. Feet pounding through grass.

Nothing.

Not a hint of breeze stirred. The darkness was absolute. No lights from town. No nearby yard lights. No snow. No moon. Even the sky was overcast with thick black clouds, so it’d be very easy to disappear into the inky blackness.

Which way had he gone?

Had Sheldon climbed through the barbed-wire fence? Or had he run forward, through the ditch? Creating enough distance so I’d assume he’d gone through the field, and then backtracking?

I listened. I heard nothing but the clicking sounds of the car engines. Sheldon had no special-forces training. That’s when I knew he wouldn’t run away. He’d stick around and try to best me, like he’d initially planned. Rub it in my face that he was the superior soldier.

So what would I do if I had his advantage but not the special-ops training that taught me not to choose the easiest options?

Run to the closest place that offered a decent hiding spot. Get ahead in the trees and wait.

I knew he’d have a gun in his holster. But what would he be armed with?

Maybe he had a gun with a scope. Possibly even a night-vision scope.

But Sheldon had spent all his time preparing for tomorrow. I doubted he was prepared to fight now. My hunting gadgetry gave me the advantage. He’d consider using those gadgets to be cheating, thinking that a real soldier relied on skill and training.

Wrong. A real soldier took every advantage to annihilate the enemy. Building a better predator by whatever means necessary.

I crawled between the barbed-wire strands and stood, pausing to scan the immediate area with the infrared.

No red heat signatures.

Sheldon had already covered serious ground if the sensor hadn’t picked him up yet.

I kept the infrared in my left hand and the rifle in my right as I continued to scan the terrain. This sweep of prairie began a gradual rise until it met the tree line. I assumed that was the direction he went. Easier to miss shots when distracted by the trees and shadows.

That’s when I heard a twig snap.

Pinpointing the sound, I crouched almost parallel to the ground. My adrenaline kicked in, but due to my sniper training, I didn’t get skittish. I became even calmer, breathing slowly, hyper-focused on waiting for my prey to give himself away.

The grass was timber dry and made a crunching sound with every hard footfall, encouraging light steps.

I heard nothing for several long moments.

Just when I believed I’d followed a deer, I heard the soft scrape of fabric on bark. I spun, pointing the infrared. A big red mass a hundred feet to my left at eleven o’clock.

Releasing the infrared, I raised the rifle, my eye on the scope, and in the split second it took to pinpoint his location I fired.

A loud hiss of air echoed back to me, followed by the rustling of grass. Bastard was on the move. Had I hit him? Nicked him? Or missed entirely?

I raised the infrared again and watched the red blob scurrying away. Slowly. Then it stopped. I took a perpendicular path to where Sheldon rested. I’d keep parallel to him as I moved, so when he bolted toward the tree line, I’d be in front of him instead of behind.

I heard a gun discharge, and then pain ripped through the outside of my left thigh.

Son of a bitch. That fucker had shot me.

Now I was really pissed. I knelt down and lightly touched the rip in my pants. My fingers came away wet. Gritting my teeth, I drew my finger across the spot more firmly, discovering it was only a flesh wound. Bled like a bitch, but I didn’t have a bullet lodged in my leg. If I left it alone, it’d clot so I could finish what I’d started.

I heard pounding footfalls and looked up just as Sheldon rushed me. I rolled into him, instead of away from him, and he skidded face-first across the ground.

I bounced up and stomped my boot heel on his wrist, forcing him to release his gun while I placed the rifle muzzle on the back of his head. “Don’t fucking move.” I reached down and picked up his gun. A Glock. I ejected the clip, letting it hit the ground. “Tell me where she is.”

“You cheated,” he snapped, turning his head sideways to glare at me.

“Tough shit. What have you done with Sophie?”

“Tough shit,” he mimicked. “I’m not telling you anything.”

With the AR-15, I aimed for the dirt and fired at the ground next to his thigh. “The next bullet goes in that thigh. Where is Sophie?”

He laughed. “You’re bluffing.”

I shot him in the leg. Using his gun and the last bullet that’d been left in the chamber.

He screamed.

When he quit whimpering, I shoved his empty gun in my pocket and repeated, “Where is Sophie?”

“I’ll die before I tell you.”

“I doubt it, but I’m willing to test that theory. I’ve got two full clips, Sheldon. I can give you a whole bunch of two-twenty-three-cal piercings until you start talking.”

“You’re a cold bitch.”

I shot him in the arm.

He screamed again.

When he quit whimpering, I placed the gun muzzle on the back of his neck. “Next bullet will be the start of your necklace.”

A beat passed, and then he said, “I didn’t take her, okay? I only told you I took her because you wouldn’t know any different.”

“Liar.”

“I swear. The day before yesterday, Sophie and John-John came into the archives with Penny’s death certificate to update the tribal rolls. I overheard them talking. John-John was taking Sophie to a weeklong sweat ceremony in Eagle Butte. They weren’t telling anyone where they were going.”

“Not even Devlin?”

“They said he was going to a poker tournament in Deadwood.”

“Bullshit. You’re lying.”

“I’m not. I swear.”

“Then how did you use Sophie’s voice when I demanded proof of life?”

“Remember I told you I was at the crime scene? I had a mini tape recorder with me, and I recorded Sophie wailing. And John-John, too.”

That’s why Sophie’s response had sounded familiar-I’d heard it live. “Why, you sick fuck?”

“Because I got off on hearing their reactions. Over and over.” His voice dropped to that grotesque purr again. “I used the recording on you, and you fell for it. You really believed I’d kidnapped Sophie and hidden her away.” Sheldon sneered, “It was almost too easy. You ain’t as smart as you think you are.”

This lowlife piece of shit had tricked me? Sophie wasn’t in danger? I was stunned by that piece of information and so relieved that I relaxed my guard.

Probably Sheldon’s intent. He rolled and knocked my feet out from under me.

I hit the ground hard but managed to keep hold of my rifle.

Then something connected with the side of my face, something that felt suspiciously like a boot.

I grunted from the pain, and my vision went wonky. The immediate ringing in my ears added another level of confusion, but I managed to duck, expecting another blow. But I heard footsteps fading as he raced away.

Now that I knew the truth, there wasn’t any reason to continue this game of hide-and-seek.

My brain went to war with itself.

Catch him and take him to the Eagle River Sheriff’s Department. Call Agent Turnbull. Turn all my information over to the FBI. Including Sheldon’s confession to me over the phone about the killings. Point them toward the evidence at his house, supporting my claim about his murder spree. Plus, he’d committed fraud on a federal level for cashing his uncle’s checks, not to mention that he’d murdered and mummified his uncle.

Letting justice take the proper course is what I’d sworn to do as an FBI agent.

But that wasn’t what I wanted to do.

Sheldon’s threats toward my family had sealed his fate.

I brought up the infrared again and scanned the vicinity.

Bingo.

He’d tried to hide behind a pine tree.

Rather than wasting ammo, I knelt down and felt the ground for a rock. I threw it toward the trees so it’d sound like I’d followed him and was flanking his left.

And Sheldon did exactly what I expected. He moved from behind the tree, out in the open.

I had my scope lined up on my target, and I pulled the trigger four times.

He crumpled like a bag of meat.

Keeping his body in the crosshairs of my scope, I stood and edged toward him. He wasn’t moving much, so I thought I’d killed him.

When I was within five feet, he wheezed, “You shot me in the back.”

“Yep.”

“Lazy. Cheating. Not sportsmanlike.”

“This isn’t a sport.”

“I can’t move my legs,” he said, panicked. “Or my arms.”

“That’s because I aimed for your spine. I severed it.”

“I’m paralyzed?” Sheldon shrieked.

I rested the muzzle above his heart. “It’s no worse than what you did to your victims.”

“But they all died. I can’t live like this.”

I leaned closer. “Oh, you’re not gonna live through this.”

He closed his eyes and nodded. “Good. Thank you. Kill me. Now.”

“No.”

Sheldon’s eyes reopened.

“I won’t put you out of your misery because you deserve this pain.” I slung my rifle over my back and grabbed onto the hood of his sweatshirt. Then I dragged him fifty yards into the brush.

“They’ll know you did this,” he said with another wheeze.

“How?” I removed his knife from the sheath on his utility belt. “Because of all the pictures you had of me in your garage? Pictures like the ones you left in my truck? Pictures you used to threaten me to play your stupid military game? Don’t worry, I took them.”

Understanding flashed on his face.

“Yes, while you were busy breaking into my house today? I was busy breaking into yours.” I tsk-tsked, sounding patronizing-exactly like he had during his phone call. “You are one demented motherfucker, mummifying your uncle. You killed him and kept cashing his checks. So you’ve shown yourself to be a thief, a liar, and a murderer. While I just proved that I am the superior soldier.”

Hatred brimmed in his eyes.

Using his knife, I slit the fabric of his cargo pants from ankle to crotch on both legs. The bullet hadn’t left much of an exit wound on the front side of his leg. Careful not to leave fingerprints, I removed both his boots and his socks, then tossed them aside.

“Pity you won’t feel the field mice eating off your toes. Or the birds pecking out your eyeballs. Or the coyotes snacking on your intestines.” I sliced open his shirt and saw my first shot had clipped his right hip. I ripped off a clean strip of his T-shirt and wrapped it tightly around my thigh to staunch the bleeding.

I tossed his gun on the ground, just out of his reach.

I gave his face one last contemptuous look.

And I walked away.

• • •

Actually, I ran.

After I found the tape recorder and cell phone in Sheldon’s car, after I determined nothing remained in his vehicle that pertained to me or my family, I left the door open and the keys in the ignition.

I broke down the AR and put it in the duffel bag. Next went in the night-vision goggles, the infrared, the tape recorder, and the cell phones. The van started. But it sputtered and died five minutes later on the road back to Eagle River.

I was still eleven miles from my truck and the reservation. The duffel bag had straps on the back side, allowing me to wear it as a backpack. After double-checking that I hadn’t left a trace of myself in Naomi’s van, I started out at a slow jog. Staying on the soft shoulder until I saw an approaching vehicle’s headlights. Then I ducked into the ditch, catching my breath. When the coast was clear again, I returned to pounding the pavement.

Soldiers get injured during ops. I handled it the same way I always had. Shut down any emotion and focused on my training. Mind over matter. Keeping pain in a separate compartment to deal with later. Counting each footstep. Focusing on each breath.

I reached a sentient state of shock. Like everything I’d seen and done had happened to someone else. I slowed to a walk as the lights of the Eagle River Reservation came into view. I cut away from the main road and into the residential area. Two punks approached me then backed away when they caught a glimpse of my face. Or maybe it was my bloodied leg that sent them scurrying.

My truck was still in the church parking lot. On a whim I tried the church doors, expecting them to be locked up tight at midnight, like everything else. But the big doors swung open, welcoming me inside.

Trusting lot, these Catholics.

My boots and purse weren’t in the bathroom, but my coat still hung on the rack. I slipped it on and felt a wave of comfort wash over me. I’d never been fond of this coat, but it might just become my new favorite.

After I changed the tire, I drove home. Still on automatic.

Once inside the house I cleaned my gun. I put everything away, almost methodically. I grabbed the envelope of pictures that had been left in my truck and that I’d hidden in the lazy Susan. I replaced the battery in my phone to check for missed calls. None from the hospital, thank God. I texted Jake that I was okay and told him to bring Lex home first thing in the morning.

I took the fake dossier file, the disposable cell phones, the tape recorder, and the pictures outside. Stacking everything into the burning barrel, I used a propane torch to light the papers on fire.

While watching the plastic melt, the photos bubble then curl into ash, I made one phone call. When Rollie Rondeaux’s answering machine asked me to leave a message, I said, “Now we’re square.”

After the fire died, I returned inside. I stripped and cleaned myself. Red then pink water swirled around my feet as I poked the spot where the bullet had grazed my thigh.

I felt no pain, no shame, no remorse, no vindication.

I just felt tired.

I stretched out on the couch, turning the TV on for company.

If I thought I’d stare at the ceiling, unable to sleep as I relived the day’s events, I thought wrong.

My body and my mind shut down, and I was grateful for the darkness.