One Last Breath by Sarah Sutton (speld decodable readers txt) 📗

would be. She knew nothing about this woman. She knew nothing about her relationship with her father. She didn’t even know if her mother was aware of her when she was alive. After all, Tara was too young to pick up on any of her mother’s suspicions, if she had them. But she knew one thing that she was planning to do for sure.

She hadn’t even realized how focused her eyes had been on the island counter. She looked up at John. “I’m going to find out who she is.” The words burst from her lips as a newfound determination flowed through her body.

 John simply nodded, knowing that it was the exact answer she would give.

***

Tara sat on the couch in the living room with only a floor lamp lighting the area surrounding her. She sat cross-legged, her laptop resting on her thighs. It was now close to midnight. John had gone off to bed, but Tara already knew she wouldn’t sleep. She needed to look for answers. She had searched for Mackenzie James numerous times, adding every neighboring town near the prison as a keyword. So far, she had found nothing. No articles, no social media accounts, no job hits.

Tara sighed as she scrolled through the results one more time. She was growing frustrated. She knew this woman held the possibility of answers, that she could very well be the person Tara had sensed was in the room during her mother’s death. But yet Tara still had no understanding of who she was, other than a name.

She could only assume that her father was having an affair, and it pained her. Not for herself, but for her mother. Her father had already made her mother’s life a living hell and then ended it. He had inflicted pain each time he left a bruise on her body. He would belittle her every chance he had, chipping away at every piece of her that made her special. And now he was unfaithful too? Anger boiled up. How could he do all this to her? And why did she stay with him? Was she ever happy? The last question caused her fingers to go limp on the keyboard. A great sadness rose up within her, until it crashed on her like a tsunami.

Could it be that the few years Tara had been in this world with her mother were probably the most difficult years her mother had ever faced? Tara’s eyes welled, and she sat back in the couch, letting her head rest as she stared at the ceiling. She had been so young, so oblivious.

She wiped a tear away as she tried to picture her mother. At first, she remembered the fights, the abuse, the bruises. But then other memories pushed through, the memories without her father. She pictured her mother smiling, watching Tara play. She pictured her mother’s laugh when she did something funny. She envisioned her mother doing arts and crafts with her, baking, going to the museum. Each memory was filled with smiles and laughter.

Tara finally took a deep breath and sat up. My mother was happy, she reminded herself. Because of me. Warmth flooded through her at the realization; it was love. She suddenly saw everything differently. It wasn’t her mother, her father, and her, all living together but distant in their emotions and experiences. She now saw herself and her mother entwined together in a tragedy, with her father standing at a distance.

Tara looked back down at her computer. She couldn’t allow self-pity to seep in. She couldn’t dwell on her mother’s sadness. None of that would help her find answers. Only focusing on the love they shared would, because that was ultimately what drove her. Her mother deserved justice.

Tara laid her fingers atop the keyboard once more. She typed the woman’s name in Google over and over again with new towns. She went to Facebook, to Instagram, to Twitter. She searched in every way she could possibly think of. She tried different nicknames she could think of for Mackenzie—Mack, Kenzie, Kenz.

She searched diligently for another hour, each search leading to inaccurate results—same names with different ages, different last names. Eventually, Tara’s eyes felt heavy. She tried to push through, to continue to search, but soon all she could focus on was how tired she was. She laid her had back onto the couch. She would just rest her eyes, she told herself, but exhaustion quickly enveloped her, pulling her into a deep, deep sleep.

Chapter Twenty

He took a swig of his whisky, sloshed it in his mouth, and then let the burn hit his throat. He had been sitting in a booth at the restaurant for a couple hours now. He was a few drinks in, the buzz only intensifying the sense of pride he felt at what he had done and what was about to occur.

It was late on a weekday, and the restaurant was relatively quiet. Only a few men sat at the bar—regulars—speaking louder than they realized, sloshing their drinks in their hands at each laugh. It was the type of crowd he had hoped for tonight, because he knew they would never bother him. They wouldn’t spark conversation, they wouldn’t even recognize him, as people usually did. They were too into their drinks, and he was too concealed in his booth to make a presence.

He stared down at his whiskey, deep into the empty glass, and he smiled. It reminded him of the clues he left behind, the strategy he had followed, and that no matter how close law enforcement thought they were, they too would only be left looking into an empty glass of what once was a lead.

He snapped out of his trance as he sensed movement, and looked up to see the waitress who so often waited on him smiling before him. Her long, slender body was accentuated with an apron tied tight around her waist. “Another?” she asked as she reached for his glass