Chap­ter 39 begins with ris­ing pan­ic and a sense of help­less urgency, as Kit­ty strug­gles to impose order in the after­math of an encounter that has left Patri­cia uncon­scious and the house soaked in dread. She paces the room, repeat­ing Grace’s name, wish­ing some­one old­er, wis­er, or sim­ply more deci­sive were in charge. The silence is bro­ken by a sud­den jolt—Patricia’s body still, her breath­ing irreg­u­lar, send­ing a wave of alarm through the group. Mrs. Greene sur­pris­es them all by step­ping for­ward, per­form­ing CPR with the calm skill of some­one who’s seen worse and nev­er flinched. Each com­pres­sion and breath is mea­sured, a rhythm born of lived expe­ri­ence and mater­nal strength. As Patri­cia begins to respond, her eye­lids flut­ter­ing open slight­ly, relief wash­es over them—but the true threat remains just out of sight.

James Har­ris, though inca­pac­i­tat­ed, con­tin­ues to exert a chill­ing influ­ence. His voice, weak yet point­ed, worms into the room like a tox­in, offer­ing delu­sions of eter­nal life and pow­er. Despite being phys­i­cal­ly over­pow­ered, he remains a psy­cho­log­i­cal preda­tor, his words laced with temp­ta­tion and taunts meant to frac­ture their frag­ile alliance. Mrs. Greene, unshak­en, dis­miss­es his claims as the des­per­ate whim­pers of a mon­ster unmasked. While Kit­ty wavers under the emo­tion­al strain, Maryellen and Mrs. Greene begin a dark task—dismembering Har­ris with hunt­ing tools and unspo­ken resolve. The grue­some work is done not out of vengeance, but neces­si­ty. Their actions car­ry the weight of pro­tec­tion, of choos­ing the lives of their loved ones over the sur­vival of some­one who was nev­er human to them.

Har­ris tries to bar­gain, dan­gling secrets and promis­es he can’t keep, reveal­ing his ties to the Wide Smiles Club—an eerie fra­ter­ni­ty built on exploita­tion, death, and con­trol. But his charis­ma crum­bles, replaced by des­per­a­tion as the women refuse to yield. They see through the thin veil of his sup­posed pow­er, rec­og­niz­ing his iso­la­tion and fear beneath the arro­gance. His final moments are not met with pity, but with resolve. It is Maryellen who deliv­ers the last blow, her hand steady, her eyes brim­ming not with hate but with under­stand­ing of what must be done. The silence that fol­lows is heavy, not just from the act itself, but from the knowl­edge that no jus­tice sys­tem could have han­dled what they’ve endured. In the dim light of that room, they become the judge, the jury, and the exe­cu­tion­ers of some­thing beyond the reach of law.

Clean­ing begins while Patri­cia sleeps in the oth­er room, unaware of the grue­some jus­tice enact­ed on her behalf. Kit­ty, still pale and shak­en, keeps her dis­tance but helps where she can, hold­ing bags open, gath­er­ing cloths, mut­ter­ing prayers. The oth­ers work with the same qui­et effi­cien­cy used in clean­ing hous­es or nurs­ing the sick—methods passed down from gen­er­a­tions of women expect­ed to fix what oth­ers broke. Harris’s remains are sort­ed, bagged, and sealed with­out cer­e­mo­ny. Their work is almost method­i­cal, free from the­atrics. There is no need to speak; their shared under­stand­ing is loud­er than any words.

In the qui­et after­math, fear still hangs like a mist. Even in death, Har­ris leaves behind the threat of the unknown—his cryp­tic ref­er­ences to oth­ers like him, the impli­ca­tions that the Wide Smiles Club isn’t gone, only hid­ing. The women don’t speak of what comes next, not yet. Their focus remains on clean­ing the present, on restor­ing a sense of safe­ty, even if tem­po­rary. The emo­tion­al weight of the night press­es down on them, but they remain upright, bound by loy­al­ty and the qui­et promise that they will shield one anoth­er, no mat­ter what it costs. Harris’s last breath may have been drawn, but his shad­ow is not so eas­i­ly erased.

The events of that night shift the dynam­ic between the women for­ev­er. No longer just friends, they are now bound by a shared secret, by the mem­o­ry of a choice that changed them. Kit­ty, once hes­i­tant, sees them with new eyes—capable not only of nur­tur­ing, but of pro­tect­ing, even through dark­ness. The chap­ter ends not in tri­umph, but in a mut­ed breath of relief, as they step back from the brink with trem­bling hands and blood­stained clothes. Yet beneath the sur­face, some­thing strong begins to take root—a sis­ter­hood forged not in cel­e­bra­tion, but in sur­vival. Their jour­ney for­ward will not be easy, but it will be car­ried by the qui­et courage born in rooms no one else will ever under­stand.