With a quick flip of her wrist she now held the knife the proper way. Blade out, she lunged at the bartender.

“No!” he yelled, rushing at her. He grabbed her knife hand, and fought to wrench the weapon away.

“Let go of me!” she said, thrashing to break free.

He managed to hold his arms up, protecting himself and pushing her to the side, throwing her off-balance so that she landed in the snow.

There would be no atonement, he knew that. Keeping her from killing Thomas would never change the fact they had killed his father. And yes, it was both of them who had done it. Claudine might have been the one who swung the statue and fired the rifle, but Henry stayed silent. Weak. He was to blame. If he could get the knife out of her hand, he and Thomas could take her. Two on one. Hold her down until the police arrived. He was ready to accept the consequences. Ready to tell them everything. The nightmare would be over.

Suddenly he staggered backward, clutching his chest. He tried to steady himself by holding on to one of the deck chairs but lost his grip and collapsed like a felled tree into the soft white powder, his heart stopping before he hit the ground.

Claudine

There was a brief moment of silence as Claudine waited for him to rise, but the outline of his body was very still. He didn’t get up. Without taking her eyes from Thomas, or lowering the knife, she knelt by Henry’s side. His face was still warm. Stealing a glance, she saw his eyes half open, staring blankly. No pulse. Her pain was sharp. Just like that, their chapter ends. They were over. Since the day they met, she’d actually never imagined her life without him.

“Poor Henry,” she said. It was the sudden peal of laughter from inside that jarred her back. “I wouldn’t have enjoyed killing him. This way he goes out as more of a hero than a victim. People will remember his bravery. His funeral will be well attended. Not yours, though.”

She raised the knife high above her head.

“No,” Thomas pleaded. “You don’t have to do this. Please.”