The hallway was filled with uniforms. One officer lowered himself to speak softly to Evan while another steadied my arm. Paramedics guided us toward the living room.
Julian stood there with his hands half raised, a mask of innocence melting off his face. When our eyes met, he glared at me with a hatred that left no room for doubt.
“You lied,” he spat.
No apology. No shock. Just anger that his plan had not worked.
Paramedics took us to the hospital. More officers searched the trash and found the scraps the message had warned about. Pesticide concentrate. Enough to kill two people quietly.
His phone records revealed the woman he had spoken to: an ex named Tessa who he insisted had been “irrelevant” for years. The man helping him? A coworker who thought he was aiding Julian in cleaning up a “family accident.”
And the unknown texter?
Our neighbor across the street. A woman named Mrs. Ellery who watered her garden at impossible hours and rarely spoke to anyone. She had seen Julian earlier carrying bottles from the garage and had overheard enough of his conversation outside to feel uneasy. When she saw us collapse through the window, she decided to act.