Chapter 3 - The Strategy of the Long Haul
Gabriel spent the next forty-eight hours in a state of hyper-focused activity,
moving with the efficiency of a man who knew how to secure a dangerous load.
He called his brother-in-law,
a retired police sergeant in Cleveland,
and sent him the photographs of the "WIDOWS" folder.
“Gabe,
stay out of that bedroom,”
his brother-in-law warned over the phone.
“If she’s who I think she is,
this isn't her first time clearing out a widower’s life.”
Gabriel didn’t listen;
he was already back in the master bedroom,
installing a series of tiny,
high-definition cameras he had purchased from a specialized shop in the city.
He placed them in the smoke detectors,
the alarm clock,
and the corner of the ceiling,
ensuring every inch of the room was covered.
He did the same in the kitchen,
the utility room,
and the living room,
turning his home into a digital trap.
He then took Lucas to a private doctor,
a man he had known for twenty years,
to have the bruises and injuries officially documented.
The doctor’s face was a mask of grim professional fury as he took the measurements of the welts.
“This isn't just a cousin’s scuffle,
Gabriel,”
the doctor said,
handing him a formal medical report.
“These are defensive wounds,
and the malnutrition in his bloodwork is concerning.”
Gabriel tucked the report into his own secret folder,
which he kept locked in the cab of his truck.
He then went to the bank and discovered that Candice had been systematically draining his savings,
moving money into accounts he couldn't access.
She had even forged his signature on a home equity loan application that was pending approval.
Gabriel felt a wave of nausea,
realizing how close he had come to losing everything he had worked for.
He spent the rest of the day with Lucas,
not talking about the abuse,
but talking about Clara.
They looked through old photo albums,
reclaiming the memories that Candice had tried to bury under pawn shop receipts.
“We’re going to be okay,
Lucas,”
Gabriel promised,
his voice thick with emotion.
“I’m never leaving you alone with them again.”
He then made a trip to a local self-storage facility,
renting a unit in a name Candice wouldn't recognize.
In the middle of the night,
he and Lucas moved everything that truly mattered—Clara’s belongings,
Lucas’s childhood toys,
and the silver cup—out of the house.
He replaced the silver cup in the drawer with a cheap,
weighted replica he found at a thrift store,
wrapping it in the same handkerchief.
By Saturday evening,
the house looked exactly as it had when he arrived,
a perfect facade of a broken home.
He had even re-hung the laundry in the utility room,
ensuring the creases were exactly where Candice expected them.
He and Lucas ate a quiet dinner of sandwiches,
watching the feed from the cameras on Gabriel’s tablet.
They watched the empty rooms,
the shadows stretching across the floors,
waiting for the parasites to return to the host.
Gabriel’s phone buzzed with a text from Candice,
a photo of her and Wyatt on a jet ski,
smiling as if they owned the ocean.
“Missing you,
babe!
Can’t wait to be home tomorrow night!”
the message read.
Gabriel didn’t reply.
He just looked at the screen,
thinking about the "WIDOWS" folder and the insurance policies.
He realized that his "business trip" being cut short had likely saved his own life as well as his son’s.
He was the next target on the list,
the next obituary she was preparing to write.
He checked the locks on the doors,
checked the feed one last time,
and went to sleep with a heavy iron tire iron under his pillow.
May you like
The long haul was almost over,
and the destination was justice.
