Chapter Thirty-six – The End of the Road

"Daddy!"

It had been too long. Rebecca was lifted off of the ground into her father's embrace, finally relaxing against him. "Rebecca," Bobby whispered into her hair. It had all been worth it. Having her with name now made everything he had gone through in the past few months worthwhile.

"Daddy." Rebecca leaned back to look at him. "When's Mommy coming back?"

"I don't know, baby."

He felt as though a lead weight dropped into the pit of his stomach at that innocent question. He could not loose Alex. She had sacrificed too much. She deserved this moment too. She had to come home with them.

"We're going to try and get Mommy back," he told her. "We're going to get her back."

"When?" she asked. "When is Mommy coming home?"

"I don't know, sweetheart. But we will get her back."

"So it was definitely murder," Carolyn said to Mike.

"Sure," Mike replied. "But we already knew that. Sheriff Townsend couldn't possibly have pulled the trigger with that much sedative in his system."

"Slaughter was likely behind it," Carolyn continued. "But they haven't found anything to prove it yet. In any case, it doesn't help us find him."

"I'd hoped they might find something at his place," Mike sighed.

Carolyn also shook her head, crestfallen. "We've got nothing." She pushed open the door to the motel room, the first trace of a smile all day turning up her lips. Rebecca was snuggled up in her father's lap, both of them fast asleep.

"Detectives?"

Branch stood up and went over to the clearly distressed woman. She handed him a small stack of photographs, a small sob catching in her throat. "You were right," she said.

Branch led her to a conference room, Henderson following. After they got her sitting down with a cup of water, Branch glanced down at what she had handed him.

"That's my Shelly," Mrs. Waverly explained, her eyes welling up with tears. "Sarah's in there too." She took a deep breath, steadying herself. "The blanket in the pictures…" she trailed off, and cleared her throat before continuing. "That bastard took these in our bedroom," she spat.

Branch reached over to grasp her arm in comfort. She cried quietly for a moment, before collecting herself again. "You'll make sure he goes to prison?" she asked harshly. "He'll never come near my girls again?"

"Even if he gets out," Henderson assured her, "the judge will be sure to grant restraining orders, forbidding him from coming near you or the girls."

She nodded firmly, looking down at the table. "Okay," she said to herself. "Okay." She looked up again, meeting Branch's eyes. "Grant and I-" here she broke off to squeeze her eyes shut again before forcing herself to continue, "-we rented a cottage last summer. He and Slaughter had some business to go over once when we were on vacation there. Slaughter has been to the cottage."

She stood up and pushed herself back from the table. "That's all I know," she said. "I do hope you find him."

"Thank you, Mrs. Waverly," Branch said gently. "I know this wasn't easy for you."

"It's Ms. Chamberlain now," she corrected. "And I need to go and get my girls."

Branch nodded, opening the door for her. The two detectives bounded over to the team as soon as she was out of sight. "We've got a new location," Henderson said.

The detectives burst into the cottage with a SWAT team. Shouts of "Clear!" made their way back to Henderson and Branch, who followed behind the initial SWAT agents.

Branch threw open a closet door, gun ready in case Slaughter was hiding in wait. "Clear!" Henderson turned the opposite way, throwing open a door on the other side of the room. The room he entered was a bathroom. Henderson checked the corners, gun still ready. The curtain was drawn around the bathtub.

Henderson muttered unintelligibly under his breath. Perhaps it was a childhood fear of what monster might be lurking behind the curtain, or maybe too many horror movies as a young teenager, or maybe just the fact that it left only one hand holding his weapon, but he hated to draw back the curtain. Get a grip, he told himself firmly. Slaughter wouldn't be hiding in a bathtub. That was way too juvenile…

Henderson drew in his breath sharply, jumping. Heart racing, he re-holstered his weapon. "Hi," he said, as calmly as he could, considering his racing heart. "You're Emma, aren't you?"

She was sitting in the tub with her knees drawn up. Her cheek rested on her knees, hair falling over her face, rocking. She looked up when Henderson said her name.

"We've been looking for you," Henderson said.

At this, Emma bit her lip, tears filling her eyes. "I set that fire," she confessed, tears starting to fall. "I killed that girl. I didn't mean for it to happen; it was an accident, I swear! Am I going to jail?" She broke down completely, sobbing hysterically.

"It's okay, Emma," Henderson soothed. "We can talk about that once we get you out of here."

She nodded, still crying, and stood shakily. Henderson held her arm as she climbed over the edge of the tub.

"Emma, do you know when your dad left here?" Henderson asked. She shook her head. "Did he say where he was going?"

"I don't know," she replied. And so they were no closer to finding Slaughter, although they did get Emma back. All of the girls were safe now.

"Your honor, I move for the assault charges to be dismissed," Harper said.

"The prosecution has ample evidence that the defendant did indeed commit assault, your honor," Malloy argued.

"The assault with a deadly weapon charge was a clear case of self-defense," Harper stated. "In fact, I've rarely even seen a clearer case; I'm surprised Mr. Malloy was even able to bring about a charge in the first place."

"Okay Mr. Harper," the judge admonished. "Enough posturing. What's your reasoning for getting these charges dropped?"

"My client only assaulted Kevin Kirk after he broke into her house with a gun and attempted to murder her husband," Harper stated smoothly. "He was in possession of the weapon and threatening to continue to use it when my client wrestled it away and assaulted him with it – clearly in self-defense."

"We only have your client's word-"

"In fact," Harper interrupted, "Kirk has been charged with two counts of attempted murder – one for my client's husband Agent Goren."

"Well, Mr. Malloy," Judge Turcotte said tersely, "Since you would have been the one to file against Detective Kirk, I assume the assault charge against defendant Eames was meant to beef up the reading of charges?"

"Your honor," Malloy said, "There was probable cause for these charges."

"I'm sure there was," Turcotte replied flatly. "Looks like self-defense to me. What about the other assault charges, Mr. Harper?"

"My client needed to restrain Mr. Waverly; if he happened to become injured resisting, that isn't assault."

"Happened to become injured?" Malloy asked. "Oh come on. Your client smashed his face into a brick wall."

"If she had smashed his face into a wall, his face would smashed, not bruised," Harper said smartly.

"Oh very funny," Malloy snapped. "Mr. Waverly was handcuffed; she most certainly used excessive force."

"Care to amend the charge?" Harper asked.

"Not a chance."

"Okay, I've heard enough," the judge said, before the lawyers could continue arguing. "I'm dismissing the assault charge against Kevin Kirk. But I'll let a jury decide what they think about the cause of Mr. Waverly's injury."

"Thank you, your honor," Harper said.

"Yes, yes," Turcotte grumped. "Now clear out of my chambers; you're taking up my lunch break."

"I set the fire," Emma repeated, her eyes glued to the table. "I did it. I didn't mean for it to happen. I didn't want for the girl to die."

"Emma," Henderson said. "I need to tell you – the girl in the house, she didn't die. She's okay."

"I saw the fire!" Emma yelled. "Don't lie to me! The door was locked and she couldn't get out!"

"Someone else went in after her and got her out, Emma," Henderson said. "Rebecca is just fine."

"Rebecca's okay?" Emma repeated. She began to cry again, this time from relief. "I didn't even mean to set the fire," she said again.

"Tell me, Emma," Henderson said. "How did it happen?"

"Dad was showing me how to use a match to start up the stove," Emma explained. "I dropped the match."

"You dropped the match," Henderson repeated.

"Yes, and that's when the fire started."

"Emma," Henderson said slowly, "A fallen match wouldn't have started a fire unless there was something on the floor to help start the fire."

"Well it did," Emma said. "I tried throwing water on it and it just got bigger."

Henderson looked towards the glass of the interrogation room, where his partner was on the other side. It didn't make any sense.

"Are you sure it was water?" Henderson asked.

"Dad said it was."

"Where did you get the water from?" Henderson asked. "Did you have a pail of water in the kitchen?"

"It was in a bad smelling orange container," Emma replied.

"It was gasoline?" Henderson demanded.

Emma lifted her eyes from the table, confused. "What's gas-lean? Is it like the gas that goes in cars?"

"Yes," Henderson confirmed. "Have you never been to a... gas station, or garage, or anything like that?"

"I mostly just stay in my room," Emma replied. "I only know about gas for cars from the TV."

"Emma, your dad tricked you," Henderson said gently. "It wasn't water you were putting on the fire; it was gas. The gas made the fire bigger."

Emma dropped her head onto her folded arms. "Why'd he do that?" she asked in a small voice.

"I don't know," Henderson replied gently. "But I intend to ask him. But first we need to find him. Do you have any idea where he went?"

"No," Emma replied. "He kept saying that he had reached the end of the road. I don't really know what he meant, because we weren't driving anymore, but he said that he had one last plan. One plan for the end. But I don't know what it was 'cause he didn't tell me."

"Thank you, Emma," Henderson said. "That's very helpful."