“No!” I said. “Don’t you take another step, Gabriel Walsh.”

He turned, slowly, and the look on his face . . . I wanted to see doubt and confusion and disbelief and skepticism. Even a look that said he thought I’d lost my mind. But that’s not what I saw.

“Stay where you are,” he said. “I’m going to—”

“He’s not there,” I said, my voice barely above a whisper. I wrapped my arms tight around my chest, but my legs were still shaking. “It’s not really him.”

Gabriel didn’t say a word, just turned and went through the doorway. I followed him.

James still lay on the floor. I’d seen the bruises on his shoulders and face. Now I noticed them around his neck. He’d been strangled. His back wasn’t covered in blood as I’d thought. It was a single swath up the middle, a perfectly excised strip of skin. I’d seen the photos of my parents’ alleged crime scenes and the bodies had looked exactly like this.

Strangled. Half dressed. Skin stripped from his back.

That proved it wasn’t real.

I looked up to find Gabriel watching me.

“You don’t see him, do you?” I said.

Silence.

“Tell me you don’t see him.” I looked up at him, his face swimming behind my tears. “Please tell me you don’t see James.”

His jaw worked. The tears streamed down my face, hot and fast. I took a half step toward Gabriel before catching myself. I teetered there and then started to step back, but he reached for me and pulled me against him.

I won’t say it was a hug. I won’t even say it was an embrace. It felt like falling against a statue. He held himself so tight and still that I swore I heard his teeth clench as his arms went around me. It was awkward and strange, and he hated it. Yet he did it. He gave me what I needed.

After a long moment, I stepped away from Gabriel and turned to James. I knelt beside him.

“I’m sorry,” Gabriel said.

I nodded, and I knelt there, looking at James.

I hated you. I didn’t think that was even possible, and if someone had accused me of it, I’d have denied it. But in these last few days, I came to hate you. I wanted you to let me go, and you wouldn’t, and now I’m kneeling beside your body, and I don’t feel hate. Certainly not relief.

No matter what you did, you didn’t deserve this. It’s my fault. I don’t know what happened, but I know that much: it’s my fault.

Tears threatened again.