Chapter 9 - The Impossible Accusation
I laughed.
I actually laughed.
It was the only thing my body knew how to do.
“I was seventeen.”
Rachel nodded.
“You were.”
“I didn’t kill my father.”
“I know.”
“Then what are you saying?”
“That Caroline believed you did.”
The room went silent.
I looked at Mom’s attorney.
Rebecca looked as confused as I felt.
Rachel explained.
On the night Dad died, Caroline woke to shouting.
She entered the kitchen.
Dad was on the floor.
The knife lay nearby.
And I was standing over him.
“No.”
My voice sounded distant.
“I was upstairs.”
“That’s what you remember.”
“I was asleep.”
Rachel shook her head.
“You had blood on your hands.”
I felt suddenly nauseous.
Something flashed inside my mind.
Red.
Dad shouting.
A broken glass.
Then nothing.
“I don’t remember.”
Rachel looked at me gently.
“That’s why your mother never named anyone else.”
“But the knife was under her bed.”
“Victor put it there later.”
“Why?”
“To make sure Caroline took the blame.”
I stared at Victor.
He looked toward the floor.
Rebecca asked the question.
“If Caroline believed Claire stabbed Michael, why did she insist she was innocent?”
Rachel answered.
“Because she believed it was an accident.”
My chest tightened.
Dad and I had fought that night.
I remembered that.
He had told me I could not go out with friends because something dangerous was happening with the family.
I screamed at him.
I told him I hated him.
Then my memory became blank.
I had always assumed I went to bed.
“What happened to me?”
Rachel looked at Victor.
He finally spoke.
“Michael drugged you.”
I turned.
“What?”
“He didn’t mean to hurt you.”
Victor rubbed his face.
“He slipped something into your tea.”
“Why?”
“He wanted you asleep.”
“Because of Noah?”
“Because he expected confrontation.”
Dad knew Victor was coming.
He wanted me and Ethan out of the way.
But the dosage reacted badly.
I became disoriented.
I came downstairs.
According to Victor, Dad tried to guide me back upstairs.
I grabbed the knife from the counter.
My breathing stopped.
“No.”
Victor continued.
“You swung.”
“No.”
“It struck him.”
Ethan began crying.
Rebecca stood.
“Stop.”
But I needed the rest.
“Then what?”
Victor looked at me.
“Michael fell.”
“Was he alive?”
Victor went silent.
That silence mattered more than anything.
“Was he alive?”
“Yes.”
My knees weakened.
Rachel closed her eyes.
I whispered.
“Then I didn’t kill him.”
Victor looked away.
“No.”
“Who did?”
He refused to answer.
May you like
Rachel did.
“Detective Harris.”
