Chapter 1 - Five Minutes
Ethan’s finger remained pointed at Uncle Victor.
For one long second, nobody moved.
Victor’s face looked almost gray beneath the fluorescent lights.
The warden stepped between him and the door.
“Mr. Hayes, stay where you are.”
Victor forced a laugh.
“He’s eight years old.”
His voice cracked.
“He’s terrified.”
Ethan pressed against me.
“I saw him.”
Victor looked at my brother.
Something cold passed through his eyes.
I had never noticed that look before.
Or maybe I had spent six years refusing to see it.
The warden turned toward the guards.
“Secure Mr. Hayes.”
Victor raised both hands.
“This is ridiculous.”
A guard moved behind him.
“You cannot detain me because a traumatized child suddenly invents a memory.”
My mother had not spoken.
She stood behind the glass partition with both hands cuffed in front of her.
Her eyes were fixed on Ethan.
Not Victor.
“Ethan.”
Her voice was barely audible.
“Tell them exactly what you remember.”
Ethan began shaking.
I knelt beside him.
“You’re safe.”
He looked at me.
Then at Mom.
“I woke up because Dad was yelling.”
Every adult in the room went silent.
Ethan had been two years old when our father died.
For six years, everyone told us he could not possibly remember anything reliable from that night.
Ethan swallowed.
“I came out of my room.”
“What did you see?” the warden asked.
Ethan pointed at Victor again.
“Uncle Victor was in the hallway.”
Victor shook his head.
“No.”
“He was carrying the knife.”
My stomach turned.
The warden looked at Victor.
Victor’s mouth opened.
Nothing came out.
Ethan continued.
“His shirt had something dark on it.”
Mom closed her eyes.
“And then?” I whispered.
“He went into Mom’s room.”
My heart pounded so hard I could hear it.
“I followed him.”
Victor suddenly shouted.
“He is lying!”
Two guards grabbed him.
Ethan screamed and buried his face against my shoulder.
The warden’s voice became hard.
“Remove Mr. Hayes from the room.”
Victor fought them.
“You are making a mistake!”
He twisted toward me.
“Claire, you know me!”
I stared at the man who had taken us to school after Mom’s arrest.
The man who attended every hearing.
The man who told me to accept that my mother had killed my father.
The man who helped raise Ethan.
“You told me Mom did it.”
Victor stopped struggling.
His expression changed.
Just slightly.
But I saw it.
Fear.
Not outrage.
Not heartbreak.
Fear.
The warden ordered the execution chamber locked down.
The prison superintendent contacted the governor’s office.
Mom was taken back to holding.
Nobody would tell us whether the execution had been formally stayed.
Only that the procedure had been stopped temporarily.
Temporarily.
That word nearly destroyed me.
Ethan sat in a chair beside me, crying silently.
I held him.
“Why didn’t you tell me before?”
He wiped his nose with his sleeve.
“I thought it was a dream.”
My throat tightened.
“What changed?”
He looked toward the hallway where Victor had disappeared.
“Last night Uncle Victor came to my room.”
I froze.
“What?”
“He thought I was asleep.”
Ethan’s voice dropped.
“He said something on the phone.”
“What did he say?”
Ethan looked at me.
“He said, ‘After tomorrow, nobody can prove what happened in that kitchen.’”
A cold wave moved through my body.
Then Ethan reached into the pocket of his blue sweater.
He pulled out a tiny brass key.
“I took this from his coat.”
May you like
The tag attached to it had only three characters engraved on the metal.
B-17.
